Over the past decade, the NFL has incorporated more and more overt militaristic pageantry into its games.
Air Force jets scream past stadia, trailing smoke in choreographed fly-overs. Soldiers unfurl gigantic Stars and Stripes flags across fields before the national anthem. Television cameras linger on stoic Marines in impeccable dress blues, standing sentry pitch-side. Jumbotron screens flash up poignant images of returned veterans, thrilled just to be sitting in the stands. At each turn, crowds applaud and cheer, wanting to acknowledge individuals serving their country in time of war and appreciating the league for giving them the chance to do so.
Apart from alienating that portion of the American population that doesn’t see why sport and the military-industrial complex need to mix like this in the first place, it turns out these sort of spectacles are actually bought-and-paid-for commercial enterprises.
Far from wanting to honour the men and women in uniform for their sacrifice, the clubs are simply turning a buck, using them as expensive props.
Last week it emerged that, between 2011 and 2014, the United States department of defence paid 14 different NFL teams $5.4 million from the public coffers to run events like “Hometown Heroes”, highlighting the presence of soldiers recently reunited with their loved ones. The fact clubs didn’t reveal they received tax payers’ money to stage these often emotional cameos has angered fans (who felt patriotic teams were just giving back to those who fought) and politicians (any abuse of the government purse being a legitimate reason to carp).
This has prompted a larger debate about how much the armed services spend on sports-related promotions they believe serve as excellent recruitment tools. Up until last year, the National Guard alone was doling out an estimated $30 million per season sponsoring Dale Earnhardt jnr in Nascar.
Meanwhile, the Air Force performs over 1,000 flyovers a year in the belief that the sight of the planes whirring past impressively will inspire young men and women to sign up to serve.
The whole brouhaha has also brought the relatively recent and, by now, rampant militarisation of American professional sport into sharpened focus.
"During World War II, team owners introduced the national anthem and ceremonies honouring the armed forces as a way to win President Franklin Roosevelt's support for continuing play amid the conflict," wrote Tricia Jenkins, Professor of Film and Television at Texas Christian University, who has studied the history of this curious phenomenon. "The weekend after President John F Kennedy's assassination in 1963, NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle inserted moments of silence and flag ceremonies into his league's games.
"The small flag decals on many athletes' uniforms arose from basketball and football organisers' desire to show unified support for the Persian Gulf War. And God Bless America has replaced or supplemented Take Me Out to the Ballgame during baseball's seventh inning stretch; the New York Yankees introduced this tradition after the terrorist attacks of 9/11, 2001 . . . What comes next? Navy Seals sneaking through the bleachers to deliver free pizzas? Beer sold in combat-boot-shaped cups? Or maybe miniature drones dropping T-shirts onto the crowds below?"
Military Monday
For their clash with the St Louis Cardinals at Citi Field three nights ago, the New York Mets swapped their usual white jerseys with blue pinstripes for camouflage shirts and caps. They wore these uniforms for Military Monday, a new initiative designed to honour servicemen and women. Active or retired soldiers will get in free to games on that day throughout the season and one will be chosen to throw out the ceremonial first pitch.
With a general manager Sandy Alderson who did a tour of duty in Vietnam, the Mets can claim a special affinity for the armed forces. However, the practice of clubs adopting camo uniforms divides even veterans. For every one who appreciates the noble intent of the gesture, there is another who regards multi-millionaire athletes prancing about in faux combat gear as trite, tokenistic and kind of offensive.
In 2011, the San Diego Padres became the first professional club in any sport to establish a dedicated military affairs department. Based in a city synonymous with the US Navy, 13 of the Padres's home games this season have specific themes such as "Military Spouse Appreciation Night", "Salute to the Military Child" and "Marine Corps Appreciation Day".
Depending on your viewpoint, these are either ways of recognising the underpaid soldiers or gauche attempts to exploit them for the good of a sports brand. Some might even argue they are a bit of both.
Ben Fountain's excellent 2012 novel Billy Lynn's Long Half-Time Walk is, among other things, about what happens when a group of Iraq War veterans are guests of honour at a Dallas Cowboys' NFL game on Thanksgiving.
At one point, the soldiers are asked to film a video message for the fans. Surrounded by cheerleaders, a character called Dime is charged with delivering the script to camera.
“Bravo Squad would like to wish you and your family a very happy Thanksgiving,” says Dime, before then veering seriously off-message. “And to our brothers and sisters out in the field, we say: ‘Shoot first! Shoot straight! Punish the deserving! Yaah, go Cowboys!’ ”
Fountain’s book works so well since, as that excerpt suggests, the intersection of sport and the military is so bizarre, and also, perhaps, as we have now learned, because the truth about the relationship between the two is even stranger than fiction.
