The latest NFL domestic-abuse scandal is a distinct improvement over one that erupted 21 years ago. In 1993, just before the Super bowl in Pasadena, a coalition of liberal and women's groups kicked off a frenzy with a press conference calling the big game "the biggest day of the year for violence against women," citing a study supposedly indicating that emergency-room admissions jumped 40%.  The story was everywhere, on TV, in every newspaper, despite being essentially untrue, as various debunkings later would show. Grossly misrepresented was an Old Dominion University study that said nothing about the Super Bowl. The study actually found no significant correlation between Redskin wins and losses and emergency-room visits.  At least a real act of violence set off the latest frenzy, Ray Rice's altercation in a casino elevator with his then-fiancée. But we'd be remiss not to point out that a game is being played here called "exploit the NFL's brand equity." The National Organization of Women, which has been a loud voice demanding NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell's resignation, doesn't give two hoots who the NFL commissioner is. It sees a chance to get its message out.  The opposing team is running plays too: Indra Nooyi, the female head of Pepsi, has suited up on the league's behalf, to defend its female-friendliness.  And the underlying issue? Some have questioned the prosecutors' decisions, but New Jersey seems to have made sure Mr. Rice faced a serious charge—aggravated assault, with a potential five-year sentence. It also seems to have seriously applied the criteria for its first-timers leniency program, in which the victim, Mr. Rice's now-wife, was allowed an important say.  The complaint today is really against the NFL for not producing a more satisfying punishment, well after the fact, once the public saw a new video from the elevator surveillance camera. This the league and the Baltimore Ravens are belatedly seeking to remedy by taking away Mr. Rice's livelihood. But in his press conference last week, Mr. Goodell still said the wrong thing, or failed to say the right thing, or said the right thing in the wrong way—or something.  A writer for the Los Angeles Times managed succinctly to deliver the real complaint: "Goodell doesn't get it." Not "getting it" is the all-purpose, nonspecific accusation for failing to strike the right gesture.  A writer for CBSSports.com accused the NFL chief of flunking the Adam Silver test by not "nailing the moment." Exactly. Mr. Silver, the NBA commissioner, supplied the media its dramatic catharsis when, on hearing Donald Sterling's racially charged tape, he announced a legally dubious demand that Mr. Sterling relinquish ownership of his team. Mr. Goodell offered no catharsis. He played the game badly. He let the ball go between his legs.  This hullabaloo at least has the virtue of being rooted in basic decency, opposition to domestic violence, but it still rings false on many levels.  We can only sympathize with ESPN's Kate Fagan, called upon stammeringly to explain why considerations like the rights of the now-thrice-punished Mr. Rice and his wife (who has bitterly criticized the media) or the lack of any real culpability on the NFL's part must be pushed aside for a "really, really important discussion about domestic violence in society . . . a much needed discussion for the rest of us to have."  Really? It's been decades since police and courts gave a pass to wife beaters. Mr. Rice was hauled before a grand jury; given the video evidence, he might well have gotten the full five-year sentence—which undoubtedly posed a quandary for his now-wife and prosecutors. For that matter, Hope Solo, a star of women's professional soccer, will be tried in November for punching her nephew and sister at a party, though she's still being allowed to play, which has some pundits trotting out "double standards" columns.  Obviously an alleged refusal to face up to domestic violence is not the problem here. Quite the contrary. Domestic violence is a common form of criminal violence for a reason: People fight with those they know. This creates dilemmas for the justice system absent when stranger assaults stranger—dilemmas even a $40-million-a-year league president might struggle to resolve to the satisfaction of any but the shallowest of media shouters.  Which is why every article and news segment justifies itself by segueing to those problems that football faces that actually pertain to football. Its concussion problem the NFL controls (and can solve), unlike the problem of family members hitting each other.  Incoherent upwellings sometimes do mark epochal shifts. But those who see an end to the NFL's run as America's favorite sport and TV entertainment option are probably misreading the significance of their own noise-making. Life, football and movies all entail violence and conflict. Football is not going to take the fall for the enduring truths of human nature.
In The Wall Street Journal, Business World columnist Holman Jenkins writes that neither the National Football League nor the mob are up to sorting out the complexities of family violence.