Editor's Note

They call him Marion the Barbarian. For a reason. Marion Barber III, a running back for the Dallas Cowboys, is 220 rock-hard pounds of furious forward motion. He likes nothing more than to run right over the biggest, strongest, meanest men in the land. Trying to tackle the Barbarian in full stride must be a little like trying to kiss a steam locomotive at maximum power. The resulting collision is thrilling to watch -- in high def, from the comfort of a big cushy chair.

It probably wasn't so comfy for Giants rookie Aaron Ross, watching in even higher definition from the playing field in a National Football Conference playoff game a few weeks ago. Ross tried to bring down Barber early in the game, and he got crushed like a grape.

"Ooh, that gotta hurt," I said, riveted by the sheer ferocity of the contact.

But I was even more astounded by Ross's recounting of his shoulder injury in the next day's New York Times. "I kept dislocating it," he was quoted as saying. "It happened in the second quarter, and I tried to come back. That didn't work. So, we taped it up at halftime, and I tried to come back again. Then I tried to help on another tackle" -- yes, Barber -- "and it happened again. My arm went dead. I had a lot of family here today, and I wish I could have finished the game. But it'll be healthy next week."

Three shoulder dislocations? My arm went dead?

I read that quote to my friend, a fanatic Giants fan, in the days before the Giants were to face Green Bay in the NFC championship game. I was a fool to expect him to react with horrified awe at how eager Ross had been to fling himself, injured shoulder and all, back onto the killing field. That would be the human response. Instead, he responded like a fan: "My first thought was, 'I hope he's right! We need him.' "

This is the same friend who admits to feeling only slightly dampened glee when an important player on the opposing team needs to be helped, limping, off the field -- one less obstacle to victory!

I understand those impulses. I've felt them myself, as have many of those who will be watching the big game today. But that began to change for me as soon as Michael Leahy told me about his interviews with former NFL players who have been broken by the game, and now face lives of pain and destitution. Starting today, I'm quite sure I will never watch a football game without thinking of the eye-opening story that begins on Page 8.

Tom Shroder can be reached at shrodert@washpost.com.