NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell is the custodian of a multi-billion dollar sports league, whose only long-term asset is its ability to coax eyeballs into watching beer ads on Sundays. The willingness of those eyeballs is directly related to the perception that the game that occurs between the commercials is legitimate.
And by all accounts, it is legitimate.
So why on Earth would Goodell go out of his way to create the mis-impression that something is seriously awry? Because he has forgotten his role and indulged in a Clint Eastwood fantasy.
When the Patriots were caught videotaping the Jets defensive signals a week ago, Goodell had to decide how to respond. Here are the facts that were before him:
- the infraction had no effect on the outcome of the game;
- it is a common and legal practice for teams to observe the other team's defensive signals;
- while the NFL had recently circulated a memo reminding teams that utilizing videotaping equipment on the sideline was against the rules, the "no-taping-on-the-sidelines" rule had been in place for some time but had never been seriously enforced;
- had the Patriots videotaped from the stands instead of the sidelines, the practice would have been equally effective (or ineffective), and perfectly legal;
- because teams know that their signals are routinely observed, it has become Coaching 101 to implement measures to make signals difficult to decode, and in light of this, no one can articulate a cogent explanation for how videotaping signals could ever have a material effect on the outcome of a game;
- NFL teams routinely undertake myriad activities, from reviewing videotape, reviewing broadcast footage, talking with players who used to play for other teams, sending scouts to games, talking with other teams' opponents, rummaging through trash bins -- all of which are legal -- for the purpose of gaining an insight into what an opposing team is likely to do in a given game situation;
- the Patriots claimed, after the Jets game, that they believed in good faith that their conduct was within the rule, and this claim is strongly supported by the fact that the Patriots' taping was conducted openly, with no effort to conceal it, against a former Patriots assistant coach who had every reason to be aware that the taping was occuring.
I will concede, as I believe fair-minded people must, that the Patriots' belief in the legality of their conduct was probably wrong. The fact remains that, on the Monday following the Jets-Patriots game, when the public learned of the taping, they didn't know what to make of it. Likely, 95 percent of fans didn't know that there was a rule against videotaping from the sidelines (most had probably never even contemplated whether or not it was legal).
Public opinion was therefore quite malleable in the beginning. Was this a nit-picking infraction? Was it the end of the world? Everyone looked to Goodell for guidance.
Goodell responded by playing into the hysterical notion that the Patriots' conduct was an epic affront to the integrity of pro football, imposing unprecedented sanctions against Belichick and the Patriots. Then, almost as an afterthought, Goodell demanded that the Patriots turn over all previously recorded tapes and notes made from such tapes. Now, Goodell has painted himself into a corner. He is likely to learn that the Patriots have taped in the past (based on the same incorrect interpretation of the relevant rule).
If this turns out to be the case, Goodell faces the following set of bad choices: (1) declare that he will not further sanction the Patriots for past misconduct (and suffer the accusation from 31 other teams that he is being soft on the Patriots), or (2) further punish the Patriots (and face the valid accusation that it is acting unfairly by not also rummaging through the other 31 teams' archives for contraband).
If we go back in time, this could have been handled much more deftly. In the first place, the guiding principle should have been that the Patriots' sanction must be measured in proportion to the unfair advantage that they were proved to have obtained, perhaps augmented by an additional sanction to account for the willfulness of the violation.
In this instance, the NFL has conceded that the videotaping had no effect on the outcome of the Jets-Patriots game -- in effect, a concession that there was no advantage. Moreover, the fact that the videotaping was conducted in the open suggests that there was no willful disobedience.
Instead of focusing on the "unfair advantage" and "willfulness" factors, Roger Goodell seems to have panicked and rendered a premature, excessive, and reactionary decision. The decision seems to be informed by the following unprincipled and macho reasoning: (1) the Patriots broke a rule; (2) my name is Roger Goodell, the new sheriff in town, and I'm a tough guy; (3) I'm going to hammer the Patriots so that everyone knows not to mess with me. The Clint Eastwood theory of jurisprudence.
The problem is that Goodell's hands are now tied. Even though people are now pretending that the videotaping was the worst thing that has ever happened, in a few weeks, when everyone has cooled off, all that will be remembered was that the Patriots and Belichick got fined $750,000 and lost a first round pick for a technical rule violation that accomplished nothing that could not have been accomplished legally, and that resulted in no unfair advantage.
Measured against this standard, where does Goodell go when a team violates a rule that actually does have a material competitive benefit to a team? All of a team's draft picks? For five years? Disband the club?
Worse, Goodell's rash decision has succeeded in persuading an ambivalent public that something is seriously amiss with the NFL, that the infraction has a serious moral dimension, and that a top-to-bottom review of the entire league is required here. By playing the tough guy, Goodell has actually called into question the legitimacy of the product that he is charged with ensuring remains above question.