The subtle art of indifference. Roger Goodell and the NFL have applied to Donald Trump and his bravado

Picture this: a crisp autumn Sunday, the roar of the crowd, the smell of grilled brats and spilled beer, all the familiar sensations of an NFL game day. But beneath the surface, a storm was brewing, threatening to engulf America’s most popular sport. It wasn’t about a controversial call or a heated rivalry; no, this was something far more insidious, something that seeped in from the political arena. For years, the spectacle of Donald Trump’s bravado, his unparalleled ability to dominate headlines and command attention, had been a force many found impossible to ignore. His rallies, vivid and often vitriolic, became a stage where he’d castigate anything he deemed un-American, and for a period, the NFL found itself directly in his crosshairs. You could almost hear the collective gasp from league offices when he’d tweet, or the frustrated sighs from team owners as another firestorm erupted.

Yet, amidst this relentless barrage, a fascinating counter-strategy emerged, one that mirrored the psychological jujitsu of ignoring a playground bully. This wasn’t just turning the other cheek; it was a deliberate, almost Zen-like commitment to indifference. It was a masterclass in not feeding the beast, a calculated refusal to validate the attacks with a response. And at the heart of this strategy was Roger Goodell, the Commissioner of the NFL, a man often criticized but, in this particular arena, displayed a quiet resolve that baffled many onlookers. While others in the public eye scrambled to respond to every presidential tweet or rally cry, Goodell and the NFL’s leadership seemed to adopt an unspoken mantra: “We will not play this game.” It was a risky bet, certainly, to deliberately avoid a direct confrontation with one of the most powerful and media-savvy figures on the planet, but it proved to be a stroke of genius, a strategic silence that spoke volumes.

The entire dynamic felt like a high-stakes chess match, played not on a board, but across the sprawling landscape of American media and public opinion. On one side, the relentless, attention-demanding force of a presidency; on the other, the institutional weight of a multi-billion dollar sports league, learning to navigate uncharted waters. How do you respond when the President of the United States calls your players “sons of bitches” for exercising their right to protest? What’s the playbook when your core product, the game itself, becomes a prop in a political culture war? The answers, as we would come to see, lay not in fighting fire with fire, but in something far more subtle and, ultimately, far more effective: the strategic application of indifference.

The Gathering Storm: Trump’s Challenge to the NFL

It began subtly, then escalated dramatically. Remember those early days of player protests during the national anthem? Colin Kaepernick kneeling, a solitary act of defiance against racial injustice, quickly morphed into a national debate. But when Donald Trump entered the fray, his rhetoric turned the controversy into an inferno. At a rally in Alabama in September 2017, he famously declared, “Wouldn’t you love to see one of these NFL owners, when somebody disrespects our flag, to say, ‘Get that son of a bitch off the field right now. Out! He’s fired! He’s fired!'” The crowd roared its approval, a potent mixture of patriotism and anger filling the night air. It wasn’t just a comment; it was a direct challenge, a gauntlet thrown down at the feet of the league’s owners and Roger Goodell.

The impact was immediate and widespread. Players, owners, and fans were forced to choose sides. The league, initially, seemed to stumble, offering a mix of condemnations of Trump’s language and attempts to find a middle ground. “Our players are not ‘sons of bitches,'” shot back NFLPA Executive Director DeMaurice Smith, reflecting the raw anger felt by many athletes. But the president’s bravado didn’t stop there. His Twitter feed became a relentless stream of criticism, targeting everything from declining ratings (often falsely attributed) to the very patriotism of the players. It was a masterclass in media manipulation, designed to keep the NFL constantly on the defensive, forcing them to react to his every pronouncement. “It felt like a continuous gut punch,” recalled one former team executive, who preferred to remain anonymous, “Every Monday, you’d wake up wondering what new battleground Trump had declared.”

Initial Reactions and the Path Not Taken

Initially, some within the league advocated for a more aggressive stance. “There were definitely voices, loud ones, saying we needed to punch back,” a former league public relations staffer confided during a quiet moment in a bustling New York coffee shop. “But Goodell held firm. He believed that engaging directly would only legitimize the attacks and escalate the conflict.” Imagine the pressure on Roger Goodell at that time. He’s navigating disgruntled owners, angry players, a politically divided fanbase, and the constant, overwhelming noise from the Oval Office. It would have been so easy to lash out, to issue strongly worded press releases every time a tweet dropped. Many expected it, even demanded it. After all, isn’t that how you deal with a bully? You stand up to them. But Goodell, it seems, understood something deeper about the nature of Donald Trump’s bravado: it thrives on reaction, on being the center of attention, even negative attention. The path of direct confrontation, however tempting, was seen as a trap, a way to further politicize the game and alienate a significant portion of the audience.

Goodell’s Calculated Calm: The Art of Strategic Indifference

This is where the “subtle art of indifference” truly began to take shape. Instead of directly refuting every presidential tweet or rally comment, Roger Goodell and the NFL’s leadership adopted a strategy of strategic silence, punctuated by measured, often vague, statements that reaffirmed the league’s values without ever naming the instigator. It was a remarkable pivot. They weren’t ignoring the issue entirely – that would have been impossible and irresponsible – but they refused to engage on Trump’s terms. They spoke about unity, about respect for the flag, about the importance of community work done by players, deftly steering the conversation back to football and its positive impact, rather than getting mired in political mudslinging. It was like watching a skilled martial artist redirecting an opponent’s force rather than meeting it head-on.

Consider the official statements from the league. They often read like diplomatic communiqués, carefully crafted to acknowledge the complexities of the issue (player protests) while steadfastly refusing to be drawn into the personal attacks. “Goodell understood that the longer you allow someone to define the narrative through direct engagement, the harder it is to reclaim your own message,” explained Dr. Evelyn Reed, a communications expert at a major university. “He saw that feeding the beast only made it hungrier. His silence, paradoxically, was a powerful form of communication.” This wasn’t passive surrender; it was active disengagement. It was a deliberate choice to deny Trump’s bravado the oxygen of direct opposition. The Commissioner would sometimes release statements expressing “respect for the flag and our country” while also acknowledging the “important social justice issues” that players were raising. This nuanced approach aimed to satisfy multiple constituencies without directly fueling the political fire.

The Business Acumen Behind the Silence

At its core, the NFL’s strategic indifference was not just about maintaining an image; it was fundamentally a business decision. The NFL is a multi-billion dollar enterprise, and prolonged, highly divisive political drama is bad for business. It affects sponsorship deals, viewership numbers, and ultimately, the bottom line. “You have to remember, the NFL’s primary product is entertainment,” an analyst for a major sports network pointed out during a live broadcast, leaning into the camera with a serious expression. “When politics overshadows the game, people tune out. Goodell’s job is to protect that product, even from the highest office.” The league needed to ensure that Sunday remained about touchdowns and rivalries, not presidential decrees or Twitter feuds. This focus on the purity of the game, even if an idealized version, became their shield.

The internal pressures must have been immense. Some owners, particularly those with strong political leanings, might have wanted a more forceful response, either in support of the President or in defense of their players. Other owners, perhaps more centrist, simply wanted the controversy to disappear. Players, especially those feeling marginalized, yearned for unequivocal support from the league. It was a tightrope walk for league leadership, requiring incredible discipline to maintain a unified front of calm. “It was like trying to keep a dozen restless elephants walking in a straight line,” an anonymous source close to the league’s operations remarked, shaking his head slightly. “Everyone had an opinion, but Goodell’s message was consistent: stick to the game, let the noise pass.”

Shaping the Media Narrative: Starving the Beast

For a while, the media struggled with the NFL’s non-response. Journalists thrive on conflict, on quotes, on reactions. When Roger Goodell offered only carefully worded statements, or simply no comment at all on the latest presidential broadside, it left a void. Initially, some characterized it as weakness or indecision. But gradually, a different narrative began to emerge. Reporters started to notice the consistency, the discipline. “The NFL is simply refusing to play Trump’s game,” wrote one prominent sportswriter, capturing the growing understanding. This shift in the media narrative was crucial. By denying Donald Trump’s bravado a direct target, the league effectively disarmed a significant portion of his attacks. Without a tangible response to fuel the fire, the stories eventually began to wane, replaced by actual football news.

It’s important to understand that this wasn’t about ignoring the legitimate concerns raised by players. The league did engage with players on social justice initiatives, forming committees and allocating funds. But this engagement happened largely behind closed doors, or in controlled public announcements that focused on solutions rather than political spats. This separation was key: address the core issues without dignifying the politically charged attacks. This compartmentalization was another facet of their sophisticated public relations strategy. It allowed them to maintain credibility with their players and social advocates, while simultaneously deflecting the external political interference. “It’s a tough balance,” said a PR consultant who has advised several sports leagues, “to show empathy and action on social issues, while simultaneously projecting an image of steadfastness against political opportunism. The NFL managed it with surprising finesse.”

The Long Game of Disengagement and its Legacy

In hindsight, the NFL’s strategic indifference appears to have been remarkably successful. While the initial period was tumultuous, the league largely weathered the storm. Viewership eventually stabilized, sponsorship deals remained robust, and the focus, slowly but surely, returned to the gridiron. Had the NFL engaged in a tit-for-tat with Donald Trump, the league might have found itself in a prolonged, unwinnable war of words, constantly pulled into the political fray. Instead, by refusing to be drawn in, they demonstrated a powerful principle: sometimes, the strongest response is no response at all. “Many people thought it was cowardly,” mused a political commentator on a news panel, “but in the long run, it proved to be an incredibly shrewd move. Indifference can be a weapon against someone who thrives on attention.”

This approach offers a fascinating case study in managing powerful, attention-seeking figures. When faced with relentless bravado and attempts at political interference, the default instinct is often to fight back. But the NFL, under Roger Goodell, showed that there’s another way: a disciplined, sustained refusal to play the game on the opponent’s terms. It’s a testament to the power of strategic withdrawal, of understanding that not every battle needs to be fought directly. The league understood that Trump’s bravado was a performance, and the best way to critique a performance is often to deny it an audience. This doesn’t mean ignoring criticism or legitimate issues, but rather choosing the battlefield wisely, and sometimes, choosing not to fight at all.

The legacy of this period for the NFL is complex. It highlighted the deep divisions in America, and how easily cultural institutions can become battlegrounds. But it also showcased the resilience of the league and the unexpected strength found in a disciplined approach to crisis management. The subtle art of indifference, as applied by Roger Goodell and the NFL, wasn’t about apathy; it was about strategic self-preservation, a sophisticated understanding of media dynamics, and a commitment to keeping the focus on the game. It was a powerful lesson in how to navigate an era of unprecedented political noise, by simply refusing to amplify it.