Commentary

Earnhardt Jr. didn't sign up for CTE

Dale Earnhardt Jr. has spent much of his life making introspective left-hand turns that have been probed and prodded as the son of a NASCAR icon.

That's good prep work for his current situation:

Living in a Petri dish.

It is defined as "something (as a place or situation) that fosters development or innovation," in this case the evolving discussion about sports and concussions and the brutal anecdotal evidence.

"I definitely don't belong in a race car today," Junior said during a media conference prior to the Sprint Cup event at Darlington Raceway on Sunday.

Today dovetails into tomorrow, and then the rest of the season. Earnhardt Jr. is following doctor's orders and shutting it down for the rest of the year. He still is dealing with concussion-like symptoms from earlier this season and perhaps the cumulative effect of multiple concussions in 2012.

This is a seismic and courageous call in a world of sports, where testosterone rules and injuries tend to be avoided by all parties involved. It's an understandable dilemma, given the vested interests.

You don't play, you don't get paid; you lose your job. On the flip side, teams and organizations prefer to look the other way because there are games and races to win, and the turnstiles need to keep bustling.

Those are tough dynamics.

Earnhardt Jr. isn't the first athlete who is putting his future ahead of short-term gains that could have devastating results, but he is most certainly the most prominent one.

Athletes instinctively push the envelope, trying to get everything they can out of mind and body. Their employers didn't seem to mind in the good old days. The cumulative effect has been devastating, and sometimes deadly.

Former NFL star Junior Seau, suffering from chronic brain damage, shot himself in the heart and died in 2012. Former Chicago Bears great Dave Duerson, also dealing with chronic brain damage, died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the chest in 2011. Mike Webster, an iconic star with the Pittsburgh Steelers and the first NFL player diagnosed with chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), died in 2002 after a downward physical and mental spiral.

Nobody signs up for that. As the evidence mounts, Earnhardt and no doubt others like him will make the prudent call:

It's not worth it.

Every step Earnhardt Jr. takes from now is a balancing act between optimism and trepidation.

"When I first saw Dale a month and a half ago, my goal was to make him feel like a human being again," said Dr. Micky Collins of the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center Sports Medicine Concussion Program. "I'm positive we're going to get Dale back to being a race-car driver."

But first, as the good doctor noted, Dale Jr. has to feel like a human being again. And that includes making sure that Junior regains the ability to focus on an object in the distance while moving his head.

That condition is never a good thing when you are behind the steering wheel going upward of 200 miles an hour at Talladega or Daytona. You are not only putting your life in peril. Consider a miscalculation that could impact 39 other friends and competitors.

Junior insists he isn't done by any means. "Soon, I'll be kickin' all y'all's asses on the track," he said.

And owner Rick Hendrick said Sunday that the seat on the No. 88 Chevy still belongs to Junior and he is excited about his return in 2017.

Let's hope so. But let's not assume so. Consider that a person is four to six times more likely to sustain another concussion after the first one.

In a sport made famous largely in part by the feisty and competitive drive of his father, Junior is his own man.

Dale Earnhardt would likely have insisted on driving against doctor's orders, rubbed some dirt on his head and charged on, oblivious to science. Dale Earnhardt Jr. is taking an even bolder step: Walking away, however long it takes.

Bravo, son.

Sports on 09/07/2016

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