Motorcycle riders talk about the feeling of freedom they have when they ride without a helmet. There is nothing that can compare with this ultimate sense of liberation. The power of the wind on their faces, the myriad scents that fill their nostrils, the bugs that stick in their teeth.
Ask any testosterone poisoned rider about the rush that comes with
helmet-free cruising at over a hundred miles an hour, weaving in and
out of traffic.
Death seems like such a small price to pay for the thrill.
Playing professional football, on the other hand, must make a guy feel
like a big damn sissy by comparison. Players not only have to wear
helmets, they're protected with faceguards and mouthgards. And the
fastest they can go is a slow 20 some miles an hour for a measly
hundred yards. Their "rush" only comes in four and five yard
increments. And someone is always there trying to stop them. Not fun.
So is it any wonder that Big Ben, the youngest quarterback to win a
Super Bowl, risked his 14 millliion dollar paycheck to embrace a target
rich opportunity to ride a crotch rocket without some damn helmet to
get between him and his quest to feed his need for speed?
I hope he enjoyed it.
Actually I just hope he can remember it.