Abstract
While public discussion about mental illness has become increasingly common in the United States, previous research has found that having a mental illness diagnosis is assumed to be incompatible with elite athletic success. As explored in hegemonic masculinity scholarship, to be successful, professional male athletes attempt to physically dominate opponents. In 2018, National Basketball Association (NBA) star Kevin Love disclosed having a panic attack during a game as well as living with depression and anxiety. While Love was not the only NBA player to publicly come forward to discuss their mental health experiences, Love is a successful White player in a league where 73.9% of players self-identify as Black or African American. His social location connects his public health discussion to existing scholarship on whiteness, hegemonic masculinity, and mental illness. Love was praised for his willingness to speak about his personal experiences and provide support for others. However, through a critical discourse analysis of sports media coverage of Love’s disclosure and subsequent mental health advocacy, this study reveals that his public discussion was constructed in terms of his identity as a White athlete and constrained by expectations of hegemonic masculinity.
Historically, professional athletes have been commended for compartmentalizing physical pain and emotional distress (Lindgren & Lelievere, 2009; Reardon & Factor, 2010). However, in the United States, discussion about athlete mental health 1 has become increasingly public. The National Football League (NFL) instituted a concussion protocol in 2009 (Stites, 2018) and the National Basketball Association (NBA) expanded mental health support by requiring teams to provide players access to mental health professional and psychologists (Amick, 2019).
In 2018, two NBA All-Stars discussed their mental health experiences: the Toronto Raptors’ DeMar DeRozan (February 2018) and the Cleveland Cavaliers’ Kevin Love (March 2018). While Love was one of several players who came forward, his social location 2 distinguished him. First, he has been a frequent NBA All-Star who won the 2016 NBA Championship and appeared in four NBA Finals (Lee, 2018). Second, Love earned US$4 million in corporate endorsements in 2018 from companies, including Banana Republic and Nike (“2019: The World’s,” 2019) and is one of the highest profile U.S.-born White players in a league where 73.9% of players self-identify as Black or African American (Lapchick et al., 2018). Finally, Love disclosed in a March 2018 essay that he had a panic attack during a 2017 game. Consequently, Love’s public health advocacy allows for scholarly exploration of the intersection of mental health, whiteness, and hegemonic masculinity in the NBA.
This essay contributes to existing scholarship examining mental health and elite athletes (Merz et al., 2020; Souter et al., 2018) and Love and DeRozan’s initial disclosures (Parrott et al., 2019). While Love’s public admission may have opened discussion and encouraged treatment for mental illness, players with less privilege may stay silent, or find these admissions riskier than Love did. The privilege granted from whiteness allowed Love to come forward, when many of his Black colleagues cannot do so without risking damage to their careers. In this essay, I argue that as an active participant in and subject of coverage about mental health in the NBA, Love is privileged as a White NBA player. He is praised for his openness but is constrained by the expectations of hegemonic masculinity in the NBA. In order to explore these issues, I will review scholarship on mental illness, hegemonic masculinity, and whiteness, followed by an analysis of his media coverage, including Love’s evolution towards disclosure, public discussion of him, his athletic and social capital, and counter narratives about mental illness in NBA.
Literature Review
Mental Illness in Sports
In the United States, 20% of adults have a mental illness (“Mental Illness Information,” 2017). Scholars have examined the connection between elite athletes and mental illness and/or health (Doherty, et al., 2016; Lindgren & Lelievere, 2009; Reardon & Factor, 2010; Rice et al.; Souter et al., 2018). For this study, two areas of scholarship are most relevant: conditions which promote mental illness and stigma surrounding disclosure.
Elite athletes are more vulnerable to mental illness than the general population (Souter et al., 2018). They experience unique physical challenges (Rice et al., 2016), they specialize at an early age while facing difficult competition, and they expend significant time and energy as amateurs (Bauman, 2016). These conditions are common in basketball. Because of these pressures, elite male athletes are vulnerable to conditions like depression (Doherty et al., 2016). Even when mental health issues are acknowledged, little structural support exists for seeking help (Schuck, 2019).
Additionally, athletes feel stigmatized coming forward with a mental illness diagnosis (Rice et al., 2016; Souter et al., 2018; Uphill et al., 2016). For example, athletes are accepted for utilizing a sport psychologist, but not for mental illness treatment (Merz et al., 2020). While basketball players are supported during short-term challenges, such as an injury or personal loss, they are expected to return and compartmentalize. These expectations are problematic because social support is critical for mental illness disclosure (Pahwa et al., 2017). Consequently, athletes might ignore mental illness because they “have a tendency to minimize apparent signs of weakness” (Reardon & Factor, 2010, p. 962). One of the ways that this occurs is through emotional stoicism or the types of emotions athletes can show (Steinfeldt et al., 2016). They are discouraged from displaying emotions such as sadness because this emotional display “could be constructed as not masculine” (p. 669).
Until recently, active NBA players rarely discussed their experiences living with mental illness (MacMullan, 2018a). While Los Angeles Laker Metta World Peace (Ron Artest) thanked his therapist after winning the 2010 NBA Championship, it was years after he was an instigator in the “Malice in the Palace” 3 (MacMullan, 2018c). He was more successful than Royce White who revealed his generalized anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorders before the 2012 NBA draft (McCann, 2014). His brief career failed in part because of an impasse with the Houston Rockets about mental health accommodations (McCann, 2014). As of this writing, White is out of the NBA (Perskie & Bernstein, 2018). Even though there has been recognition of the existence of mental illness by the NBA, players who come forward have been treated as an anomaly.
Hegemonic Masculinity
The assumptions of hegemonic masculinity help explain why athletes conceal mental illness diagnoses. Hegemonic masculinity is an exemplar (Kristiansen & Broch, 2013), a set of practices which uphold standards and “discredit[s] those who fall short” (Connell, 1995, p. 214). It is maintained through interactions between individuals or within groups, such as teams or leagues (Pringle & Hickey, 2010), and through competitions between men where their goal is to prevail over opponents (Foote et al., 2017). Trujillo (1991) outlined five characteristics of hegemonic masculinity, including “(1) physical force and control, (2) occupational achievement, (3) familial patriarchy, (4) frontiersmanship, and (5) heterosexuality” (p. 291). In the NBA, four of these characteristics are common. Physical force and control are demonstrated by dominating opponents in games. Occupational achievement is performed by winning championships, Most Valuable Player Awards, and/or breaking league wide records. Familial patriarchy is exhibited by being an active father to athletically talented children. In the NBA, heterosexuality is assumed and compulsory. While Jason Collins’ coming out as gay in 2013 was praised (Brody, 2019), it happened late in his career and no active player has come out since. These expectations explain why players are reluctant to disclose a mental illness diagnosis because “mental toughness and mental health are seen as contradictory terms in the world of elite performance” (Bauman, 2016, p. 1351).
Two recent studies examined the role of race, hegemonic masculinity, and power surrounding Los Angeles Clippers’ owner Donald Sterling’s racist public statements in 2014. Lavelle (2016) concluded that Sterling was punished after these statements went public, not for his other racist actions, including a federal housing discrimination lawsuit. Removing Sterling did not erase structural barriers for racial equity because almost all NBA owners are White (Lavelle, 2016). Cramer (2019) studied Commissioner Silver’s role in forcing Sterling out. Silver (who is a White man) was characterized as a protector who spoke for current and former Black players, as opposed to granting these individuals agency to speak for themselves (Cramer, 2019).
Whiteness
Whiteness is a mechanism which sustains hegemonic masculinity and is a “strategic rhetoric” (p. 302) maintained by disciplining marginalized groups (Nakayama & Krizek, 1995). It is a “universal and equally experienced location of privilege and power” (Twine & Gallagher, 2012, p. 3). Contemporary sports promote and reinforce whiteness (Hylton & Lawrence, 2015), particularly as an “invention of hegemonic Western, instrumental whiteness” expressed through racial demographics (Spracklen, 2013, p. 104). For instance, more than two thirds of current NBA players self-identify as Black or African American (after player White flight), while almost all owners are White (Spracklen, 2013).
Scholars in the United States and the United Kingdom have studied how whiteness and power work in men’s sports including rugby (Spracklen et al., 2010), football (Hylton & Lawrence, 2015; Lawrence, 2016; 2017), Major League Baseball (Butterworth, 2008), the NFL (Grano, 2014), and the NBA (Cramer, 2019; Park, 2015). For instance, Mocarski and Billings (2014) examined Nike’s campaign featuring LeBron James and found that it minimized images emphasizing James’s Black identity and those included promoted whiteness. Their study augments this current study because James is one of the most successful NBA players ever and was subject to constraints of whiteness.
Leonard (2017) outlined additional ways that whiteness governs the NBA. First, White players are privileged when they misstep. For instance, Love was not criticized for forcing a trade to play in Cleveland in 2014. But James was publicly maligned for leaving via a television special after his contract expired in 2010. Second, whiteness is a “calculated wager” (p. 15). Team executives are more likely to economically support White players as compared to players from minoritized groups. White players are celebrated for “their mind, intellect, and knowledge,” whereas Black players “are seen as cashing in on their creativity, spontaneity, and style” (p. 47). But what happens when a player who embodies privilege like Love discloses his mental health experiences?
Studying Mental Health Discourse
Previous scholarship on mental illness, hegemonic masculinity, and whiteness provides a framework to explore media discourse about Love’s mental health. NBA players’ personal lives are popular media topics (Diaz, 2018) and U.S. basketball media coverage is accessible on popular media platforms. Entertainment and Sports Programming Network (ESPN) has a lucrative NBA contract which includes multiple weekly game broadcasts during the regular season, playoffs, and NBA Finals (Conway, 2014). They air The Jump, a 1-hr weekday show and segments on other ESPN programs and digital channels. Turner Sports shares ESPN’s NBA broadcast rights and airs studio shows on TNT and NBA TV (Conway, 2014). Additionally, scholars have found NBA players to be effective health promotion advocates. Brown and Basil (1995) concluded that superstar Magic Johnson’s 1991 disclosure of his HIV-positive status and advocacy for preventative education lessened stigma around HIV/AIDS and promoted avoidance behaviors linked to its transmission. This research, along with Parrott et al.’s (2019) findings that Love’s initial disclosure was positively received, demonstrates that studying Love’s mental health advocacy is important because NBA players contribute to larger public health conversations.
This discourse is a site to study hegemonic masculinity (Prody, 2015) because it reflects “private discourse practices” (Fairclough, 1995, p. 64), while promoting and sustaining ideologies (Hargreaves, 1994). To examine the intersection of mental health, hegemonic masculinity, and whiteness in the NBA, I analyzed two sets of sports media texts covering Love’s 2018 mental health disclosure: an August 2018 ESPN.com series about the NBA and mental health and Cleveland.com coverage from March to October 2018. These texts covered the initial reaction to Love’s revelation and his public comments about mental health during the 2018 NBA off-season. This coverage included direct commentary about Love’s mental health experiences and quotes from Love. These texts were analyzed because ESPN.com is a national publication aimed at NBA/sports fans and Cleveland.com is a regional publication covering the Cavaliers.
Examining these texts together allows for a more holistic analysis of Love’s mental health media discourse as an intersection of whiteness, hegemonic masculinity, and mental health. The ESPN.com series was written by Jackie MacMullan, a well-respected journalist who has covered the NBA since the 1980s (Thomas, 2019). She wrote this series because she observed the pervasiveness of mental health issues in the NBA (Cafardo, 2018) and it featured over 20 former and active players, coaches, and referees discussing their mental health experiences (MacMullan, 2018a). Love was mentioned 70 times across five articles and included in a 45-min YouTube interview with MacMullan that explored his mental health experiences and perspective on the NBA’s role in supporting players. As of 2020, these materials are available online in the United States (Cafardo, 2018). Additionally, Cleveland.com articles covering Love’s mental health discussions from March to October 2018 were analyzed. Cleveland.com is the digital platform for the Cleveland Plain Dealer, the local newspaper which covers the Cavaliers.
Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA)
CDA was used in this study because it is a method focused on power (Blommaert, 2004) and “the ideas, values, and priorities—that define our societies” (Bouvier & Machin, 2018, p. 178). CDA allows scholars to analyze identity formation (Lavelle, 2011) and how word choice frames hegemonic masculinity in the NBA (Park, 2015). Lavelle (2010) examined how game commentary emphasized Black players’ athletic power. In 2011, Lavelle found that commentary reinforced negative stereotypes of Chinese NBA player Yao Ming, highlighting perceived conditioning flaws and undervaluing his international experience. Park (2015) analyzed race and masculinity discourse of Taiwanese American NBA player Jeremy Lin, concluding that he was constructed as less athletic and masculine because he is Asian American. CDA can be used to evaluate identity formation in connected texts through a thematic analysis of descriptions and emphasized characteristics (Lavelle, 2011). Using the lens of hegemonic masculinity and whiteness, I evaluated media texts focused on three themes: Love’s evolution towards disclosure, public discussion of Love, Love’s athletic and social capital, and counter narratives about mental illness in the NBA. Examining these themes focuses on how Love’s mental health experiences are publicly disseminated and their connection to larger conversations on mental health in the NBA.
Love’s Evolution Towards Disclosure
Undiagnosed depression
Love revealed that he experienced untreated depression until he was nearly 30. As a young teenager, Love disappeared into his room for weeks on end because he felt “pretty, pretty dark” (MacMullan & Love, 2018). His brother recalled Love’s unpredictable behavior, including his childhood “rage fits” (MacMullan & Love, 2018). Despite these behaviors, Love avoided treatment because like many others, Love saw basketball as his sanctuary where he tried to self-manage his depression (MacMullan & Love, 2018). His girlfriend Kate Bock and a few close friends thought that his depression was worsening and wanted him to care for his mental health like he did his physical body (MacMullan & Love, 2018). Love’s behavior exemplifies how athletes compartmentalize psychological difficulties when they are successful (Doherty et al., 2016).
Love experienced a frightening panic attack during a November 2017 game. Love checked into a hospital because he thought he was “having a heart attack, I was very scared. I really felt like I was going to die” (as quoted in MacMullan, 2018a, para. 26). Despite its seriousness, few members of the Cavaliers’ organization knew it happened. He sought treatment afterwards but seemed reluctant to receive it (MacMullan, 2018a). This reaction is a byproduct of entrenched notions of hegemonic masculinity (Doherty et al., 2016). Love characterized it as doing “the masculinity thing…[which] was ingrained in your mind at an early age, you feel that way throughout” (MacMullan & Love, 2018). Consequently, he started therapy only when “the game was taken away from me” after breaking his hand in January 2018 (MacMullan & Love, 2018). This reaction mirrors athletes who fear receiving mental health treatment might derail their athletic performance (Lindgren & Lelievere, 2009) or cut down on playing time (Bauman, 2016).
Rumors about Love
When Love missed a game due to flu in January 2018, teammates confronted him because they thought he was underperforming (Vardon, 2018a). This meeting was contentious and involved Coach Ty Lue disclosing Love’s November panic attack (MacMullan & Love, 2018). Love was frustrated with teammates Dwyane Wade and Isaiah Thomas because “it wasn’t their call to do it [confront him]” and he dismissed people who did not understand him (MacMullan & Love, 2018). However, he empathized with LeBron James. Love described James as “pissed” because he told Love “you got to come to work every single day…if you play as hard as you can, every single day, especially you, we are going to get the best out of you” (MacMullan & Love, 2018). Love thought he would have reacted similarly if he were James (MacMullan & Love, 2018). These contradictory responses from Love demonstrate how hierarchy upholds hegemonic masculinity (Connell, 1995) and competition between athletes (Foote et al., 2017). James was the Cavaliers’ best player (MacMullan & Love, 2018) and used his occupational achievement (Trujillo, 1991) to control Love. While NBA management overvalues White players (Leonard, 2017), between players, Black players are powerful because they constitute the largest and most successful demographic in the league (Lavelle, 2010). Among players, Love did not have as much individual power.
Despite pressure to come forward, Love did not. He admitted to MacMullan during the February 2018 All-Star weekend that he was in treatment and offhandedly remarked that “we all go through something” (para. 3), while she interviewed Love’s teammate Channing Frye about his emotional challenges after his parents died (MacMullan, 2018a). MacMullan (2018a) encouraged Love to speak on the record about his mental health experiences, one of the “worst-kept secrets in sports” (para. 11). During All-Star Weekend, Love’s issues were “excellent fodder for gossipy NBA wives—and their husbands—who eagerly dished on Love’s mental health during the endless stream of All-Star cocktail soirees” (MacMullan, 2018a, para. 14). These comments reflect the relationship between NBA players and distinguished reporters. MacMullan kept Love’s mental health experiences confidential, which suggests a symbiotic relationship between players and specific journalists. Even though MacMullan elected not to report, other players knew, and their reactions are examples of how hegemonic masculinity upholds specific values and behaviors in the NBA.
Public Discussion of Love
Love disclosed after the Parkland, FL, shootings (a February 14, 2018, shooting where an ex-student killed 17 students and staff at his former high school) because “I’m thinking, this kid is 18, 19 years old. This is a young man, think about what he was going through to get him to this point” (MacMullan & Love, 2018). Coming forward brought Love relief. “I just kind of lay out all of my cards on the table and say, this is what you get. And having that freedom of mind is something that I’ve never really had. It’s actually given me peace” (MacMullan & Love, 2018). Love was supported by a variety of sources. In Cleveland, Scott Osiecki, the CEO of the Alcohol, Drug Addiction and Mental Health Services Board of Cuyahoga County, praised Love. “It really has a great impact when Kevin and other people who are folks people look up to say it’s OK to have a mental illness. That really helps to break down that stigma and the barriers people have” (Christ, 2018, para. 7). Love employed his existing partnerships with Nike and Banana Republic to promote mental health awareness (Fedor, 2018a). Unlike active NBA players of color who disclosed their mental health experiences, Love had corporate support, an example of the connection between commodification, whiteness, and privilege in the NBA (Leonard, 2017). This privilege is magnified in comparison to DeMar DeRozan. First, even though DeRozan’s depression was disclosed prior to Love’s, Love was emphasized in the ESPN coverage. The series mentioned DeRozan 11 times, but Love was mentioned 70 times. Second, Love’s expansive interview with MacMullan, where he discussed his specific experiences, is available on YouTube, while published details about DeRozan’s were minimal. Third, while Love signed a lucrative contract extension after coming forward, the Toronto Raptors traded DeRozan in July (2018) and then won a championship in 2019 (Wallace, 2019). And finally, Commissioner Silver called Love the “new face of mental health” in the NBA and was astonished by his support for league-wide mental health initiatives (MacMullan & Love, 2018). While DeRozan was influential with his disclosure, Love was perceived as more important.
Love’s Athletic and Social Capital
In addition to the league support, the Cavaliers made a long-term financial commitment to Love. While the average NBA career lasts less than 5 years (Chalabi, 2015), Love has played continuously since 2009 and earned US$145 million in salary (“Kevin Love NBA,” n.d.). His July 2018 contract extension was worth US$120 million (Grove, 2018). This contract was not unusual; NBA veterans can sign protected multiyear contracts exceeding US$200 million (O’Shaughnessy, 2019). After losing the 2018 NBA Finals, Cavaliers’ General Manager Kobe Altman reassured him. “Kev, I’m not trading ya. I want you to be here and I want you to be a part of this thing” (Vardon, 2018b, para. 9), referencing the rebuilding process that would occur when LeBron James’s contract expired. Without James, Love was the most valuable Cavaliers’ player and the team made a calculated wager (Leonard, 2017). While there were concerns about Love’s physical durability and on-court versatility (O’Connor, 2018), without James or an equivalent player, Love was their best player.
Love’s personal qualities (as opposed to athletic abilities) were emphasized in Cleveland.com coverage of his extension. For instance, Grove (2018) used positive descriptors of Love. First, he called Love “one of the best-looking men in sports” and wondered how he “fit the image of a Rust Belt town not many outside its borders would describe as beautiful?” (para. 6). Second, Love was characterized as humble but “soft-spoken, humorous, charming and always deferring praise, Love is a lot like many around Cleveland” (para. 9). Third, “Love describes himself as a ‘homebody,’ a man who enjoys the pleasures of his confines, happy to enjoy the comforts of home rather than the sights and sounds of the world around him” (para. 7). Love is considered “safe” and separate from peers who engage in typical behaviors for young and successful public figures. Love does not exemplify Trujillo’s (1991) characteristics of hegemonic masculinity (like physical force or occupational achievement), but these comments demonstrate how whiteness operates as “central to the commodification and consumptions of athletes and the sports they play” (Leonard, 2017, p. 13). Love is distinguished from his self-identified Black and African American NBA peers who are frequently criticized for exerting independence (Leonard, 2017). Love is praised for refusing more exciting markets, unlike Akron native LeBron James, who left Cleveland when his contracts expired in 2010 (for Miami) and 2018 (for Los Angeles; Fourney & Brown, 2018).
Counter Narratives About Mental Illness In The NBA
While Love was celebrated for coming forward, even his supporters distanced themselves from mental illness causes. Others expressed concerns about signing a player with a confirmed mental illness. As scholars have noted, there are a variety of conditions that promote mental illness in elite athletes (Rice et al., 2016; Souter et al., 2018), but they are not explored in these media texts. Instead, some of these reactions reinforce the view that for professional athletes, depression is “a threat to masculinity or as a consequence of men’s inability to live according to the hegemonic ideals of masculinity” (Valkonen & Hannien, 2012, p. 162).
Language used in texts
While Love discussed his anxiety and depression in media coverage, mental health was consistently used as a descriptor in these media texts. Even Love’s March 2018 essay, which implied that Love had a mental illness (Christ, 2018), does not identify a diagnosis. Instead, he discussed his panic attack and treatment (Love, 2018). The 18,245-word ESPN series used terms like mental illness (mentioned twice), mental wellness (mentioned 9 times), depression (7 times), anxiety (7 times), and mental health (mentioned over 100 times). There are critical differences between these terms. Mental illness is related to a person’s conduct, feelings, and/or mental activities, whereas mental wellness is the level of optimism and excitement an individual has about their life (Manderscheid et al., 2010). According to the World Health Organization, mental health is a broad term referencing “a state of well-being in which the individual realizes [their] own abilities, can cope with the normal stresses of life, can work productively and fruitfully, and is able to make a contribution to their community” (as cited in Galderisi et al., 2015, para. 1). While these terms are used interchangeably, active player Robin Lopez identified critical distinctions between them. “When you phrase it as mental (wellness) then I feel that should include everyone. When you say mental (health), then. Guys tend to say, ‘well, that’s not me. I don’t have any mental health stuff'” (MacMullan, 2018d, para. 39). By focusing on mental wellness, not health or illness, it uses euphemistic terms and avoids specific symptoms or descriptions of conditions. Media and players may choose more generic terms because specificity about conditions or symptoms may demonstrate weakness, whereas emphasizing health may be safer because it parallels physical health and views a problem as more “fixable” as a physical ailment is, compared to mental illness. Consequently, mental illness is not openly discussed, despite how Love’s disclosure was treated as a catalyst for this public discussion.
Causation of mental illness
In addition to terminology distinctions, causes of mental illness (unrelated to elite athletes) are emphasized. During their on-camera interview, MacMullan noted that almost all players interviewed for her series (including Love) cited family history as a contributing factor to their mental health experiences (MacMullan & Love, 2018). Love discussed generations of male family members who compartmentalized their experiences and stayed silent (MacMullan & Love, 2018). However, in the ESPN.com series, environmental factors are highlighted as contributing causes of mental illness. For example, active players and twins Marcus and Markieff Morris’s athletic talent was cited as why they escaped North Philadelphia, an area described as where most children did not have fathers and “were surrounded by violence, gangs” (MacMullan, 2018b, para. 1). Recently, retired player Paul Pierce thought he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder after he was nearly killed in a knife attack after his rookie year and he found crowds and unexpected loud noises triggered his symptoms (MacMullan, 2018a).
LeBron James also promoted the environmental narrative. In March 2018, he retweeted Love’s essay and told him privately “you helped a lot of people today. It’s important” (Fedor, 2018b, para. 4). In an October 2018 interview, James thought he could have developed a mental illness because his mother was young, single, and they lived in difficult economic circumstances (Fedor, 2018b). He cited his family’s honesty and support as why he did not. So I was always able to get things off my chest and not allow things to build up. I don’t know if that’s what causes it, but for me personally, I’ve always had people that were around that I could just, if I ever needed to talk, they was there for me and able to (listen to) whatever it was that I was going through. (para. 8)
In addition to counter narratives from players, current coaches and executives expressed a range of perspectives about managing mental health issues. Some coaches were supportive, such as Brad Stevens (Boston Celtics) and Doc Rivers (Los Angeles Clippers). Stevens worked for a pharmaceutical company before coaching and endorsed a multifaceted approach to treatment (MacMullan, 2018c). Rivers (who is African American) is a retired player and the father of active player Austin Rivers. He thought that “elite players have something” and appreciated them because “they’re so hyper, so overly competitive, but that’s what also what gives them energy and makes them go” (MacMullan 2018c, para. 24). Coaches spend significant time with players and can assess how they affect team dynamic.
In contrast, one unnamed Western Conference General Manager quoted by MacMullan described players as having “off court issues, as well as [create] disruptions in practice” (MacMullan, 2018b, para. 25). They feared that These guys you read about who tear up their hotel rooms? That’s often guys who are off their meds. So now, in addition to everything else we’ve got to worry about, we have to make sure our power forward is filling his prescription every week. (MacMullan, 2018b, para. 26)
Concerns about disclosing mental illness were warranted. In May 2018, Philadelphia 76ers President of Basketball Operations Bryan Colangelo resigned after he was linked to Twitter accounts which shared confidential medical information about Markelle Fultz, who was suspected of having a mental illness (Detrick, 2018). Fultz was traded to Orlando shortly afterwards, where he has been successful (Robbins, 2020). While this situation might be rare, it exemplifies Bauman’s (2016) conclusions that athletes seeking mental illness support fear that they will be treated differently.
Implications
Initially, Love’s disclosure appeared to indicate recognition and support for NBA players living with mental illnesses. In 2018 and 2019, the league unveiled new policies to provide better treatment and support for players (Amick, 2019). However, misperceptions about athletes receiving therapy for mental illness continued. For example, MacMullan asked Love if he considered retiring because other players thought that their “mental health issues…were so exacerbated by the stress of being a professional” (MacMullan & Love, 2018). In February 2019, Commissioner Silver publicly stated that “there are pervasive feelings of loneliness and melancholy across the league” (Yang, 2019, para. 5). Despite recognition and additional mental health support resources, these statements reinforce assumptions of hegemonic masculinity that living with a mental illness is incompatible with competitive success (Kristiansen & Broch, 2013). Players feared coming forward because they did not want to be evaluated based on their diagnosis. This is problematic because if elite athletes are susceptible to mental illness (Souter et al., 2018) and fear stigmatization (Merz et al., 2020), they will not receive treatment. Even with Love’s privilege, he faced questions about mental illness diagnosis as incompatible with competitive success.
Consequently, implementation of policies and extending resources does not mean athletes will seek treatment. In the media texts I analyzed, environmental causes of mental illness are stressed, mental health and wellness is advanced over specific mental illnesses, and a public diagnosis could make a player a liability. These emphases relate to how players are viewed as “calculated wagers” (Leonard, 2017) and how they might conceal their status because of career consequences. These conditions are concerning because the NBA emphasizes individual stars based on achievement and strength, characteristics of hegemonic masculinity (Trujillo, 1991). For the NBA, mental health and illness support is more than providing resources and recognition, it is about helping players after they come forward and addressing mindsets that encourage ignoring mental illness. Media coverage needs to move beyond disclosures, focus on the unique challenges faced by players living with mental illness, and journalists must reexamine how mental illness causes are discussed. For communication and sport scholars, it is critical to study this discourse because it is part of larger discussions about athlete health and well-being. Athlete well-being is a worldwide concern for athlete, regardless of their status (Jewett et al., 2019), so we must continue to explore these issues.
Footnotes
Acknowledgment
I would like to thank panelists and audience members from the 2018 International Association for Communication and Sport Summit (Boise, ID) as well as the reviewers for their feedback and suggestions on this project, as well as Dr. K. Friedlander and Dr. E. Brody for their editorial help.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
