The NFL Doesn’t Care About Women: Let’s Stop Pretending They Do.
By Trinity Barnette
The Game I Love, The League I Don’t
Before anything else, let me be clear: I’m a football fan. A real one. I know the game, I know the teams, I know the culture. I watch religiously on Sundays. I celebrate wins, scream at losses, and study stats like gospel.
But loving football doesn’t mean I have to stay silent about the league that governs it. In fact, it’s because I love the game that I feel obligated to speak.
The NFL has a long, ugly history of protecting men accused of violence, abuse, and sexual assault. And the worst part? It keeps happening. No suspensions. No transparency. No consequences.
You can get fined $10,000 for wearing the wrong cleats.
But if you’re accused of rape?
Suit up, king. You’re starting Sunday.
“Innocent until proven guilty” doesn’t mean “protected until proven guilty.” If the NFL had any integrity, they’d suspend these men until the truth is discovered—not reward them with playtime and million-dollar endorsements in the meantime.
A Legacy Written in Silenced Women
The league wants us to believe these are isolated incidents.
They’re not.
Here are just a few names on the ever-growing list:
• Deshaun Watson: Over 20 women accused him of sexual misconduct. The Browns gave him a $230 million fully guaranteed contract anyway—the biggest in NFL history at the time.
• Ben Roethlisberger: Accused of sexual assault on two separate occasions. Served a brief suspension. Came back, won games, and was celebrated like nothing happened.
• Darren Sharper: Convicted of drugging and raping multiple women across multiple states. A once-celebrated figure, now rightfully disgraced.
• Antonio Brown: Faced multiple accusations of sexual assault and misconduct. Continued to play until he became a “distraction.”
• Tyreek Hill: Broke his own child’s arm. Still praised for his “explosive playmaking.”
• Jim Brown: Had repeated domestic violence allegations. The NFL named an award after him.
• Greg Hardy: Threw his girlfriend onto a bed full of loaded guns. Played again.
• Ray Rice: Caught on video punching his fiancée. The NFL only acted when the footage went viral.
That list should horrify you.
It should anger you.
And worst of all? It’s incomplete.
What Accountability Could Actually Look Like
The NFL doesn’t need another PR campaign. It needs policy change.
Here’s what that looks like:
• Immediate Suspensions for any player or staff member accused of sexual misconduct—pending a full, independent investigation. Not a quiet team inquiry behind closed doors.
• Lifetime Bans for anyone found guilty. Talent should never be a shield from justice.
• Independent Oversight Committees to remove power from the league when handling abuse allegations.
• Mandatory Consent & Prevention Education for every player, coach, and team official.
• Survivor Support Programs backed by partnerships with organizations like RAINN—not performative hashtags during Sexual Assault Awareness Month.
These are not radical demands. They are bare minimums.
The NFL Isn’t Just Failing Women—It’s Choosing To
Let me be clear: I don’t believe every accused player is automatically guilty.
But I do believe survivors deserve to be taken seriously from the moment they come forward.
“Innocent until proven guilty” is a legal standard. But integrity is a choice.
And the NFL chooses silence, power, and profit every single time.
Every time the league turns a blind eye, it sends a message:
That fame matters more than accountability.
That touchdowns outweigh trauma.
That abuse is negotiable if you play well enough.
The NFL is not just complicit—it’s responsible.
And until it faces real consequences, I’ll keep calling it out.
No more pink gloves in October.
No more breast cancer fundraisers while you ignore sexual violence.
No more pretending this league stands for anything.
You either protect women—or you protect abusers.
The NFL made its choice.
Now it’s our turn.
