Like many Western Pennsylvania boys, I spent a lot of afternoons in my parents' front yard pretending I was a Steeler, catching the passes I threw to myself, recovering the fumbles I pretended to force.

This was the dream. We dreamed in Crafton, Aliquippa, Lower Burrell — pick a place.

John Frank dreamed in Mt. Lebanon. He lived the dream, albeit in San Francisco, where he snagged 73 passes, 12 touchdowns and two Super Bowl rings with the 49ers.

Five seasons into the dream, Frank woke up. He quit playing football.

Troy Polamalu should, too.

The greatest Steeler of my time should walk away from the game that loves no man, even the men who redefined a position.

Polamalu is like no strong safety pro football has known, a Tasmanian devil with a devil-may-care approach on the field. He leaped over linemen, launched into ball carriers and did a lot of other stuff words do no justice for.

And he might have a decent 13th NFL season in that 5-foot-10, 213-pound body.

But what if 12 already has been a couple of seasons too many?

Three years ago, he publicly acknowledged lying to doctors about concussion symptoms. He also copped to “probably eight or nine concussions.”

So, now that number is 10? A bakers' dozen?

He could not finish a game against New Orleans last season. Was he concussed? Nobody would say ... publicly.

Everybody heard the whispers. Polamalu had a concussion, and it was bad.

He played the next week.

Polamalu sat out two games last season because of an aching knee. Another blow to the brain, and it was business as usual.

That was stupidity from a smart man. That was selfishness from a family man.

Wake up, man.




http://triblive.com/sports/steelers/...#axzz3UBXr9rhl