The day was 19 July, 1996. It was the day that sport could’ve changed forever, for the better. However, sport’s enduring messages of inspiration, hope and achievement was replaced with the reality.

Everything that was positive about sport was, for a moment, replaced with the sadness and horror of what sport does to some in the pursuit of greatness.

But for most it was only a fleeting moment, as yesterday’s disposable hero was removed from the spotlight, replaced by tomorrow’s disposable heroes.

Muhammed Ali’s harrowing attempts to light the projectile that would in turn light the cauldron opening the Atlanta Olympics was not the feel good moment that the International Olympic Committee and Atlanta’s organisers imagined it would be, and told us it was.

In opening the world’s biggest sporting spectacle, Muhammed Ali showed the world everything it didn’t want to know about sport.

That heroes don’t live forever. That the pursuit of greatness takes its toll. That we sit on the couch expecting excellence today without concerning ourselves with what happens our “hero” tomorrow when they are disposed of.

But then something ridiculous happened. Rather than wondering what happened to the man that didn’t just pursue greatness, but became “The Greatest”, the world bowed to the almighty IOC Machine, and forgot what they’d seen.

The media, and thus the world, did what it was told. It focused on the Olympic extravaganza, the greatest sporting event on Earth, even managing to largely ignore a bomb explosion – and after cashing in on the nostalgia value of a once brash, charismatic Cassius Clay to open the games, it spent two weeks ignoring what the Olympic movement and sport in general had ultimately meant for The Greatest.

If 1996 wasn’t the year to begin researching the extent of brain injuries in sport, perhaps it was following the death of Mike Webster, a former NFL offensive lineman who took his own life aged 50 in 2002.

After a glittering career Webster’s post football life descended into one of depression, anxiety, memory loss, chronic drug abuse and homelessness.

Posthumous examinations of Webster’s brain revealed that his final, tragic years were the result of Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, or CTE.

CTE is a degenerative condition thought to be caused by the effect of multiple concussions and can only be diagnosed by brain autopsy.

Similar in characteristics to Parkinson’s Disease and Lou Gehrig’s Disease, it has long been a known risk for boxers, but had not previously been detected in other sports (although there are now suggestions that Lou Gehrig, a baseballer, may have contracted CTE and not the disease that bears his name).

Tragedies attributed to CTE continued with the deaths of former NFL players Justin Strzelczyk, a nine-year player who suffered severe mental health issues before driving his car into a petrol truck in 2004 (aged 36); Terry Long, an eight-year player player who took his own life in 2005 (45); Andre Walters, a nine-year player who committed suicide in 2006 (44).

Despite the early signs of an epidemic, the NFL continued to ignore the issue. Other sporting organisations were grateful that it wasn’t their problem.

And so when the next major CTE tragedy occurred on the weekend of 22-24 June, 2007 the lack of reaction from other sports was startling.

Chris Benoit, professional wrestler – a “pretend” athlete from a “fake sport” – murdered his wife and nine-year old son over a two-day period before taking his own life a day later. The double murder-suicide was worldwide news as accusations of widespread steroid use were levelled at Benoit’s employer, World Wrestling Entertainment.

The suggestions that steroids may have been involved led to a Federal investigation into steroid abuse in professional wrestling. When suspicions around Benoit’s cause of death switched to CTE, the steroid investigation was quietly forgotten about, but still the US Government was not prepared to investigate the incidents of brain injuries in sport.

Benoit’s death had two major implications. As well as demonstrating that the issue was not exclusive to football, Benoit’s years of ‘performing’ every night without necessarily taking fierce head blows indicated that frequency of concussions, as well as the severity, was a key factor in the onset of CTE.

But if sporting fans are one-eyed, the USA’s key sports administrators of the mid 2000s were blind. In 2009 Reg Hickey became ice hockey’s first confirmed case of CTE after a 20-year career, though his death did not result from CTE.

Beyond 2008, the rate of CTE diagnoses continued to rise. Deaths included NFL footballers Tom McHale (aged 45) of an accidental drug overdose and David Duerson (50) of a self inflicted gun shot wound, as well as another wrestling victim, Andrew Martin (33) of an overdose.

The issue would become worse again as retired American footballers were replaced in the headlines by current American footballers.

Owen Thomas, a 21-year-old college footballer from the University of Pennsylvania, took his own life in 2010. While Thomas’ CTE was not found to have caused his death, the brain autopsy shed new light on CTE due to Thomas’ age and the absence of any reported concussions.

Later in 2010 was Chris Henry, a 26-year-old, who died after falling from the back of a ute in a domestic dispute. Violence and substance abuse resulted in Henry being released from his NFL contract months before his death with his behaviour later attributed to CTE.

In 2011 the National Hockey League again managed to steal attention from the NFL. Three active players died within months of each other after careers as ‘enforcers’. These were ice hockey players who were paid to fight.

Derek Boogaard (27), Rick Rypien (27) and Wade Belak (35) all perished following issues with depression and substance abuse. All three were found to have CTE.

The response to American sports’ brain injury crisis has clearly been inadequate. 16 years after the Ali horror show, 10 years after Webster’s death, and two years since players started dropping dead, the National Football League’s only response remains the establishment of the NFL Concussion Committee in 2009.

This was widely viewed as a token endeavour, and the NFL is now subject to over 150 lawsuits relating to concussions, including a class action involving around 2000 players.

They allege that in establishing the committee, the NFL committed to action, and that it was negligent in failing to act meaningfully.

The players have also filed shocking allegations that a 1998 report produced for the NFL highlighted the potential risk of brain injuries in the NFL and was not released to players or the public.

Sadly, one of the original seven plaintiffs, Ray Easterling, succumbed to CTE earlier this year at age 63, taking his own life after battles with depression and dementia.

Frustrated the ongoing lack of research, the NFL Players Association established a relationship with Boston College’s Centre for the Study of Traumatic Encephalopathy (CSTE). It has since established a brain donor registry with over 250 athletes from American football, wrestling, ice hockey, boxing and the world game committing to donate their brain to science.

Former North Queensland Cowboy Shaun Valentine is the only Australian athlete to commit his brain to the brain bank.

If American sporting administrators have been negligent, it’s fair to argue that Australian administrators have been blissfully ignorant. The non-reaction to a previous piece on CTE on ABC’s Four Corners early in 2012 and the repeated brick walls one hits when investigating brain injuries in Australian sport clearly indicate that the industry does not want to discuss the issue.

In largely ignoring the issue, administrators, the media and spectators are doing the players and the game a grave disservice. As both of Australia’s major football codes have become increasingly wealthy, the games have become increasingly faster, with bigger bodies, harder collisions and increased training.

Given what American football has experienced with CTE, it is surely inevitable that the nature of the Australian codes will lead to cases here.

But these codes are completely unprepared for it.

Earlier this year, former AFL players Dean Kemp and Chad Rintoul received confidential settlements from the AFL after their careers were ended by concussions. Rintoul was reported widely suggesting a mandatory one-week ban for players who suffer concussion, and stated that more attention needs to be brought to the issue.

The AFL’s response was to use the payouts to vindicate recently adopted concussion measures, which include players who suffer a concussion not being allowed to return to the game. The AFL also increased sanctions for players who make contact with the head of an opponent.

The American experience of CTE suggests that these are very token measures at dealing with a major issue. But the AFL’s reaction deserves praise compared to the reaction of clubs and players.

Following the alleged concussions of Drew Petrie and Lachie Hansen, and the subsequent investigations, North Melbourne have highlighted why CTE’s critical mass in Australia could be even more devastating than that being experienced in America – Australian clubs and players are not well enough informed of the risk of brain injury and openly castigate the AFL’s concussion measures.

The AFL’s concussion policy became effectively toothless by the end of the 2012 season when the AFL called an investigation into whether the players had returned to the playing field suffering concussion.

The AFL was unable to substantiate the allegations, but did fine North Melbourne for failing to cooperate.

This is the worst possible result – not only could the AFL not prove a concussion, thus completely undermining the concussion rule; but it fined the club for being so petulant as to not assist an investigation into a critical player welfare issue, thus showing the level of interest clubs have for player welfare.

The NRL’s reaction is an even greater indictment on the Australian sporting landscape’s view on head injuries.

The uproar around the NRL’s recent decision to ban the shoulder charge was nauseating. In a code that is not renowned for prioritising the safety of its players, the banning of the shoulder charge is the first serious attempt the league has made to address the issue of brain injuries.

While it would be fair to label the move a token effort in the broader picture of brain injury risks, the NRL would have been within its rights to expect support from its constituency. The NRL, and the mother of the aspiring footballer lying to his doctor so he could play deserved better than a respected leader of the game in Paul Gallen inferring that decreasing the risk of concussions is soft.

Like the AFL, the NRL is being undermined by the stakeholders who have the most to gain from a more responsible approach to player welfare.

The game is not soft. The game has never been harder. Watching Greg Inglis with blistering speed and 110 kilograms of pure muscle attempting to cause serious harm to Dean Young is not why people go to the footy, and it is definitely not an element of any game that a parent would want their child to play.

The essence of sport is about competition, testing the limits of your body and mind within the limits of what is fair. It’s supposed to be fun.

Seeing Greg Inglis deliver head-high shoulder charger or Kurt Tippett receiving three concussions in five weeks is not the essence of sport.

People want to watch Inglis running through and over defences and tearing them to bits. Fans want to watch Tippett taking contested pack marks and bombing goals from outside fifty metres (unless they live in Adelaide).

But the only way to ensure that fans get to see the best players is to recognise a potential issue and to invest in the safety of the players.

We lost another one last week in the NFL. Jovan Belcher was a 25-year-old player with the Kansas City Chiefs with a three month old daughter. Just over a week ago on 3 December, he shot dead his girlfriend (and child’s mother) in front of his own mother, before driving to the Chiefs facility and shooting himself dead in front of team coaches.

It took the Huffington Post less than a day to connect the terrible events of 3 December to traumatic brain injury. Belcher was not typical of most NFL players alleged to be involved in violent crimes. He graduated university with a degree in child development and family relations.

While at university he was involved in a group of male athletes denouncing violence which included a pledge against violence.

It didn’t take long for reports to surface that Belcher had been abusing alcohol and pain killers prior to his death to deal with head injuries.

We’ve lost the essence of sport. We’ve lost the fun.

Supporters never used to deal with players dying, certainly not as a result of self-inflicted violent crime, and certainly not as a direct result of their efforts to entertain and to succeed.

2012 is another NFL season with a dark shadow cast upon it by Belcher’s death on the eve of the business end of the season. How many more before sports start to take it seriously?

How many Australian athletes will die – how many of their partners or their children will be hurt or affected – before administrators here take meaningful action?

Without fun, the essence of sport around the physical and mental challenge means nothing. At the end of the day it’s only a game – and is not worth dying for.