The NFL, domestic violence and leadership

When the Ray Rice story got crazy last month, I intended to turn a blind eye. I would never be in a situation where I would throttle my spouse and drag her out of an elevator. Nor do I think anyone I know would do anything remotely resembling what was seen on the that elevator security video.

But then, as the NFL season ramped up, and I signed up for four fantasy football leagues, a slew of domestic violence cases in the NFL all came to the forefront at once. Rice was the first. Then Greg Hardy was convicted of beating his spouse. Then Ray McDonald, a likable defensive lineman from my hometown San Francisco 49ers, was accused of beating his wife. Then, in perhaps the most shocking and weirdest case, former NFL MVP Adrian Peterson admitted to swatting his 4-year-old son with a switch and breaking the skin all over his body.

The NFL seemed to be blindsided over and over again by these allegations and cases. Never has a professional sports league been so bombarded from all sides by domestic violence from high profile players. Of course there is the isolated incident (Ray Lewis being accused of murder, Big Ben being accused of rape, Leon Lett smuggling a massive amount of marijuana, and a regular handful of offseason DUIs), but a series of crimes against women and children was an unfathomable nightmare for the league.

As I write this, Ray Rice is appealing his indefinite suspension from the league, Hardy is suspended for a while, McDonald is playing (and the 49ers say due process is needed in this case) and Peterson was suspended one game by the Vikings and is scheduled to play this week. The NFL's only action was to suspend Ray Rice after the elevator video went viral.

I decided to think about these cases through the lenses of the corporate world. If these cases had occurred in corporate America, would these high profile, and high paid guys still be working? I think the answer is unequivocally no.  At the least, once these cases went public, they would all be put on leave until the dust settled.

In my estimation, the NFL and the teams have all failed on the highest level. These teams have failed to consider the highest ideal in this case; the health and welfare of women and children. Somehow a culture has been created where players think it is OK for them to be abusers off the field. The NFL and the teams need to take a leadership role and put every player on administrative leave who is involved in a domestic abuse case.

Thinking of the future, the elephant in the room are the gold diggers who will certainly levy allegations against players simply to try to settle with them for millions, or even worse, to pull them from a game for gambling purposes. However, it doesn't seem like those cases have appeared yet.

Back to the NFL. The league will temporarily lose some money because of the high profile players being out, but in the end, they need to do the right thing and create a culture where players who hurt women and children are punished, and punished severely. What worse image can you have than to say that you allow domestic violence to go unpunished?

According to financial experts, the NFL is invincible. However, invincible is only temporary if your league is sleazy and getting sleazier.

My new baby

Baby Burke has resembled a basketball while in the womb. 

At 1:35 a.m. this morning I was driving 55 miles-per-hour on Highway 1 in Santa Cruz en-route to Dominican Hospital. My wife, Heather, is now laying asleep on a hospital cot more than 9 hours later.

Heather is ripe with child -- our first son.

Usually I drive at the speed of traffic (In the fast lane. I am a man) But this morning, several early morning drivers passed me while I navigated the dark, foggy August night.

In my mind, I had imagined Heather's water breaking in the middle of the night, and me driving break-neck speed to the hospital, and an hour later cradling my son in my arms. The opposite was true. As I drove, I found myself reflecting on how dangerous the Fish Hook is when the ground is wet. I stared, trying to focus with bleary eyes at the broken white lines on the freeway, all the while easing off the peddle. I came to the understanding that I was more concerned about making it to the hospital safely and not about the speed we got there.

Maybe this is what fatherhood is about.

I fondly remember the time I topped 100 in my Toyota Supra as a high school senior. I remember the time the dorm room brothers launched ourselves from 60-foot cliffs into a lake below. The time I gave the snowmobile full throttle, touching 70 while barely skimming the crusty frozen lake. Those times are bygones. And I am OK with it that.  Today I drove 55 miles-per-hour to get the hospital intact.

Heather is awake now and it's time to welcome the next generation.

Bring on fatherhood.