NFL's Disabled Players

This ongoing debate over medical benefits for former players, many of whom have pretty horrific stories, seems rather odd because it pits the current players against the former players.

To Solotaroff and many of the ex-players he quotes, the primary villains in this story are the Players Association and its executive director, Gene Upshaw, who makes $6.7 million a year, far more than any other sports union leader.

"In a game expected to take in $7 billion this year and that exceeds all others in causing bodily harm, fewer than 3 percent of the men who played in the league succeed in getting disability benefits," Solotaroff writes. "Worse, the players union turns away ailing vets despite a pension fund with $1 billion in assets."

Don't these current players realize they will be among the former players in the not-too-distant future? With an average career lasting only 3 1/2 years, many will join those ranks far sooner than they may think.

The current players, and their union, have a vested interest in ensuring that former players like Brian DeMarco and Dave Pear get the care and assistance they require.

DeMarco's back is held together by a titanium rod screwed into his hips. He has rebuilt knees and a painful shoulder. He's been homeless several times and spent several months living in a storage facility.

He's also only 35 and was in the league as recently as 1999. He's thought about killing himself just so his wife and kids could have his death benefit.

Then there's Dave Pear, a nose tackle who was the first Pro Bowler for Tampa Bay and who played for Oakland in the 1981 Super Bowl. He's had four disks fused, has four screws in his back that need to be replaced and needs both hips replaced. He takes about 25 pills a day and draws disability through Social Security.

Yet it's their own union that is viewed as the primary opponent of them getting such care.

Upshaw says he's not legally allowed to represent retired players. Then he should step up to the plate and represent the active players to get it done. If he doesn't, he's failing not only his own peers--he is, after all, a former player himself--but the men in the union that pays him almost $7 million per year to represent their interests.