Post by Purple Pain on Jul 30, 2021 11:24:28 GMT -6
Twenty summers ago, a healthy NFL star died after practice on a scorching day at the Minnesota Vikings' training camp. The words still sting and baffle in equal measure. Korey Stringer's sudden death at age 27 was not from a heart attack, a broken neck or an undetected genetic malady. The offensive tackle succumbed to complications from exertional heatstroke, an avoidable and easily treated condition that sports medicine largely ignored at the time.
The 20th anniversary of Stringer's death on Aug. 1, 2001, will bring a new round of pain to his family and friends. They will take comfort, however, in knowing that their tragedy changed the world.
Almost immediately, football programs at all levels began reevaluating outdated notions of heat conditioning, hydration and the psychology of pushing through physical distress. "It gave them permission to use common sense," his widow, Kelci Stringer, said this summer.
The 2010 founding of the Korey Stringer Institute (KSI) -- a partnership between Kelci, agent Jimmy Gould, the NFL, the University of Connecticut and Gatorade -- has accelerated that progress and expanded it into new sectors. In part because of the group's advocacy and research, reported deaths by exertional heatstroke during sports have dropped 51% over the past decade, based on data compiled by the National Center for Catastrophic Injury Research. A total of 38 states have changed laws or adopted new guidelines to mandate safety protocols, and an estimated 75% of high schools in the country have cold water immersion tubs available to reverse the onset of heat illness, according to Douglas Casa, chief executive officer of KSI and a professor of kinesiology at UConn.
"Any time there is a major change in how society does things, it's typically because somebody died or got hurt in some way, shape or form," said Korey's brother, Kevin Stringer. "I guess Korey's death was my family's turn to pay that cost. It bothers me sometimes if I hear of somebody having a heat-related injury, but I know even if that happens, there is more awareness of what to do. It took a while to get there, but we did."
'A perfect storm of all the worst things'
At the time of his death, Stringer had developed into one of the NFL's best offensive linemen. A first-round pick of the Vikings in 1995, he struggled at times to manage his weight but earned Pro Bowl honors after a stellar season at right tackle in 2000. He reported to the Vikings' 2001 training camp in excellent shape, at 336 pounds, and seemed poised for cultural stardom.
An Esquire magazine profile, reported in the months leading up to his death and published shortly after, was entitled "The Enlightened Man" and described him as "six feet four inches, 340 pounds of supersized, liver-and-onions-eating, deep-thinking, dreadlocked delight."
"He was the guy who made you feel like you were his best friend," said Todd Steussie, a Vikings offensive lineman from 1994 to 2000, "and I guarantee you there were 20 other people on the team that felt the same way. He still pops in my head, to this day, at random times."
Stringer was an unusually prolific sweater, a trait he acknowledged with quirky humor. Esquire writer Jeanne Marie Laskas noted it repeatedly and with haunting premonition. He always carried a towel, she wrote, because if "you've been blessed with an automatic sprinkler system, you should always bring a towel."
The weather at the start of training camp was stifling, especially for Minnesota. Stringer, who in previous years had struggled to acclimate in the early days of camp, vomited three times during the opening practice on July 30. He left early via a cart and joined athletic trainers in an air-conditioned trailer adjacent to the fields at Minnesota State University, Mankato. A photograph of Stringer vomiting appeared in the next morning's (Minneapolis) Star Tribune. He told teammates at the time he was angry and embarrassed, prompting a public narrative that he would later ignore the warning signs of exertional heatstroke to finish his final practice without leaving.
The weather was even worse on July 31, and the heat index -- a measure of what the weather feels like at a given time based on a combination of temperature and humidity -- was nearly 90 degrees when the team took the field in full pads that morning. The Vikings, who played their home games indoors at the Metrodome, practiced as scheduled in the heat. Stringer vomited at least once and left briefly to have his ankle taped but otherwise finished the practice.
According to teammates, Korey Stringer was upset with this photo taken of him at the July 30, 2001, training camp practice, and some believe it played a part in Stringer pushing himself to the point of exertional heatstroke the following day. AP Photo/Minneapolis Star Tribune, Carlos Gonzalez
He soon began showing signs of distress, one of six Vikings players who suffered heat illness that day. During post-practice work, he slipped while hitting a blocking bag and then fell onto his back with his arms over his head, a moment memorialized by a freelance photographer who initially withheld the shot out of respect to Stringer's family. Teammate Matt Birk was one of several who called for medical help, and a recently hired athletic trainer led Stringer to the same air-conditioned trailer he had visited the day before.
Exertional heatstroke was well known to military doctors, who treated it regularly for troops working in desert climates. But diagnosis and intervention techniques hadn't made their way to the NFL. Former commissioner Paul Tagliabue, who retired in 2006, now admits that neither the league nor the Vikings was prepared for what happened next.
The 20th anniversary of Stringer's death on Aug. 1, 2001, will bring a new round of pain to his family and friends. They will take comfort, however, in knowing that their tragedy changed the world.
Almost immediately, football programs at all levels began reevaluating outdated notions of heat conditioning, hydration and the psychology of pushing through physical distress. "It gave them permission to use common sense," his widow, Kelci Stringer, said this summer.
The 2010 founding of the Korey Stringer Institute (KSI) -- a partnership between Kelci, agent Jimmy Gould, the NFL, the University of Connecticut and Gatorade -- has accelerated that progress and expanded it into new sectors. In part because of the group's advocacy and research, reported deaths by exertional heatstroke during sports have dropped 51% over the past decade, based on data compiled by the National Center for Catastrophic Injury Research. A total of 38 states have changed laws or adopted new guidelines to mandate safety protocols, and an estimated 75% of high schools in the country have cold water immersion tubs available to reverse the onset of heat illness, according to Douglas Casa, chief executive officer of KSI and a professor of kinesiology at UConn.
"Any time there is a major change in how society does things, it's typically because somebody died or got hurt in some way, shape or form," said Korey's brother, Kevin Stringer. "I guess Korey's death was my family's turn to pay that cost. It bothers me sometimes if I hear of somebody having a heat-related injury, but I know even if that happens, there is more awareness of what to do. It took a while to get there, but we did."
'A perfect storm of all the worst things'
At the time of his death, Stringer had developed into one of the NFL's best offensive linemen. A first-round pick of the Vikings in 1995, he struggled at times to manage his weight but earned Pro Bowl honors after a stellar season at right tackle in 2000. He reported to the Vikings' 2001 training camp in excellent shape, at 336 pounds, and seemed poised for cultural stardom.
An Esquire magazine profile, reported in the months leading up to his death and published shortly after, was entitled "The Enlightened Man" and described him as "six feet four inches, 340 pounds of supersized, liver-and-onions-eating, deep-thinking, dreadlocked delight."
"He was the guy who made you feel like you were his best friend," said Todd Steussie, a Vikings offensive lineman from 1994 to 2000, "and I guarantee you there were 20 other people on the team that felt the same way. He still pops in my head, to this day, at random times."
Stringer was an unusually prolific sweater, a trait he acknowledged with quirky humor. Esquire writer Jeanne Marie Laskas noted it repeatedly and with haunting premonition. He always carried a towel, she wrote, because if "you've been blessed with an automatic sprinkler system, you should always bring a towel."
The weather at the start of training camp was stifling, especially for Minnesota. Stringer, who in previous years had struggled to acclimate in the early days of camp, vomited three times during the opening practice on July 30. He left early via a cart and joined athletic trainers in an air-conditioned trailer adjacent to the fields at Minnesota State University, Mankato. A photograph of Stringer vomiting appeared in the next morning's (Minneapolis) Star Tribune. He told teammates at the time he was angry and embarrassed, prompting a public narrative that he would later ignore the warning signs of exertional heatstroke to finish his final practice without leaving.
The weather was even worse on July 31, and the heat index -- a measure of what the weather feels like at a given time based on a combination of temperature and humidity -- was nearly 90 degrees when the team took the field in full pads that morning. The Vikings, who played their home games indoors at the Metrodome, practiced as scheduled in the heat. Stringer vomited at least once and left briefly to have his ankle taped but otherwise finished the practice.
According to teammates, Korey Stringer was upset with this photo taken of him at the July 30, 2001, training camp practice, and some believe it played a part in Stringer pushing himself to the point of exertional heatstroke the following day. AP Photo/Minneapolis Star Tribune, Carlos Gonzalez
He soon began showing signs of distress, one of six Vikings players who suffered heat illness that day. During post-practice work, he slipped while hitting a blocking bag and then fell onto his back with his arms over his head, a moment memorialized by a freelance photographer who initially withheld the shot out of respect to Stringer's family. Teammate Matt Birk was one of several who called for medical help, and a recently hired athletic trainer led Stringer to the same air-conditioned trailer he had visited the day before.
Exertional heatstroke was well known to military doctors, who treated it regularly for troops working in desert climates. But diagnosis and intervention techniques hadn't made their way to the NFL. Former commissioner Paul Tagliabue, who retired in 2006, now admits that neither the league nor the Vikings was prepared for what happened next.
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