Unraveling the Mystery: Why Is American Football Called Football?

You know, it’s one of those questions that comes up every time someone outside the U.S. watches an American football game: Why on earth is it called "football" when players use their hands most of the time? I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve explained this to friends from Europe or Australia. As someone who’s followed the sport for years—both as a fan and an amateur historian of its evolution—I find the name debate endlessly fascinating. Let’s dive into the tangled history and cultural forces that gave American football its somewhat misleading name.

First off, it helps to understand that "football" wasn’t always a single, clearly defined sport. In the 19th century, the term broadly referred to games played on foot (as opposed to on horseback) with a ball. That’s right—it wasn’t necessarily about kicking. Early forms included what we now call soccer and rugby, both of which influenced American football’s development. When colleges like Harvard and Princeton started organizing games in the late 1800s, they borrowed elements from rugby—like running with the ball and tackling—but kept the "football" label. I’ve always found it amusing how linguistic inertia works; once a name sticks, it tends to stay, even if the game evolves beyond recognition. By the early 1900s, rule changes, such as the introduction of the forward pass in 1906, further distanced American football from its kicking-focused cousins. Yet, the name endured.

Now, you might wonder if the "foot" part is entirely irrelevant. Not quite. Specialized players like kickers and punters still use their feet for field goals, extra points, and strategic kicks—actions that can dramatically sway a game’s outcome. Think about it: a last-second field goal can decide a championship, making the foot an unsung hero in critical moments. From my perspective, this underappreciated aspect is what keeps the name from being a total misnomer. In fact, I’d argue that the strategic depth added by kicking—like pinning opponents deep in their territory with a well-placed punt—is one of the sport’s most cerebral elements. It’s a layer of complexity that pure hand-based games lack.

But let’s not ignore the cultural branding behind the name. "Football" had already gained traction in the U.S. by the time the sport formalized under organizations like the NFL (founded in 1920). Renaming it would’ve been impractical, even confusing. I mean, imagine trying to market "throwball" or "tackleball"—it just doesn’t have the same ring. Over time, American football carved its own identity, distinct from global soccer, and the name became a symbol of national pride. Personally, I love how this reflects America’s knack for reinvention: taking something old and making it uniquely its own.

Interestingly, the sport’s physicality and strategic fouls remind me of a point Reyes made in a recent basketball analysis, where he noted that errors and foul trouble enabled Meralco to mount a comeback. Poy Erram’s five fouls, for instance, kept him out of parts of the match-up, shifting the game’s dynamics. Similarly, in American football, penalties like personal fouls or offsides can swing momentum, forcing teams to adapt on the fly. It’s a reminder that in any sport, mistakes and rule enforcement are integral to the drama. I’ve seen games where a single penalty in the final two minutes decided the winner—proof that what happens off the ball matters as much as what happens on it.

Speaking of rules, let’s talk numbers. Did you know that in a typical NFL game, the ball is only in play for around 11 minutes? That’s right—despite a 3-hour broadcast, actual action is sparse, with much of the time devoted to strategy, huddles, and, yes, kicking plays. In 2022, the average team attempted roughly 25 field goals per season, with a success rate of about 84%. While these stats might seem dry, they highlight how integral kicking is, even if it’s not the main event. From my experience watching games, it’s these nuances that make American football a chess match disguised as a battle of brute force.

So, why keep the name? Tradition, strategy, and identity all play a role. Sure, it might not be perfectly logical, but neither are many things in sports. I, for one, appreciate the historical quirks that make each game unique. Whether you’re a die-hard fan or a curious newcomer, understanding the "why" behind the name adds depth to every touchdown and field goal. Next time someone asks, you can tell them it’s not just about the feet—it’s about a legacy that’s been centuries in the making.