When Suits Get Involved, Blame Is Name of Game

Kelci Stringer is a 27-year-old widow with a 3-year-old son and too many questions.

Stanley Chesley is a famous Cincinnati trial lawyer who likes to shout and can’t stop himself from referring to Richard Nixon and Rosemary Woods and recorders with pedals and 18 minutes of missing Watergate tape.

This left an audience of mostly young TV and radio reporters exchanging puzzled looks Thursday.

It’s the 21st century, Stanley. Rosemary Woods doesn’t resonate.

The purpose of the news conference at an airport hotel was to announce the planned filing of a lawsuit blaming the Minnesota Vikings, their head coach and offensive line coach, their trainers and team doctors for the death of Viking all-pro tackle Korey Stringer.

And maybe the hospital where Stringer was taken.

“We don’t know much about the quality of care Korey received,” Chesley said.

And maybe the NFL too.

“Did you know,” Chesley said, “why NFL players make much less in outside income than basketball and baseball players? Because the NFL won’t let players take off their helmets, not even when they score touchdowns. So the public can’t see them. Interesting, isn’t it?”

Actually, no, it isn’t that interesting. Not on a day when the point is supposed to be about why Korey Stringer died and what can be done to make sure another heat-related death doesn’t happen.

While Chesley blathered on, Kelci Stringer sat still as stone.

Chesley actually compared the conduct of the Vikings on Aug. 1 to the conduct of terrorists on Sept. 11.

Chesley’s reasoning: Sept. 11 didn’t take only as long as it took hijackers to take over four airplanes. The tragedy of Sept. 11 took form years ago, when the 19 alleged terrorists came to the U.S. Sept. 11 took years of careful planning. “Korey Stringer didn’t just drop dead of heatstroke,” Chesley said. “Many, many things had to go wrong.”

This is beyond distasteful. It sounds as if Chesley would like the world to think the Vikings somehow were involved in planning the circumstances that resulted in the sudden death of a highly respected player in whom the team had invested millions. If that’s not what Chesley meant, then there was no reason to bring up Sept. 11. But that’s what happens when a Stanley Chesley gets a podium, a microphone and a national audience.

So it’s easy to see how someone might say that Kelci Stringer and Korey’s parents, James and Cathy Stringer from Warren, Ohio, are greedy and selfish and aiming to make millions.

For wasn’t Korey Stringer a grown man who should have known his body better than anyone? Shouldn’t he have taken it upon himself to get off the field sooner? Shouldn’t he have asked for intravenous fluids or other medical attention?

The answer is yes, of course.

But then shouldn’t Viking personnel have done more, sooner? Shouldn’t someone have called an ambulance sooner or hauled the cramping, moaning Stringer from the “cool room” into a car and off to the hospital sooner?

The answer will probably be yes, of course.

When the search for blame begins, and when two teams of lawyers, with millions of dollars on the line, look for that blame, blame will be found.

Chesley spoke ominously about bringing to light the “culture” of football. He spoke disparagingly of the “closed society” where men push themselves to unbelievable limits. NFL training camps, Chesley says, “are worse then boot camps.”

So if there is a trial, we’ll find out that coaches yell and players vomit. We’ll find out that sometimes coaches are mean and sarcastic and maybe will make fun of a player, such as Stringer, who, while bending over and gasping for breath at practice, will have his picture taken and have that picture appear in a newspaper.

And we’ll hear how some of Stringer’s own teammates maybe made fun of him.

Chesley and his staff will act as if they have never, ever heard such terrible words, never seen such miserable behavior. They will ignore how Stringer, like nearly every other NFL player in history, probably engaged in the very same behavior plenty of times. That’s what athletes and coaches do.

Kelci Stringer spoke emotionally of perhaps being naive because she expected some words of solace from Red McCombs, the San Antonio millionaire who owns the Vikings. She thought he might come to her home or at least stop by at a Viking game. Instead McCombs sent his daughter to greet Kelci. And the daughter told Kelci her father would have come, except he couldn’t leave his corporate guests. “It was only a few feet,” Kelci said.

What Kelci has found is that sports is no different from the corporate world. McCombs probably didn’t express any sorrow because he was afraid he would get sued. So now he’s getting sued because he didn’t express any sorrow.

Kelci wants to know why her husband died and the people who may know are afraid to tell her because they might get sued. So now they’re getting sued.

James Gould, Stringer’s agent and friend, said the lawsuit would not be filed until after the final game of the season because Kelci didn’t want to disrupt the focus of the players, whom she thinks of as Korey’s friends. And then someone suggested the suit was given advance publicity to force the Vikings to settle. Kelci seemed surprised. She put her head in her hands.

Another lesson learned.

On Nov. 19, McCombs is supposed to present Kelci Stringer, on national television, at halftime of a Monday night game, the retired jersey of Korey.

“I see no reason why this should have any effect on that evening,” Gould said.

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Diane Pucin can be reached at diane.pucin@latimes.com