Brave Boyd is shining a light on a dark place
FOOTBALL is not yet a safe space. And young men are dying as a result. There is no intention here to sensationalise a problem of real and serious import. But there are times when people need to be shaken out of their complacency. This is one of those occasions.
Kris Boyd’s decision to launch a mental health charity, inspired by the suicide of younger brother Scott in September 2016, has already achieved the first target on his list.
Simply by opening up, the Kilmarnock striker has started a conversation.
Now to keep everyone talking about issues that, quite frankly, make most of us feel deeply uncomfortable.
As Boyd himself stresses, the problems of young male suicide, substance abuse, alcoholism, gambling addictions and other self-prescribed ‘remedies’ to depression go way beyond the artificial world of football.
His aim is to reach out to anyone in trouble. And to use the game as a platform for change.
When up and running alongside existing charities and NHS resources, the Boyd organisation is unlikely to be short of potential callers from all walks of life.
Yet no one can deny that sport struggles more than many employment sectors when it comes to identifying and addressing even dangerous mental health problems.
Football remains a bastion of masculinity in a working world where, increasingly, HR experts and line managers are at least expected to be ultra-sensitive to the signs of a crisis.
Associations, players’ unions and clubs have gradually been waking up to the problem in recent years. All have responded in a heartening manner.
They have been helped enormously by incredibly brave people coming forward to speak about an issue still misunderstood by so many.
Those within the game man enough to own up to their struggles, such as Neil Lennon, did some real good.
Families of footballers so lost and helpless that they took their own lives, meanwhile, have shown enormous strength to raise their voices in warning and sympathy.
Here in Scotland, the PFA do good work on player welfare. And all SFA coaching courses, beyond a certain level, include input from experts on both physical and mental health.
Yet still many footballers will tell you that they wouldn’t dream of opening up about anxiety, depression or even the most serious concerns for fear of being considered weak. Odd. Not the right type for a relegation battle or a championship challenge.
The chances of a player being listened to without prejudice remain something of a lottery.
Because the tone of a dressing room is set by the manager, his coaches and — crucially — the senior pros. They, not the most well-meaning chief executive or freelance mindfulness consultant, decide whether a team culture allows room for anything other than raw meat, brutal humour and an all-lads-together spirit high on camaraderie but low on sensitivity.
Whenever you are tempted to get all misty-eyed about the glory of ‘old school’ gaffers and skippers, remember that the best always will — and always have — understood the need to treat people as, well, people.
Everything we know about mental health tells us that seeking help, even in the most apparently supportive of environments, is an incredibly difficult first step for anyone struggling.
Now imagine you are a 17-yearold footballer just afforded a place in the inner sanctum of the first-team dressing room.
You’ve been teased but the old guys like you. The manager admires your ability and determination.
How do you tell any of them that there are days when you can barely get out of bed. Times when ending it all seems easier than carrying on.
Consider the same scenario only involving a 29-year-old veteran unanimously seen as a dressing-room leader. How does he let down ‘the lads’ by admitting to vulnerability?
Quite apart from worrying about how such a chat might impact on their career, there is a natural human aversion — particularly on these shores, especially among the menfolk — to creating an awkward situation. We are conditioned not to burden others with our own private problems.
What is really required is encouragement, open minds and several open doors for any player courageous enough to take that first step.
No, it’s maybe not fair to expect head coaches to be therapists, mentors and father figures, as well as tactical masterminds and training-ground dynamos.
But, somewhere along the line, the game itself has to find a way of evolving.
For those who doubt that this is possible, remember that footballers used to take injections straight into the joints, leaving many of them crippled in later life.
There was a time, too, when even suggesting a link between heading the ball and dementia would have seen you dismissed as a panic merchant.
Now players feel emboldened enough to take control of their own medical treatment, while all but the most reactionary in football are waking up to the risk of head trauma.
In time, the stigma surrounding mental health will also be lifted. Of that you can be certain.
Football is not yet a safe space. But, thanks to a few brave campaigners like Boyd, it will be. One day.