Sprance walks onto an artificial field between the end of one soccer game and the start of the next. "Look here," he barks, squatting above the carpet. "See that hole by the goal line? You see that patch they put in? Now look at the fold." The fold—a jagged crease at least 2 inches high—extends across the entire width of the field, creating a trap for preoccupied players. "You got three problems right in front of the goal."
A worried look comes across Sprance's face as he watches the adult leagues that occupy the artificial- turf fields on Saturdays and Sundays. "These men have jobs. What if they tear their knees?" he asks. "They're in danger of permanent injury— knees, ankles, heads. They could get concussions. What I don't get is, How can the city let people play on here?"
Another question might be, How did an administration that prides itself on financial acumen dive headlong into a heavy investment in an untested material? And why has it remained steadfastly committed to buying more artificial turf, even when that commitment has meant constantly trying to cover up possible problems, particularly those related to public health?
The answers lie in the story of how New York City became the world's biggest buyer of fake grass.
