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 silent protest; to others, a disrespectful gesture. But beyond the heated political debates, "taking a knee" in football is a multifaceted act with deep roots in the sport's own mechanics, a surprising history, and a symbolic power that has transcended the game entirely. As someone who has spent years both studying sports culture and working in media, I’ve always been fascinated by how a simple athletic maneuver can become a global lexicon for dissent. Let's peel back the layers, starting right on the field where the action literally begins.
In its purest, most non-controversial form, "taking a knee" or simply "taking a knee" is a standard football procedure. It’s a strategic play, usually executed by the quarterback in the victory formation. With seconds left on the clock and a lead to protect, the quarterback receives the snap and immediately kneels, downing the ball. The clock continues to run, and without the risk of a fumble or a play that could stop the clock, the game effectively ends. I’ve always admired the elegant simplicity of it—a move of control, not concession. The rules are clear: the player is downed at the spot of the knee, and the play is dead. It’s a universal sign of a game manager sealing a win, a tactical tool taught at every level of the sport. This fundamental understanding is crucial, because it’s this very posture—one of deliberate cessation, of choosing not to advance—that provided the physical vocabulary for the protest we know today.
The history of the protest gesture, of course, is inextricably linked to Colin Kaepernick. In the 2016 NFL preseason, he first sat, then after consulting with a veteran, chose to kneel during the national anthem to protest police brutality and racial injustice. He specifically stated kneeling was meant to be respectful, a gesture akin to a flag ceremony at a military funeral. But the symbolism was explosive. It transformed the act from a game-ending tactic to a season-starting controversy. The league grappled with it, viewership debates raged, and Kaepernick himself became a polarizing figure, effectively exiled from the NFL. What many forget is that the act of kneeling for a cause wasn't born on that NFL sideline. It has precedents, like the 1968 Olympic Black Power salute. But Kaepernick’s protest harnessed the specific, familiar imagery of the football kneel, giving it a potent, ambiguous power—was it surrender, or was it solemnity? From my perspective, that ambiguity is precisely what made it so powerful and so threatening. It forced everyone to project their own meaning onto it.
This leads us to the "why." Why do players take a knee? The reasons have evolved and diversified since 2016. Initially, it was a specific protest against systemic racism. Following the murder of George Floyd in 2020, it saw a massive resurgence across global sports, becoming a broader symbol of solidarity with the Black Lives Matter movement. Today, it can represent a range of social justice issues. But to understand the personal calculus behind it, we can look to a different competitive context. Consider a quote from a veteran basketball coach in the Philippines, discussing playoff scenarios: "Ako, kung kami natalo, okay lang sa akin na sila ang pumasok kasi they’ll represent the independent teams." Translated: "For me, if we lose, it’s okay with me if they advance because they’ll represent the independent teams." This sentiment—of accepting a personal or team setback for a larger, representational cause—echoes the sacrifice made by protesting athletes. Kaepernick and those who joined him knew the risks: fan backlash, media criticism, career jeopardy. They "took the loss" of public favor, in a sense, to try and advance a broader message they felt was more important than their individual standing. They chose to represent a cause larger than the game. That’s a powerful parallel, and it’s one I find most compelling when analyzing athlete activism.
The SEO-driven world wants simple answers, but the kneel football story refuses to be boxed in. Data points are tricky. We can cite that in the first two weeks of the 2020 NFL season, over 70% of games featured players protesting during the anthem, a stark contrast to the handful in 2016. We can mention jersey sales spikes for involved players. But numbers can't measure cultural impact. The gesture has been adopted by soccer players in Europe, cricket teams, and even schoolchildren. The NFL itself has waffled, initially threatening to punish players, then pausing that policy after the 2020 summer of protests, and now generally allowing it without fanfare. As a publishing editor, I’ve seen the topic evolve from a lightning-rod op-ed staple to a more integrated, if still debated, part of sports coverage.
So, where does that leave us? Taking a knee in football is a chameleon of an act. It is, and always will be, Rule 4, Section 1, Article 2: a way to end a game. It is a chapter in modern sports history, a case study in athlete activism. And it is a personal, profound symbol for those who perform it, carrying a weight of sacrifice and representation that transcends wins and losses. It’s not a monolithic statement, and that’s okay. Its power lies in its simplicity and the complex, often uncomfortable, conversations it forces us to have every time we see it. The kneel, in the end, is less about the player on the ground and more about what everyone else is forced to look at, and reflect upon, while they’re down there.