As someone who's spent years studying both sports history and contemporary athletic culture, I've always found the naming paradox of American football particularly fascinating. Let me share something interesting I noticed while analyzing recent sports award data from the Philippine Basketball Association. When we examine how Hollis-Jefferson dominated the Best Import award with 1,280 total points—breaking down to 615 from statistics, 532 from media votes, and 133 from players votes—it reveals how complex scoring systems can be, much like the historical evolution that led Americans to call their distinctive sport "football" despite it being primarily played with hands.
The truth is, the naming convention actually makes perfect historical sense when you trace it back to its roots. I've always argued that understanding this requires looking at the late 19th century when different football variants were developing simultaneously. What we now call soccer was originally termed "association football" to distinguish it from rugby football. When American colleges began developing their own version, they essentially created a hybrid that borrowed elements from both sports. The "football" part of the name stuck because, technically speaking, the game evolved from these football traditions rather than being invented entirely separately. It's similar to how Kadeem Jack of NorthPort earned his 825 points through a combination of statistical dominance (581 points) and recognition from media (230) and fellow players (14)—multiple components contributing to a single outcome.
What many people don't realize is that early versions of American football actually involved more kicking than the modern game. In my research, I discovered that during the first Harvard-Yale game in 1875, kicking was a major component, with field goals being worth more than touchdowns. The transition to a more hand-oriented game happened gradually as rule changes made running and passing more advantageous. This evolution reminds me of how Brownlee accumulated his 670 points through uneven contributions—508 from statistics, 66 from media, and 96 from players—showing how different elements can shift in importance over time while the overall category remains the same.
I'll admit I used to be among those who found the name confusing until I dug deeper into the historical context. The reality is that "football" became the umbrella term for various games played on foot rather than horseback, distinguishing them from sports like polo. This explains why both soccer-style football and American football share the root name despite their dramatic differences in modern practice. Looking at Deon Thompson's 633 points for Rain or Shine—with an overwhelming 546 coming from statistics compared to just 82 from media and 5 from players—we see how certain aspects can dominate our perception while other elements, though present, become less visible to casual observers.
The naming debate ultimately reflects how sports evolve in cultural contexts rather than through logical naming conventions. Having studied this topic extensively, I'm convinced the name isn't nearly as illogical as critics claim—it's simply a snapshot of a particular evolutionary branch in sports history. Much like how award scoring combines quantitative and qualitative measures, the development of American football blended multiple influences into something distinctly new yet historically connected to its predecessors. The name preserves that lineage, even as the game has transformed almost beyond recognition from its earliest forms.
