On Wednesday, October 28, 2026, The Guardian reported on a new study published that day, estimating that about 75% of former NFL players who died over a 15-year period had evidence of "chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE)." The research, published in JAMA Network Open, looked at 2,362 players who died between 2008 and 2023. You can read the outlet's write-up by Marina Dunbar in The Guardian's report on the study.
The summary we have is short, so this piece sticks to what it says. It does not describe how the players were chosen, which tests were run, or whether the figure would look the same in any other group. Read the full paper before you repeat the number at dinner.
A percentage about the dead is not a test for the living
As far as current medical consensus goes, CTE is confirmed by examining brain tissue after death. A study like this describes a group of people who have already died. It does not give a living person a diagnosis, and it cannot tell your household how one specific man, woman, or teenager is doing this week. Hold two questions apart: what a study says about a population, and what the person in front of you needs right now.
Why it still reaches your house
The study matters at home for a plainer reason. Falls, sports, bumps on the stairs, and a fall on the back steps are the everyday ways head knocks happen, and families rarely think of them as one category. Repeated hits are the thing people brush off. Our head safety checklist covers the mechanics of preventing those falls and knocks, so this piece focuses on the human side.
The people most likely to wave off a hit are often the ones who have heard for years that they are fine. The people around them are often the ones who quietly notice a change first.
What I would tell a coworker
If you have worked a long stretch on a crew, you know the posture. Everyone says they are fine until the day they are not. The reader of this piece is probably the person others lean on, so here is what I would pass along, in plain terms.
Notice changes that hang around. Trouble with memory, a shift in mood, sleep that has gone strange, or someone who keeps seeming off over weeks is worth a question. One bad day is not a pattern, but a pattern deserves attention.
Ask in plain words, and do not argue about whether the problem is real. Say what you saw and when you saw it. Ask when the person last felt like themselves, and then listen to the answer without rushing to fix it.
Get the person looked at by someone qualified. A doctor decides what an evaluation needs, and nobody has to diagnose anyone from the couch. If the change follows a crash, a fall, or a hard hit, the next step is an in-person check, not a wait-and-see. Some people in that position start with Missouri Injury Clinic, while others go to their regular doctor. Either way, the point is a qualified person looking at them.
Keep a short notebook. Write down dates, what happened, what changed, and who was there. Notes are dull, and they are what lets a doctor or a family member see the shape of a slow change.
Share the job. Name one other adult who checks in, so the person who notices is not the only one carrying it. Caring for a worried person is work, and it wears people down the same way a long shift does. If you are the one carrying it, do not keep that a secret either.
Read the limits, then pass it on
Treat the 75% figure as a finding about the players in this study, not a verdict on football, on a son or daughter, or on yourself. When you pass it on, pass on the limits along with the number.
The reader who passes this along is often the one who hears "I'm fine" most often. Tell them the plain version: say it when it stops feeling fine, and let someone else take a look.