Credit Where It's Due: Gavin Newsom Plans to Veto a Bill Banning Youth Tackle Football

California Governor Gavin Newsome hasn't gotten the best treatment on this site. Through all fault of his own. Whether he's getting away with a charging foul on some little kid:

Or arbitrarily deciding to finally do something about one of his filthy, crime-ridden cities, not for his taxpayers, but so as not to look bad in front of America's greatest geopolitical threat:

Still, an essential part of staying non-political and selling merchandise in states both red and blue is being able to commend as well as condemn. To praise, and not merely criticize. 

Because no sooner was I about to make time to post about this awful piece of legislation being proposed in California:

… then Newsom stepped up and did the right thing. He declared that this bill would be Dead on Arrival if it should ever reach his desk:

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Source - California will not ban tackle football for children under 12 after Democratic Gov. Gavin Newsom publicly promised he would not sign the bill if it were to reach his desk, blocking a proposal that had become a proxy for parental rights in a presidential election year.

“I will not sign legislation that bans youth tackle football,” Newsom said in a statement late Tuesday. “I am deeply concerned about the health and safety of our young athletes, but an outright ban is not the answer.”

It’s rare for Newsom, a father of four now in his second term, to publicly weigh in on legislation before it reaches his desk. But his decision to quash the proposed ban on youth tackle football before it even got a vote in the Legislature could save him from questions on the campaign trail this year as he acts as a surrogate for President Joe Biden’s reelection.

Whatever the motivation, whether it's being made just so as not to have to answer tough questions from football-loving voters on the campaign trail or simply because it's a terrible policy, what's right is right. And deserves to be celebrated. Now is not the time for cynicism. 

In no way can I say it as well as former Los Angeles high school offensive lineman Adam Carolla has. "Sure, there's a risk your kid could get injured playing football. But what about the risk of him growing up to be a pussy?" 

Or the way these youth coaches put it at the :55 mark, talking about what tackle football means to kids, especially the way-too-many of them who grow up without a father in the house:

As the late great PJ O'Rourke put it, “It remains to be seen which program will cause greater societal damage: China’s one-child policy or America’s one-parent policy.” I can't speak to that. But I didn't have a father from just before my 10th birthday on. And I can say this with total confidence:

Playing tackle football saved my life. 

Not that I would've been dead without it. But it changed the whole trajectory of my life. Physically. Mentally. Socially. I don't what path I would've taken without it, but I was headed in a direction that makes me shudder to think where it would've led. 

I can't say if losing John "Bud" Thornton to heart failure a few weeks before starting fifth grade directly resulted in me becoming a soft, doughy, semi-reclusive preteen. Maybe I ate my feelings and fell into a world of watching TV and becoming more sofa than boy. It might have just been coincidence. Or maybe I was headed down that path before he even got sick. That's a matter for a therapist to get out of me. And my therapy has always been comedy stages and typing words here. Which are better than free; they pay the bills. 

All I know for sure is from then through eight grade, I was in a bad place. I had friends in school. And I was able to make them laugh. But for the most part, I went straight home after, turned on the TV, read books, ate garbage, and that pretty much sums up that section of my formative years. I became that fat kid who can't decide whether to wear a t-shirt at the beach in order to hide my moobs, or if keeping it on merely drew attention to my general state of pudginess. 

Worse, I was an introvert. My mom, even in her grief, was the kindest, most caring human God has placed on this Earth since his own Son. And yet I have clear memories of her lashing out in frustration about me constantly moping around doing nothing. Hell, even Winston the Wonderdog stopped getting excited when I got home the way he was with my brothers and sister, he was so sick of my shit. 

What changed my direction was football. Specifically, freshman football. No one told me to join. So no even encouraged me. None of the school friends I hung out with wanted anything to do with it. But for reasons I can't recall, it was something I at least wanted to try.

By no means was I a gifted athlete. I was as small as anyone on the team. I'm sure that, along with some huge linemen, I was among the slowest. On a winless Weymouth South Junior High (our middle school was grades 7-9, the high school was 10-12) squad. At practice they would stick me where you tend to put the lesser athletes if part of your goal is to keep them alive, which is at safety. As far from the trenches as possible.

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But I lasted the season. Largely due to the fact at that level, they didn't have cuts. But mainly because I was determined to stick it out to the end. Despite the physical punishment, the sort of mental and emotional abuse you get from the coaches and the star athtletes, and the fact it was five days a week after school and an optional Saturday captains' practice, I saw it through. 

What I got in the deal was immeasurable. Way worth the bruising, the fear of getting drilled by someone twice my size, or the embarrassment of being told how much I suck by some future captain of the high school team. I worked off the flab at the same time I hit a growth spurt and went from short and fat to way too skinny, and had to learn to put on weight. Which was a great problem to have. And I learned the confidence that comes from knowing you can take physical punishment and keep coming back for more. That small factor changed my life more than anything. Once on a Saturday we were so short of bodies they stuck me at middle linebacker in a 5-3 front. The practice was mainly about the two guards - one who was a future Marine and the other was 300 pounds at age 14 - double teaming me. After about the 20th time I took the hits and got back up, I heard one say to the other, "He's a gaybo (that was a big word back then), but he's tough." That one comment, which I wasn't supposed to hear, was worth more to me than all the walk-off home runs and buzzer beater jumpers any All State, All Scholastic star athlete ever got celebrated for.

This is the part where the hard skulled coach notices how hard his weakest player is working, sees there he's got something special inside him and decides to reward the lad by giving him his shot. But this isn't a Disney movie. And if it was, they'd race- and gender-swap the Jerry character for a non-binary girl of color who not only wins the big game, she also captures First Prize in the Science Fair. What I got instead was a steady stream of frustration with the way I got trucked during pit drills and Oklahomas. And on at least one occasion, the head coach told me I was one bad drill away from getting my practice uniform taken away. He had to say "practice," because there was no game day jersey for me. I did find one in the equipment room that had no numbers on it. So out of my allowance I went to the mall and had 48 put on there for my favorite Patriot of the time, Tim Fox:

George Gojkovich. Getty Images.

But I'll be damned if after the last game, that guy didn't pull me into his office, shake my hand, and give me a speech about how having heart is worth more than being the biggest, strongest or fastest athlete. And how proud I ought to be for toughing it out. I won't recite it here, or recount what the assistant coach added. But believe me, I remember every word. And how I felt walking home that night. Hell, how I felt on that last day being able to wear my jersey to class, because I'd earned it. I'd paid for it. With some of my own money, granted. But also with work, commitment, and refusing to quit. 

This has gone on way too long. But it's important to me. And it should be important to the country. Tackle football is ultimately good for kids. It can change their lives the way it did mine. And the way a fun little distraction like Flag football never will. It's why I raised two boys to play it. And it did them as much good as it did me. As long as there's an America, there should be tackle football for American boys. 

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