In this context, the end result of street football, brutality included, is not only beneficial, but well-nigh a prerequisite to heightened human functioning. Research affirms that man is more efficient, more creative, longer-lived and more productive as a result of risk. Preliminary evidence even indicates it may appreciably improve his sex life. Man needs risk to function at the height of his capabilities. Those who would remove the most valuable cultural source of this risk by radically transforming the game of street football are inviting massive mental collapse on the national scale.

Street football—or insanity. These are our alternatives.
Dr. Albert Roault, Chairman
Department of Social Psychology
Hofstra University

NOTE : The author wishes to express appreciation to the International Broadcasting Company’s Educational Foundation for providing the grant under which this research was conducted.

(Reprinted with permission from Psychological Abstracts, vol. 68, [2010], p. 106)

Tuesday, July 27,:2010

Shortly before three o’clock, T.K. arrives at the address on the back of the card. It’s a classic two-story stucco house. Its paint is a fresh, light shade of green, its windows scrubbed and shining, its red tiled roof in excellent repair. Altogether, T.K. finds the house disconcerting. Cleanliness and intrigue seem incompatible. Considering the clandestine nature of McKay’s invitation, it would have been so much more apropos had T.K. found himself standing in front of a rundown shanty with peeling paint, cracked windows and a roof gaping with holes.

Obviously, someone has been watching out the front window for T.K.’s arrival. The door opens before he has a chance to knock. “Please come in, Mr. Mann.” T.K. recognizes Senator Cy Abelman, the fervent anti-bloodsports congressman. Politicians rarely assume anything, least of all public recognition, so T.K. gets an introduction anyway. “I’m Cy Abelman, U. S. Senator from Oregon. I’m glad you chose to come here today and hear us out.”

T.K. steps inside. He throws back his hood. He keeps his cape on. The house’s inefficient, fuel starved old heating system hasn’t yet managed to dispel the hours-old chill of a San Francisco morning. “I came out of curiosity, nothing more. I still don’t believe what McKay said about Eddie. I am interested in what you’ve got that made him so almighty sure he was right.”

“That you shall see. Indeed you shall. Step in here, please.” The Senator indicates the dining room where several people sit around a large, real wood table. There’s a tape projector set up on one end of the table, a screen against a far wall.