The Hidden Downsides of Playing Football You Should Know About

When I first saw my college teammate Bishop update his LinkedIn profile showing he'd taken a job in the financial industry, I wasn't surprised at all. Actually, I'd been expecting it. You see, we'd had several conversations during our senior year about how football had taken its toll on his body and mind, and he was ready to move on to something less physically demanding. His story isn't unique - I've watched countless talented athletes transition away from the sport they loved, not because they lost their passion, but because the hidden costs became too great.

Most people see the glory of football - the roaring crowds, the championship trophies, the camaraderie. What they don't see are the 3 AM ice baths, the constant pain management, and the quiet anxiety about what your body will feel like in twenty years. Having played Division I football for four years and now working as a sports therapist, I've witnessed firsthand how the sport we love comes with significant trade-offs that aren't discussed nearly enough. The physical toll is obvious to anyone who's watched players limp off the field, but it's the cumulative effect that really gets you. I remember during my sophomore year, our training staff tracked that our starting linebackers took approximately 1,200 high-impact hits throughout the season. That's not including practice sessions, which probably doubled that number. The human body simply isn't designed to withstand that kind of repeated trauma indefinitely.

What surprised me more than the physical damage was the psychological impact. There's this culture in football where you're expected to "suck it up" and play through pain, both physical and mental. I've seen incredibly talented players develop what I can only describe as performance anxiety - they'd be fine during practice but completely freeze during games. The pressure to perform, to not let your teammates down, to keep your scholarship or your spot on the team - it weighs on you in ways people outside the sport can't fully appreciate. A 2019 study from the University of Michigan found that retired NFL players showed depression rates nearly three times higher than the general population. While that research focused on professional athletes, I've observed similar patterns at the collegiate and even high school levels.

Then there's the time commitment, which honestly borders on ridiculous when you really break it down. During season, we're talking about 40-50 hours per week dedicated solely to football activities - that's like having a full-time job on top of being a full-time student. I can't tell you how many players I knew who struggled academically not because they weren't smart, but because they simply didn't have enough hours in the day. The NCAA claims the average football player spends about 34 hours weekly on their sport, but in my experience, that number feels artificially low. When you factor in travel, film study, treatment sessions, and the mental energy spent thinking about games and plays, you're looking at significantly more time than what's officially reported.

The financial aspect is another hidden downside that doesn't get enough attention. While top programs provide scholarships, there are countless incidental expenses that add up quickly - specialized nutrition, supplemental training equipment, transportation for family members who want to attend games. I knew players who took out small loans just to cover these "hidden costs" of playing at a competitive level. And for the vast majority who won't go pro - statistics show only about 1.6% of college football players get drafted to the NFL - the return on this investment is questionable at best. This brings me back to Bishop's career shift to finance. He recognized that the skills developed in football - discipline, teamwork, performing under pressure - could be valuable in other fields, and he made the smart decision to pivot before his body gave out completely.

What troubles me most about the current football culture is how we normalize pain and injury. I've lost count of how many players I've seen receive Toradol injections just to get through a game, masking pain that should serve as the body's warning system. The short-term gain of having a player available for one more game isn't worth the long-term damage we're enabling. And don't even get me started on concussion protocols - while improvements have been made, I've witnessed too many instances where players were cleared too quickly, often due to pressure from coaching staffs who needed their starters available for important games.

The irony isn't lost on me that someone who loves football as much as I do can be so critical of it. But that's precisely why I feel compelled to speak honestly about these issues - because I care about the sport and the people who play it. We need to have more transparent conversations about what we're asking young athletes to sacrifice and whether we're doing enough to protect them. Seeing former teammates like Bishop find success outside of football gives me hope that we're gradually moving toward a more balanced perspective, where football is seen as part of a player's journey rather than their entire identity. The sport taught me invaluable lessons about perseverance and teamwork, but I've also seen its darker side - the chronic pain, the missed educational opportunities, the psychological toll. As we move forward, we owe it to the next generation of players to be honest about both the rewards and the costs, so they can make informed decisions about their futures, both on and off the field.