Vicariously

After fifteen years, my football helmet weighs pretty much what it did in 2013. The shape is almost exactly the same, except for two recessed pinhole cameras on each side and the plastic visor that lies underneath the face mask. From the outside, it looks almost identical to what you used to see on the field, slightly sleeker with barely noticeable bulges.

Inside, the future lives. A sturdy output system creates a functional heads-up display on the inside of the visor, augmented reality that’s capable of updating in real time from multiple cameras placed on the periphery of the stadium overlooking the field. This data is used to highlight open receivers to pass to or cover, running gaps to fill or burst through, and incoming tacklers/blockers out of visual range. The raw feed is available to both teams; each team’s sorting and collating algorithms are the crown jewels of their offensive and defensive systems, striving for that perfect balance right before information overload where every necessary datum is instantly grasped by the mind, all extraneousness cut away.

Inside the huddle, each player sees the currently called play flashing on his visor—visual memory instantly accessible, alternative routes and audibles flashing across as updates. No more excuses about forgetting your playbook or missing an assignment. The good players glance at it occasionally for a refresher, and the great ones integrate it into their sense of the game, just another instinct to guide split-second reactions.

GPS-tracking devices and accelerometers provide an exact diagram of what happens on every down for all twenty-two players on the field, a plethora of stats that spawn obscure fantasy leagues based on player acceleration and newtons applied, as well as an abundance of metrics for evaluation and color commentary. Information technology and applied statistics are job requirements for scouting and player personnel; adaptability and pattern recognition are the hallmarks of successful coaches and managers, now more than ever before.

This is all a sideshow. The real future lies in the hands of the consumer, the fan, the observer. No longer do people gather in front of a flat-screen to watch a single view of the action—instead, VR feeds allow them to immerse themselves in the viewpoints of the players. You, the fan, are the player, and you don’t have to limit yourself to being just one. Flip from the center to the quarterback as the snap comes back, you quickly scanning the secondary before rolling out and dumping a short pass to the running back, and all of a sudden you’re sprinting down the field, stiff-arming one defender, spinning around another, until you’re the safety closing in like a heat-seeking missile, vision narrowing and impact, and it’s time to head back to the huddle to wait for the next six seconds of action.

The opportunities for profit are immense, of course. Networks charge premium prices for premium players—if you want to be the star quarterback or middle linebacker, it’s going to cost you, and during the huddle, the ads flock to the corners of your vision.

“Fifty-three rhino x slant z double go, brought to you by Walmart, where the best prices go deep every day!”

“Two jet over cloud, stack the box because it’s Miller time!”

“Six box solid punt right, flying down the field like the all-new Ford F-750, now with best-in-class fuel efficiency!”

Fan loyalties splinter and regroup based on the fans’ favorite teams, the most exciting player to experience, the merits of offensive versus defensive play, and a host of other competing variables, all of which can be endlessly discussed in their appropriate chatgroups. Highlight reels are a nonstop barrage of twisting, turning, juking, bobbing, hitting, and catching as seen from every possible angle. Players are more akin to reality stars than athletes, their every move dissected from the vantage point of their own eyes by a million armchair experts.

But don’t think this is limited to football. Movies, music, porn—anything that can be recorded is experienced, always for a price, always to turn a buck. Any fantasy someone can create is yours to enjoy, always on tap; escape is just a credit transfer away. Your life is as boring as you wish it to be. Your life is yours only if that’s what you want.

Some subsume their identities into others. Living the lie of another person for too long leads to the blurring of boundaries, a loss of self—id displacement. Time spent away from the feed is an unwanted but necessary trauma to keep access flowing; you scrape up just enough to get by each day, your inner dreams buried beneath the distant weight of overachievement and adulation channeled into vacant eyes.

What will you do when your mirror shows you a stranger?

Are you truly living your life?

Ray Bradbury was wrong. We won’t need walls.