Devon Jackoniski Football and the NFL were my dad's world. But the head injuries intrinsic to the game ruined his life.

Tommy Nobis was a great football player. But that greatness came at a very high cost for our family.
Image: Tommy Nobis
Former Atlanta Falcons Pro Bowler Tommy Nobis #60, the first player ever drafted by the franchise, is introduced along with other members of the 1966 inaugural team during half time of their NFL football game against the Carolina Panthers, in Atlanta on Sept. 20, 2009.John Amis / AP file
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By Devon Jackoniski, physician assistant in orthopedics and daughter of Tommy Nobis

American football — a simple game in which a pig-skinned ball is thrown by muscle-bound men and one of the most popular and lucrative sporting activities in this country — is often marketed as a reflection of the brutal Roman gladiators, armed men who fought for the entertainment of crowds of people. The gladiators fought with spears and swords; American football players often use their heads (which house one of our most important organs) as their weapon in combat. Gladiators ultimately lost their lives in bloody combat; American football players often first lose their minds and then, ultimately, their lives.

My dad, Tommy Nobis, was one such fighter.

He had a lot of nicknames in his life: The Gentle Giant, Big Red, #60, Mr. Falcon, Huckleberry Finn with muscles, cowboy, Daddy, Good Samaritan. And there were so many other words to describe him: Prankster, dedicated, strong, humble, intense, unstable, full of rage, scared, paranoid, lost, sad, childlike and despondent.

Tommy Nobis #60 of the Atlanta Falcons watches the action from the bench during an NFL football game circa 1970.Focus On Sport / Getty Images file

But what we know now is that maybe none of us got to know the man he really was or could’ve been: A pathology report completed by Boston University’s CTE center after his death shows that he had stage four chronic traumatic encephalopathy, the most severe version of a condition caused by repeated blows to the head, and the worst the center had ever seen.

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American football is an integral part of our society: It is our entertainment on a crisp fall Friday night, Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon; we use it to teach our children discipline, competition, and teamwork. It is the result of a strong brotherhood lured by the thrill of the battle; it is a diversion from the rest of our mundane lives.

Football was the air my father breathed, and therefore the air we as his family breathed. It was my father’s identity, career, passion, and ultimately the cause of his death. He was trained to hit with his head, and he was good at it. From little league football to the National Football League, he played with reckless abandon. But every tackle was one more insult to his brain, which eventually became a muddled mess (not to mention his body).

Atlanta Falcons linebacker Tommy Nobis during a 20-0 loss to the San Francisco 49ers at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, California on December 10, 1972.James Flores / Getty Images file

Many memories of a childhood as my father’s daughter are as lost to me now as they were to my father before he passed; when you spend your early years on the defense, your only focus is to get through the experience, not delight in the moment. My father’s outbursts were not discussed but “brushed under the rug,” after which life went on without apologies.

Maybe he picked that up at work: A lineman who, at full speed, launches himself at his opponent knows that pain and injury might be a byproduct of the attack, but the harder the attack the better, and no apologies. But no one tells his family of the need for armor; we learned that the hard way

My father’s ability to remember anything faded slowly. As a motivational speaker, he was able to fool those who listened to him from the podium because he had a script, which was similar to his life. But, eventually, even having script began to fail him.

In his spare time, he helped found the Tommy Nobis Center — his second love — to help people with disabilities. But despite his love for the work, he had to scale back his participation in his last 10 years, and was unable to be involved at all for the last 5 years of his life.

Meanwhile, he became hostile and, many times violent. During his brief moments of clarity, he became more depressed about the reality of his loss of control. He became less “good” at things he used to be great at, like being a father or grandfather. In fact, for a period of 2 years, his children made the difficult decision to separate ourselves from my father’s volatile and aggressive behavior to protect our own kids.

By the end, my dad had lost the ability to remember where he lived, where he went to church, what meal he had eaten last. Before his death, he lived many days in a fog. Some days, we would find him in his favorite chair, either staring at the television or into space. Others, I’d wonder why my father had spent so many hours in the yard raking and sweeping; now I realize that it is a mindless activity. He was lost.

Former member of the Atlanta Falcons Tommy Nobis is introduced during the game against the Philadelphia Eagles at the Georgia Dome in Atlanta, Georgia on September 14, 2015.Scott Cunningham / Getty Images file

Chronic traumatic encephalopathy, caused by a career doing the thing he loved, robbed my father of his life long before he died. Although he finally lost his last battle at the age of 74, he fought like a gladiator with CTE for nearly half of those years. He was a true warrior who lived a life of humility, never crying out for the help we now know he deeply needed.

CTE has far reaching effects: Violence, crime, substance abuse, paranoia, depression and, ultimately, death. I find it increasingly difficult to believe that the game of football is worth it.

One day, maybe Americans become as wise as the Emperor Honorius, who closed the gladiator schools and ultimately prohibited gladiator contests. If we can’t end the game, then let’s at least stand firm to change this gladiator-like sport that calls our sons, brothers, husbands and fathers to sacrifice their lives for our passing entertainment. Our children would benefit; I know I would have.