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of a motel room so hard that she banged against a wall.
    Most of the Twitter chatter has centered on Duerson’s remembrance that Buddy Ryan, his defensive coordinator with the Chicago Bears, told him, “I don’t like smart niggers.” (Ryan denies it.)
    In a similar motif, I got an email yesterday from a journalist who read my interview with Brent Boyd and said that Boyd’s depiction of Duerson diverged from the journalist’s own, which is that of a forceful union guy who clashed not only with Ryan but also with then head coach of the Bears, Mike Ditka. Decades later, Ditka is a vocal critic of what the NFL Players Association has failed to do for disabled ex-players, and the journalist says this is a chapter in a long-running narrative with racial overtones.
    My own view is that race is not terribly pertinent to concussion syndrome, except perhaps to the extent African Americans are wildly oversubscribed to the entire sports dream machine. This includes, by the way, the current president of the United States, who upon taking office proclaimed his No. 1 sports priority to be the institution of a college football championship tournament to replace the current Bowl Championship Series. Some of the reasons for the racialization of athletics indeed touch on the great open wound of our national experience. But Dave Duerson’s occupational hardships with redneck coaches aren’t very illuminating on the subject of brain trauma in gladiator divertissement. He did fine for himself until about five years ago when finances, family affairs, and cognitive function all turned sour.
    Recognizing that the Deadspin article is only an excerpt, I emailed author Trucks two days ago, asking if the full transcript and/or audio of his conversation with Duerson would be made available. Trucks did not respond.
    25 February 2011..........
    In covering Dave Duerson’s suicide pointedly, I mean no disrespect to the memory of someone who, according to many people who knew him, was a good guy. I never met the man myself. But my research on the murder-suicide of wrestler Chris Benoit and its offshoots has turned me into a lay Ph.D. candidate on the ugly personality changes, loss of emotional control, and sheer cognitive deterioration that are hallmarks of chronic traumatic encephalopathy — from which Duerson, like Benoit and so many others, may be proved to have suffered.
    So I have specific reasons for resisting the mawkish sentimentality of much of the Duerson media coverage. That coverage reflects the culture we inhabit. It is also perfectly appropriate for family and friends to be eager to keep his legacy positive. For my money, however, such a legacy must be tied to outcomes.
    One such outcome is an adjustment of the record created by Duerson’s work for the NFL retirement and disability board. I checked with Brian McCarthy, the National Football League’s communication director, and he told me that since the February 2007 inception of the 88 Plan, the joint labor-management disability claims committee has received 170 applications. All but 19 have been approved. Eight applications are pending. Eleven have been rejected.
    I am not sure how many of the 11 rejections came during Duerson’s tenure on the committee; I assume all or almost all. (An NFL Players Association spokesman did not respond to inquiries.) Out of respect for his sacrifice and in acknowledgment of what, in retrospect, was his diminished competence, these 11 files should be reopened and reconsidered at once.
    The same should be done for all non–88 Plan claims on which Duerson deliberated. I believe these would include the claims of ex–Minnesota Viking lineman Brent Boyd. (Boyd’s file began in 2000, pre–88 Plan, and may never have referred to that part of the disability benefits program; he claimed football-related mental illness, but I don’t believe that included dementia.)
    The NFL and NFLPA can litigate to