Pope Roger I: Roger Goodell's First Five Years as NFL Commissioner

The conclave met in seclusion, locked away from the their world of devout followers. The cadre’s most influential members were charged with deciding who would lead their congregation. Millions of followers awaited word of their selection outside the building and in front of their televisions with bated breath. Only occasional puffs of smoke offered news of progress in the proceedings. The members of the conclave cast their votes anonymously, and only with a unanimous decision did their chosen successor ascend to power.

This was not a scene from the Vatican, but from the Chicago area’s Renaissance Hotel in August of 2006, and only after the 32 owners of the National Football League cast their fifth set of ballots did they agree unanimously. Chief operating officer Roger Goodell was then anointed as the next commissioner of the most powerful sports league on planet Earth. (Sure, we took a little creative license referring to Chris Mortensen’s reports as "puffs of smoke," but just a little.)

It might seem ridiculous to compare the offices of NFL commissioner and the pope. After all, the papacy is a sacred, centuries-old position of leadership in the Catholic Church. But the commissioner’s office has its own history of fighting corruption among its followers and persecution from outsiders as well. And Goodell, as the red-headed son of a U.S. senator who first walked into the NFL’s offices as an intern nearly 30 years ago, might find the comparison appropriate.

Today marks the fifth anniversary of Goodell’s pro football papacy, and his has been an interesting one. One could argue that no commissioner has directly influenced the culture of his sport since baseball’s Kennesaw Mountain Landis nearly a century ago. Not only has Goodell presided over the NFL’s annual invasion of Europe and the rise of several new stadiums here in the states, but the senator’s son has also shaped the behavior of the league’s nearly 2,000 players through both conventional and controversial means.

The 52-year-old Goodell has become known for his unwavering tone in how he discusses developments in the game; he believes what he says, and then expects you to do the same. The suggestion of an NFL team in Europe in 10 years was not too bold for Goodell. The insistence of his congregation’s desire for an 18-game regular season during the summer’s CBA negotiations was not too stubborn. And punishing players for off-the-field transgressions was certainly not too righteous.

The NFL’s controversial Personal Conduct Policy will almost certainly overshadow anything Goodell does through the remainder of his tenure. The commissioner’s unilateral persecution of players running afoul of the law was generally well-received. Sports fans had seen the NBA’s image tarnished, perhaps irreparably, by a few bad apples, and seeing privileged athletes forced into atonement certainly had some short-term appeal.

It’s open for debate to say whether Goodell runs the NFL with an iron hand or with slight-of-hand. Like so many other reformations in history, the leadership left itself open to cries of hypocrisy. Goodell’s "destruction" of the Spygate tapes in 2007 and his recent leniency toward Brett Favre in a sexual harassment scandal involving the New York Jets illustrated a curious double-standard.

Favoritism of the New York Giants was alleged when Goodell awarded that team the first regular-season game in the stadium they and the Jets share. Goodell claimed that the decision was made by a private coin flip. Despite both the Jets’ and Giants’ offices being within driving distance of Goodell’s Park Avenue parapet, neither team was present for it.

Last year, the reformation found its way to the field last season in a cascade of fines levied against defensive players for helmet-to-helmet contact with "defenseless" opponents. The league’s discipline system with these hits was and still is a black box, with no clear criteria for which hits qualify for punishment or how severe the fines will be. The outrage that ensued—especially from ESPN analyst and 12-year NFL vet Mark Schlereth—raised alarm that the league was moving away from the physical attributes that made it so popular.

So Goodell’s mantra of acting in the best interests of the game is, like so many other religious edicts, open to interpretation. How is the game better served by suspending Terrelle Pryor, a player who had broken no laws and had yet to even sign with an NFL team? How is the game better served when teams demand public funding for stadiums in our current economy, especially as Los Angeles prepares to steal away one (or two) of those same teams?  

Goodell seems content to demand obedience from his disciples—players and fans alike—while overlooking his fellow owners gouging the communities that they claim to support. The rising PSL culture from new stadium building has created social castes among fanbases in all 31 NFL cities. The average American is fortunate if he can see live football on one Sunday per year, but with the prominence of HDTV, stadium patdowns and recent outbreaks of fan violence, one would wonder if that’s such a bad thing.

Goodell’s contract was quietly renewed in February, a development lost in all of the CBA madness. Despite taking salary cuts in the middle of his first deal—for show, some would say—Goodell stands to clear $10 million in annual compensation. That seems high for, at first blush, a guy with zero career touchdowns, but when measured against MLB boss Bud Selig’s $17 million salary, the NFL has itself a servant of servants. And as long as the millions of loyal followers file in to worship every Sunday, Goodell’s pigskin papacy could turn out to be a lifelong term.