Football: Pro football is carrying far too much weight

Common sense and science have been warning for some time that we are pushing athletes toward some natural limits of size, speed and toughness without regard for how they get there, or stay there. Even so, there remains no shortage of kids willing to risk everything for the opportunity. By most accounts, 23-year-old Thomas Herrion was one of those. He hung on with the Dallas Cowboys until the final cuts at training camp last year, played in the NFL Europe, spent much of the summer working out in the sweltering Texas heat and was chasing a spot on San Francisco's roster when he collapsed and died just a few minutes after walking off the field after a preseason game in Denver on Saturday night. The reason Herrion worked so hard, he told pals, was so he could buy a house for his mother. The cause of Herrion's death won't be determined until toxicology tests are completed, which usually takes about three to six weeks. He was listed as a 6-foot-3, or 1.90-meter, 310-pound, or 140-kilogram, guard, but estimates of his playing weight by some former teammates and coaches often added between 10 and 30 pounds. That sounds big - too big to be healthy, according to some medical experts - but it's just about average for National Football League linemen these days. Twenty years ago, some experts were warning that supersizing football was a recipe for disaster. Explaining how so many NFL players got so big was easier. Before baseball was outed by Jose Canseco, football had Lyle Alzado. He played a different sport in an earlier era, but Alzado, who admitted steroid use after his career was over, was just as provocative and just as certain that players on every side of him played juiced, too. "There are freaks of nature," he liked to say, "but not enough to fill an NFL roster." It's even more true today. By every measure, steroid use is down, there still aren't enough "freaks of nature" to go around, and yet players are bigger than ever. When Alzado ran riot with the Broncos, Browns and Raiders in the 1970s and 1980s, the NFL didn't test for steroids, and there were no more than two dozen 300-pounders. Two seasons ago, the offensive linemen on all but three teams averaged 300 pounds. According to this season's rosters, as many as 350 players have already tipped the scale at that weight. When the Vikings All-Pro lineman Korey Stringer died four years ago of complications from heat stroke, it forced the NFL to rethink the strategy of brutal practices in brutal weather. But left unexamined were the underlying dangers - how a heart set up to support someone who should weigh 220 pounds would hold up in someone at 320. "Pick any of the body's systems - skeletal, muscular, circulatory - the same is true across the board," Bob Goldman, a prominent steroids researcher and sports medicine expert, said at the time. A few years earlier, Goldman finished a study on the evolution of linemen on college and university teams from 1950 through 1990. Over that time, they added, on average, 50 pounds of bulk. But, he said, he thinks that most of the new generation came by their bulk honestly. "Money is a powerful incentive," he said. "If you can develop a lineman who's 6-8 and 330 with the same speed and agility of a guy who's 250, who's more dangerous?" The NFL began answering the question with a rule change in the mid-1970s. Stuck with a spate of low-scoring games, the league's competition committee decided to allow offensive lineman to extend their arms to block, and stopped cornerbacks from jamming receivers at the line of scrimmage. Those changes resulted in smaller, quicker, even lighter cornerbacks and receivers. Lineman just got bigger and bigger. All those warnings went largely unheeded. Linemen didn't grow to 300-plus pounds in the NFL; they began arriving that way. And many of them were not just big but agile, too - despite having 25 percent to 30 percent body fat, meaning they were carrying as much as 90 extra pounds. The increased size also increased the risk of strokes, high blood pressure, traumatic joint injuries and cardiovascular problems. As unsettled as we should be by what happened to Herrion it's a little late to be surprised. Common sense and science have been warning for some time that we are pushing athletes toward some natural limits of size, speed and toughness without regard for how they get there, or stay there. Even so, there remains no shortage of kids willing to risk everything for the opportunity. By most accounts, 23-year-old Thomas Herrion was one of those. He hung on with the Dallas Cowboys until the final cuts at training camp last year, played in the NFL Europe, spent much of the summer working out in the sweltering Texas heat and was chasing a spot on San Francisco's roster when he collapsed and died just a few minutes after walking off the field after a preseason game in Denver on Saturday night. The reason Herrion worked so hard, he told pals, was so he could buy a house for his mother. The cause of Herrion's death won't be determined until toxicology tests are completed, which usually takes about three to six weeks. He was listed as a 6-foot-3, or 1.90-meter, 310-pound, or 140-kilogram, guard, but estimates of his playing weight by some former teammates and coaches often added between 10 and 30 pounds. That sounds big - too big to be healthy, according to some medical experts - but it's just about average for National Football League linemen these days. Twenty years ago, some experts were warning that supersizing football was a recipe for disaster. Explaining how so many NFL players got so big was easier. Before baseball was outed by Jose Canseco, football had Lyle Alzado. He played a different sport in an earlier era, but Alzado, who admitted steroid use after his career was over, was just as provocative and just as certain that players on every side of him played juiced, too. "There are freaks of nature," he liked to say, "but not enough to fill an NFL roster." It's even more true today. By every measure, steroid use is down, there still aren't enough "freaks of nature" to go around, and yet players are bigger than ever. When Alzado ran riot with the Broncos, Browns and Raiders in the 1970s and 1980s, the NFL didn't test for steroids, and there were no more than two dozen 300-pounders. Two seasons ago, the offensive linemen on all but three teams averaged 300 pounds. According to this season's rosters, as many as 350 players have already tipped the scale at that weight. When the Vikings All-Pro lineman Korey Stringer died four years ago of complications from heat stroke, it forced the NFL to rethink the strategy of brutal practices in brutal weather. But left unexamined were the underlying dangers - how a heart set up to support someone who should weigh 220 pounds would hold up in someone at 320. "Pick any of the body's systems - skeletal, muscular, circulatory - the same is true across the board," Bob Goldman, a prominent steroids researcher and sports medicine expert, said at the time. A few years earlier, Goldman finished a study on the evolution of linemen on college and university teams from 1950 through 1990. Over that time, they added, on average, 50 pounds of bulk. But, he said, he thinks that most of the new generation came by their bulk honestly. "Money is a powerful incentive," he said. "If you can develop a lineman who's 6-8 and 330 with the same speed and agility of a guy who's 250, who's more dangerous?" The NFL began answering the question with a rule change in the mid-1970s. Stuck with a spate of low-scoring games, the league's competition committee decided to allow offensive lineman to extend their arms to block, and stopped cornerbacks from jamming receivers at the line of scrimmage. Those changes resulted in smaller, quicker, even lighter cornerbacks and receivers. Lineman just got bigger and bigger. All those warnings went largely unheeded. Linemen didn't grow to 300-plus pounds in the NFL; they began arriving that way. And many of them were not just big but agile, too - despite having 25 percent to 30 percent body fat, meaning they were carrying as much as 90 extra pounds. The increased size also increased the risk of strokes, high blood pressure, traumatic joint injuries and cardiovascular problems. As unsettled as we should be by what happened to Herrion it's a little late to be surprised. Common sense and science have been warning for some time that we are pushing athletes toward some natural limits of size, speed and toughness without regard for how they get there, or stay there. Even so, there remains no shortage of kids willing to risk everything for the opportunity. By most accounts, 23-year-old Thomas Herrion was one of those. He hung on with the Dallas Cowboys until the final cuts at training camp last year, played in the NFL Europe, spent much of the summer working out in the sweltering Texas heat and was chasing a spot on San Francisco's roster when he collapsed and died just a few minutes after walking off the field after a preseason game in Denver on Saturday night. The reason Herrion worked so hard, he told pals, was so he could buy a house for his mother. The cause of Herrion's death won't be determined until toxicology tests are completed, which usually takes about three to six weeks. He was listed as a 6-foot-3, or 1.90-meter, 310-pound, or 140-kilogram, guard, but estimates of his playing weight by some former teammates and coaches often added between 10 and 30 pounds. That sounds big - too big to be healthy, according to some medical experts - but it's just about average for National Football League linemen these days. Twenty years ago, some experts were warning that supersizing football was a recipe for disaster. Explaining how so many NFL players got so big was easier. Before baseball was outed by Jose Canseco, football had Lyle Alzado. He played a different sport in an earlier era, but Alzado, who admitted steroid use after his career was over, was just as provocative and just as certain that players on every side of him played juiced, too. "There are freaks of nature," he liked to say, "but not enough to fill an NFL roster." It's even more true today. By every measure, steroid use is down, there still aren't enough "freaks of nature" to go around, and yet players are bigger than ever. When Alzado ran riot with the Broncos, Browns and Raiders in the 1970s and 1980s, the NFL didn't test for steroids, and there were no more than two dozen 300-pounders. Two seasons ago, the offensive linemen on all but three teams averaged 300 pounds. According to this season's rosters, as many as 350 players have already tipped the scale at that weight. When the Vikings All-Pro lineman Korey Stringer died four years ago of complications from heat stroke, it forced the NFL to rethink the strategy of brutal practices in brutal weather. But left unexamined were the underlying dangers - how a heart set up to support someone who should weigh 220 pounds would hold up in someone at 320. "Pick any of the body's systems - skeletal, muscular, circulatory - the same is true across the board," Bob Goldman, a prominent steroids researcher and sports medicine expert, said at the time. A few years earlier, Goldman finished a study on the evolution of linemen on college and university teams from 1950 through 1990. Over that time, they added, on average, 50 pounds of bulk. But, he said, he thinks that most of the new generation came by their bulk honestly. "Money is a powerful incentive," he said. "If you can develop a lineman who's 6-8 and 330 with the same speed and agility of a guy who's 250, who's more dangerous?" The NFL began answering the question with a rule change in the mid-1970s. Stuck with a spate of low-scoring games, the league's competition committee decided to allow offensive lineman to extend their arms to block, and stopped cornerbacks from jamming receivers at the line of scrimmage. Those changes resulted in smaller, quicker, even lighter cornerbacks and receivers. Lineman just got bigger and bigger. All those warnings went largely unheeded. Linemen didn't grow to 300-plus pounds in the NFL; they began arriving that way. And many of them were not just big but agile, too - despite having 25 percent to 30 percent body fat, meaning they were carrying as much as 90 extra pounds. The increased size also increased the risk of strokes, high blood pressure, traumatic joint injuries and cardiovascular problems. As unsettled as we should be by what happened to Herrion it's a little late to be surprised.

The Associated Press