Granted. You have a series of career ending concussions in your first season.

Granted, but it’s American football and you can’t remember your own children’s names by the time you’re 35 due to CTE.

Granted, you qualified to be on the Special Olympics Soccar team.

Granted, but all the corruption finally catches up to FIFA and the organisation crumbles. Professional games may resume at some point in the future, but it’s uncertain; first, your contract falls through, and eventually all players are forced into their “backup career”. Football is no longer televised, and all you can find are pickup games down the local green.

Granted. A large portion of your salary goes to private acting classes to better feign injury when being tackled.

Granted. It’s minor league. You make 40k a year. This, just barely, is a living wage. You never have enough to save. If you are ever injured, you will be destitute, both from the lack of income and the medical bills. The stress from it eats away at you. You start playing less aggressively to avoid that scenario. Eventually, you’re at the bottom of the second string. You rarely are on the field. No glory, no enjoyment, no camaraderie with your teammates after a great play. Just a paycheck that barely keeps you alive, if you call that living.

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