The image is now iconic: a football player, alone or surrounded by teammates, taking a knee on the sideline as the national anthem plays. To some, it’s a profound act of peaceful protest; to others, a disrespectful gesture. But beyond the heated political debates, what exactly is “taking a knee” in football, and how did this simple act become one of the most potent symbols in modern sports? As someone who’s spent years analyzing sports culture, I’ve always been fascinated by how on-field actions transcend the game. Let’s strip away the noise for a moment and look at the mechanics, the history, and the raw human calculus behind the decision to kneel.
First, the rule itself—or rather, the lack of one. There’s no section in the NFL or NCAA rulebook titled “Proper Anthem Conduct.” The act of taking a knee exists in a procedural gray area. The anthem is a pre-game ceremony, a moment outside the official competition. Players are expected to be on the sideline and show respect, but the definition of “respect” has always been loosely interpreted. Some stand at attention, some sway, some link arms. Kneeling, importantly, is different from sitting. It’s a posture historically associated with reverence, prayer, and solemnity. I remember talking to a veteran coach years ago who said, “We kneel for injuries, we kneel to run out the clock. It’s a fundamental part of the game’s body language.” That’s the core irony: the gesture is deeply embedded in football’s own culture as a sign of pause, concern, and unity. Colin Kaepernick’s initial protest in 2016 wasn’t invented in a vacuum; he repurposed a gesture already in the sport’s lexicon for a new, societal purpose. The “rule,” therefore, is less about league mandates and more about an unspoken understanding of the gesture’s power, which is why it sparked such fierce controversy. The NFL eventually instituted a policy requiring players to stand or remain in the locker room, but it was quickly shelved amid public pressure—proof that this wasn’t an issue they could legislate away.
The history here is shorter than most people think but has roots that run deep. While Kaepernick popularized it, the use of sports as a protest platform goes back to Tommie Smith and John Carlos in 1968. In football specifically, the act became a wildfire after Kaepernick’s quiet, persistent kneeling. But to understand why it persists, we have to look at the psychology of the athlete and the team. This is where that quote from the 65-year-old mentor resonates with me on a different level: “Ako, kung kami natalo, okay lang sa akin na sila ang pumasok kasi they’ll represent the independent teams.” It’s a statement about sacrifice for a larger representation. While from a different context (it appears to be about playoff scenarios in another league), the sentiment mirrors the calculus of a protesting player. It’s the idea that personal or team success might be secondary to the larger message you carry—representing a community, an idea, a plea for justice that extends far beyond the field. For a player taking a knee, they are often making a conscious choice to represent something bigger than their stats or even their team’s win-loss record. They are, in a very real sense, choosing to represent the “independent teams” of marginalized voices. The history of “taking a knee” is, in my view, a history of athletes making that exact calculation, weighing personal risk against communal representation. The backlash—from fan boos to presidential condemnation to alleged blacklisting—became part of its historical weight. By 2020, following the murder of George Floyd, the gesture saw a massive resurgence, even being adopted briefly by entire leagues, showing its evolution from individual protest to a widespread symbol of solidarity.
So why do they do it? The simplistic answers—“to protest police brutality” or “to disrespect the flag”—miss the nuanced reality. From my conversations and observations, players kneel for a cluster of interconnected reasons. It’s a visceral, non-violent way to say, “This system is not working for everyone.” It’s a use of their massive platform to redirect attention, however briefly, from entertainment to injustice. For some, it’s a deeply personal mourning. For others, it’s a calculated act of civil disobedience. I have a strong preference for understanding it as a form of speech that is uniquely athletic—it uses the body, the uniform, and the ritualized stage of the game to communicate. The power comes from its simplicity and its vulnerability. You’re not shouting; you’re kneeling. You’re making yourself smaller, not larger. And in a sport built on explosive aggression, that quiet, controlled act is profoundly disruptive. The data on public opinion is split, but a 2023 survey suggested about 52% of Americans still viewed kneeling during the anthem as inappropriate, though that number shifts dramatically along generational and political lines. What’s undeniable is its impact on the cultural conversation.
In the end, “taking a knee” is far more than a football maneuver. It’s a modern chapter in the long story of athlete activism. It leverages the sport’s own traditions to challenge the status quo, embodying a sacrifice of personal standing for a broader representation, much like the mentor’s philosophy of letting others advance to represent the independents. Whether you agree with the protest or not, its effectiveness is in its staying power. It has moved from a sidelined gesture to a global symbol, proving that sometimes, the most powerful statement a player can make happens when the game hasn’t even started. As the debates rage on, the kneel remains a quiet, stubborn testament to the idea that the field is never just a field—it’s a pulpit, a platform, and a mirror of the society it entertains.
