When I was young, I loved Greek mythology because I love stories. Stories of a savior, of downfall and hubris, of redemption; I loved them because I could relate my emotions and personal experiences to the characters within them. 

I was particularly intrigued by one famous myth – Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods to give to man and is punished by Zeus for eternity. Greek myths are rather dramatic. 

Less dramatic, but equally as riveting, are sports. I also love them for their stories. I’m a lifelong fan because each season brings a wave of new characters, new personalities and narratives I can empathize with. 

One of the most current storylines is one of, in sports terms, a tragedy. On Aug. 25, Indianapolis Colts quarterback Andrew Luck announced his retirement from the National Football League (NFL). At just 29 years old and coming off a season in which he was named an NFL All-Pro (the NFL’s version of an All-Star), Luck left a plethora of cash on the table to walk away from his sport. Yet his accomplishments remain robust: over $100 million in career earnings, four All-Pro teams, 171 passing touchdowns. 

But the twist to the very end of his impactful career is where tragedy appears. Luck has suffered through a number of injuries during his seven-year NFL career. It’s as if he were chained to the same rock Prometheus lies on, with defenders flying in to deliver vicious hits throughout his body, leaving him to wait to regenerate before another season begins. In 2015 came a sprained shoulder, lacerated kidney and torn abdominal muscle; in 2016 came a torn cartilage and a concussion; in 2017 came a season-ending shoulder surgery; in 2019 came a calf strain. It was with this final injury that Luck chose not to go through the battle of recovery again and called an end. 

It is there that this undoubtedly strange comparison between Luck and Prometheus should end, for one simple reason. Prometheus was an immortal deity. Luck is not. He’s simply a man choosing to quit his job because circumstances became understandably too difficult. 

Yet, us sports fans in America tend to put our athletes on such a high pedestal that it can almost seem as if they’re immortal. Particularly in football, athletes are often criticized if they don’t attempt to play through seemingly minuscule injuries, even if it might affect their performance. Luck’s retirement was certainly no exception.

After a preseason game against the Chicago Bears, Colts fans who had learned of Luck’s imminent retirement rained down “boos” as the quarterback walked off the field on Saturday, Aug. 24. Doug Gottlieb, a sports analyst and radio host on Fox Sports 1, made waves on Twitter for ripping into Luck with one simple tweet: “Retiring cause rehabbing is ‘too hard’ is the most millennial thing ever #AndrewLuck.” 

Imagine this in any other profession, even one with the same amount of public viewership. Say your favorite author, actor or musician retired early after a brief but incredible career due to health reasons. You’d be sad, but you certainly wouldn’t “boo” their decision. You probably wouldn’t criticize them for wanting to move on to other things for what they felt was for their betterment. But in sports, if there are cracks slowly spreading through the physically gifted facade of our favorite athletes — and they choose to abandon that facade rather than try once more to repair it — everyone goes nuts. 

I’m not a Colts fan, but I can respect good storytelling. Luck, being hit repeatedly, slowly wearing his body down until he couldn’t handle having to go through recovery, is one we should empathize with. Because our favorite athletes aren’t gods. They’re people like us.