Ngata PED Ban Shows Why All NFL Discipline Should Work Like New Drug Policy

In an instant, the surprising news raced around the sports world. It was quickly emblazoned across banners of every major sports website and embedded in millions of smartphone push notifications.

Baltimore Ravens defensive lineman Haloti Ngata had been suspended four games for violating the performance-enhancing drugs section of the NFL's substance abuse policy.

There was no hint this was coming. There were no leaks, no rumors, no prior character questions vaguely hanging over Ngata's head. All most NFL fans knew about the five-time Pro Bowler was that he's the explosive, disruptive, 335-pound beating heart of the nasty Ravens defense, and his "g" is silent.

According to Aaron Wilson of The Baltimore Sun, the Ravens were just as surprised to hear about this as their fans were:

Ngata then took a bold step. In a statement released by the team, he admitted exactly what he'd done.

"I made a mistake," he said, according to the team's official site, "and I own this." Unlike many athletes who've vaguely hinted at testing errors, procedural snafus or a medical situation (that didn't involve a doctor signing a Therapeutic Use Exemption) after testing positive for PEDs, Ngata came clean.

"I took Adderall and take full responsibility for doing this," he said. "I am deeply sorry and broken up over this. I let down my family, my teammates, Ravens fans and myself."

Thanks to the NFL's collectively bargained substance abuse policy, Ngata, the Ravens and football fans everywhere know exactly what will happen next: Ngata will be suspended four games, meaning he'll miss the rest of the 2014 regular season.

"My hope," Ngata said, "is that the Ravens make the playoffs." Should they, Ngata will walk back onto the field like nothing ever happened. Per Wilson, Ngata will be training in Utah for the rest of the season, so he'll be ready if needed.

Should Ngata ever make this same mistake again, he'll be suspended for 10 games. A third PED strike would mean banishment from the NFL, with a least a year's wait before he can apply for reinstatement.

That's it. It's over.

There won't be any call-in talk show vitriol. There won't be any hammer-swinging, second-guessing or heavy-handed morality debates. League sponsors won't nervously quiver in the shadows while the top executive of their most visible ad partner grits his teeth and tries to defuse another PR landmine.

The celebrity gossip rags, 24-hour news channels and daytime talk shows won't have anything to say about Ngata, NFL commissioner Roger Goodell or the state of the NFL in response to this incident.

Isn't it great?

Imagine how different this NFL season would be if the suspensions of Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson had been subject to this kind of policy.

The visibility of their admitted crimes has pushed forward the national conversation surrounding violence against women and children. It's a subject on which national conversation is desperately needed—but that's where the focus should be, not on how or how heavily their employer will punish them.

Instead of spending almost the entire season going around in circles about whether Goodell is right or wrong, within his rights or overreaching, we could be talking about how to help both victims and perpetrators of violent abuse break the cycle.

Instead of some of the best football reporters in the business killing time outside law offices and courtrooms while league and union officials tromp in and out of appeals hearings and arbitration meetings, they could be reporting about, you know, football.

The NFL has been anxious to improve our perception of Goodell's leadership on this issue. It's announced tough new domestic violence penalties and hired a panel of domestic violence experts to serve as advisors.

Those moves haven't moved the needle much.

Deadspin's Barry Petchesky pointed out the new punishments boil down to a vaguely worded, hedged promise that Goodell will be more harsh when deciding punishments he already had unilateral discretion in and unquestioned authority over.

Slate's Amanda Hess was "cynical" about the change the NFL's domestic violence advisers could effect, since NFL PR flaks stifled her attempts to get on-the-record quotes from them about the new rules.

It's often hard for powerful people to admit they've made a mistake and even harder for them to admit somebody else could do something better. But how many times does Goodell have to fail to "get it right" before he realizes he shouldn't be messing around with off-field punishments at all?

It's his job to "protect the shield," but we're long past the point when the familiar cycle of offense, speculation, wait, announcement, backlash, appeal and backpedal is doing more harm to the shield than good.

Roger Goodell is amazing at making the owners money. Wouldn't they rather he spend his time and effort doing that? Something he's actually good at? Something actually in his job description? Isn't it time to end the charade that he can prevent NFL employees from being human with ever-escalating suspensions and fines?

It's long past time—so long past, he's finally realized it himself.

Mark Maske of The Washington Post reported that NFL lead counsel Jeff Pash informed the NFLPA the league is willing to let "someone other than the Commissioner or his designee" make disciplinary decisions, though they still want Goodell to have power over appeals.

As Maske wrote, "it is not clear" whether the NFL needs the union's permission, or even input, to change the personal conduct policy. But as torturous of a process as negotiations over the new substance-abuse policy were, the end result is nearly flawless: strict but fair, confidential but transparent, collaboratively designed but independently administrated.

It's time for Goodell to hang up his sheriff's badge, judge's robe and executioner's hood. The NFL and NFLPA need to sit down and work out a new conduct policy that can handle cases like Rice's as cleanly, clearly and concisely as cases like Ngata's.