Amid ‘firefight’ for lives, Mizzou coach Eli Drinkwitz boldly advocates vaccination

Reflecting a dereliction of leadership and the contrived warping of a health crisis into politics, Missouri could be considered “the U.S Epicenter for COVID-19,” as Healthline.com recently put it.

Certainly, it’s become a cordial host to the delta variant, surging in hotspots such as Joplin, which as of Wednesday was atop the COVID-19 hospitalization rate in the United States: 75 per 100,000.

“Challenged- Yes, Overwhelmed-Not Yet, Backing down-Never!!! Words are inadequate to describe the toughness of the Mercy Joplin Team #lovethyneighbor,” the president of Mercy Health Joplin wrote Wednesday on Twitter.

Which brings us to the matter of the most visible person in Missouri taking on COVID amid the leadership vacuum. He wasn’t elected but at least he’s the highest-paid employee in the state: Mizzou football coach Eliah Drinkwitz, whose brother Jeremy happens to be the president of Mercy Health Joplin.

His brother’s work is part of why Drinkwitz understands the dire magnitude of the virus that has left the hospital (among others) in what the coach called “a firefight right now for people’s lives.” And why he thinks he ought to use what he called his “awesome platform” to try to make a difference in a broader battle beyond the one he certainly seems to be winning with his staff and team.

(Drinkwitz estimated 95 percent of his staff has been vaccinated and said he is confident the team will be over the SEC threshold of 85 percent that would greatly reduce protocols and go a long way towards averting potential forfeits ahead.)

But this is about a lot more than football even if it has certain tidy parallels.

Including that in some way we’re all teammates and neighbors and our so-called “personal choices” often have implications and consequences for everyone else.

COVID became “a political football; I don’t believe it needs to be a political football …” he told a group of local reporters before the main event at Southeastern Conference media days on Thursday. “There are people dying, right? Because of this disease. It didn’t disappear after the election. It wasn’t (a) simulation.

“I mean, if we’re worried about long-term outcomes of the vaccine, (remember that) we’ve seen this covid situation for nearly 18 months. Like, we have to do something. It’s within our opportunity to do something.”

That includes debunking the bizarre lengths some embrace against common sense and the greater good, which Drinkwitz did in his own way.

“I read all of this conspiracy theory that this might be some sort of government ploy. But they’re posting it on social media,” he said. “They might need to be more worried about whether or not they’re being tracked on social media than (if they’re) being tracked by a vaccine.”

Such witticisms notwithstanding, he knows this is a sensitive and delicate matter. And that’s particularly so for him personally after only one full season at MU and at a time he is imploring fans to return to Memorial Stadium after years of tepid attendance.

With six national titles to his name in 15 seasons, it’s one thing for Alabama coach Nick Saban to go counter-culture in his state and tout the virtues of vaccination. Or for SEC commissioner Greg Sankey to say, “Vaccines are an important and incredible product of science … And we need to do our part to support a healthy society.”

Constructive as that all might be, it’s less of a risk for someone of their established stature than for Drinkwitz, who is 5-5 at Missouri entering his second season.

So this reflects a different sort of boldness coming from Drinkwitz, especially at a time he’s seeking traction in all corners of the state and hoping to be able to “identify with all kinds of people” therein.

Grinding against that grain is testament to a certain character in leadership.

You can define that sort of integrity a zillion different ways, but it ultimately boils down to motivating a group towards a common goal and maintaining conviction about what’s right even if it’s not popular and may be smack up against the prevailing winds.

Drinkwitz clearly seems informed by the experience of his brother, as well as a sister who’s a neonatal nurse and a brother-in-law who is a pediatrician. He’s heard the agonizing stories from family and maybe that’s made him more curious about and sensitive to other information, including something he read the other day alluding to an unvaccinated patient requiring a ventilator only then asking for the vaccine.

“It’s too late,” he said. “And it’s all preventable.”

Drinkwitz didn’t come to this advocacy whimsically or lightly. When he was asked about his approach Thursday morning, he more or less talked through how he got here.

Particularly in his position, he said, he knows he has to weigh the outcomes of what he endorses.

“And so for me when I think about the vaccinations, I think about what if I’m wrong: So if I say it’s up to each individual decision and I’m wrong about that, the consequences of not getting COVID vaccine are death,” said Drinkwitz, likely referring to statistics showing virtually all recent deaths from the virus now are among the unvaccinated.

He later added, “It’s not certain death. Some people fight it off, some people don’t. Everybody’s different. (But) there are all kinds of age groups right now that are really struggling with it.”

Meanwhile, Drinkwitz’s stance also reflects the CDC posture: It notes some rare risks with the three vaccines authorized in the United States but addresses that by saying “the known and potential benefits of COVID-19 vaccination outweigh the known and potential risks” and says “long-term side effects are unlikely.”

“It’s been seven months since I’ve been vaccinated, and I’m doing OK,” he said, injecting some humor into the heavy topic and adding, “I haven’t lost any more hair than coaching the SEC schedule.”

Speaking of which, Drinkwitz acknowledges the notion of what he called “a competitive advantage,” or at least not a disadvantage, to be gained by having his team as vaccinated as possible given the prospect of forfeiture of games if a team isn’t healthy enough to compete.

Likely cognizant of a maze of state and school rules and potential legal ramifications, he hasn’t demanded vaccination from his players.

But he’s appealed to the fact that if the team doesn’t meet the SEC threshold “then we have to enforce the meet, great, eat rules” that no one wants to have to deal with. And he’s made a case to players by equating vaccination to asking them to get their ankles taped.

“It’s a prevention method and an opportunity,” he said. “And I don’t get a lot of pushback about taping your ankles.”

The one-time N.C. State assistant coach also is holding up that former employer as an example after its baseball team was forced out of the College World Series because of COVID-19 protocols.

So all should be making sure they protect the team, he said, because “you don’t want to have a chance to win a championship and as a leader I didn’t do everything I could to prevent the spread.”

Meanwhile, here’s hoping his approach helps move the ball down the field in other ways for a reeling state that badly needs more of this kind of leadership right now.