Artificial Turf

Ah yes, artificial grass—or as it was known in its original language, “AstroTurf,” which is Latin for “Why does my kneecap feel like gravel?”

Invented in the mid-1960s and unleashed upon America’s athletes shortly thereafter, AstroTurf became all the rage in the 1970s because stadium owners discovered that maintaining real grass was expensive and required effort. Why water and mow when you could just glue down a carpet and call it a day?

It all started at the Houston Astrodome, where real grass went to die and AstroTurf took root—literally. Players ran onto that bright green plastic hellscape and instantly knew two things:

They were about to run a 4.4 forty.
They were about to destroy every joint in their body doing it.

Running on AstroTurf was like sprinting across a Brillo pad wrapped around a parking lot. It was fast, sure. But it was also unforgiving. A routine tackle could turn into a Skin Graft Tuesday. Receivers would go horizontal for a diving catch and come up looking like they’d just slid across a cheese grater.

And let’s talk injuries. Turf didn’t just cause injuries. It invented new ones. Turf toe. Turf burn. Turf back. Turf personality disorder. NFL linemen in the ’70s didn’t even ice their knees anymore—they just soaked them in gin and despair.

Baseball parks weren’t immune either. Veterans Stadium, Three Rivers, Riverfront—all of them were AstroTurfed nightmares where baseballs bounced like Super Balls and infielders developed PTSD. Ground balls turned into ground rockets, and double plays became acts of God.

But still, stadiums kept slapping down synthetic surfaces because it was low maintenance, cheap, and looked cool on TV, like a big glowing slab of nuclear broccoli. Fans in the stands didn’t care that their favorite players were leaving body parts behind on every slant route.

Eventually, cooler heads—and smarter doctors—prevailed. Modern turf got softer, more “grassy,” and a little less homicidal. But if you played in the ‘70s or ‘80s? You earned your paycheck one turf burn at a time, baby.

So next time you see a field with that perfect, manicured grass? Take a moment to honor the legends who sacrificed their ACLs, ankles, and entire outer thighs to the great green indoor monster of yesteryear.