On Sunday afternoon, Deshaun Watson will play in a regular-season game for the first time since more than two dozen massage therapists publicly shared accounts of sexual harassment and assault by the Browns quarterback. The return will take place at the home stadium of the Texans, a team that over the summer reached settlements with 30 women who had either filed lawsuits or were close to doing so, saying Watson’s former employer had enabled predatory behavior. To date, Watson has denied all allegations and, most recently, insisted on answering “only football questions” at his obligatory media availability.
The NFL was once resolute, both publicly and privately, that it intended to suspend Watson indefinitely, for a minimum of at least one year. Even after independent arbitrator Sue Robinson levied a six-game suspension—a number based on precedent—in early August, the disciplinary process outlined in the 2020 collective bargaining agreement left the league with significant power. Because Robinson determined that Watson had violated the personal conduct policy, the NFL was free to appeal the suspension and hand-pick its own arbitrator, or even commissioner Roger Goodell himself. And yet, the league ultimately reached a settlement with the NFLPA requiring Watson to miss only 11 games in 2022, pay a $5 million fine (he signed a fully guaranteed $230 million contract in March), and submit to mandatory—albeit nondescript—“evaluation and treatment.”
The NFL’s personal conduct policy—especially in the aftermath of the botched Ray Rice suspension in 2014—largely functions as a public relations mechanism, and public outcry over the staggering expanse of Watson’s alleged misconduct, along with the league’s well-known desired outcome, suggested the one-year ban was coming. So how did we get here? What led to the league to back off its hard-line stance and negotiate a lesser punishment?
