Hope Solo should not be playing right now for the U.S. Women's National soccer team.

Earlier this year, the star keeper was arrested for allegedly attacking her sister and 17-year-old nephew. The police report said Solo was "intoxicated and upset," and she allegedly called her nephew "too fat" to be an athlete. Also according to the report, the boy had blood on his shirt, and his mother (Solo's sister) was visibly injured.

After a flurry of media reports directly after the June altercation -- Solo has a court date set for November -- very little has been said or written in the media about the pending case. After a brief hiatus, Solo quietly went back to playing with her club team, the Seattle Reign, as well as with the national team, which is in the final stages of qualifying for the 2015 Women's World Cup.

Looking the other way when star athletes face charges of domestic violence has been the standard operating procedure for decades. Nothing to see here; keep it moving. And in this way, sports have merely reflected society, where domestic violence goes underpunished, underreported and misunderstood.

But in the past 10 days, the conversation has shifted dramatically. The NFL, a league once thought invincible, is in the midst of an unprecedented crisis, with a bright spotlight now shining on its history of turning a blind eye to charges of domestic violence within its ranks. Before this season, in Roger Goodell's tenure, the NFL reportedly had 56 allegations of domestic violence among its players. For those offenses, players missed a total of 13 games. To put that in perspective, for every incident of violence against a family member or intimate partner, an NFL player missed just under one quarter of a game -- about the same amount of time it takes to stand in line for a hot dog and soda.