
HBO’s 'Surviving Ohio State' Uncovers Decades of Abuse
It’s hard to look away from the devastation in HBO’s new documentary, Surviving Ohio State, which exposes the extent of sexual abuse carried out by Dr. Richard Strauss against student athletes at Ohio State University between 1978 and 1998. The film pulls no punches. Through raw, firsthand accounts, viewers see just how many young men—at least 177, including 48 from the wrestling team—were subjected to Strauss’s medically unnecessary and abusive "exams." Survivors like Dan Ritchie and Mike DiSabato vividly recall the heavy cost: trust broken, trauma ignored, and years of institutional silence.
What really stings is the backdrop of dismissiveness from those responsible for protecting these athletes. Former team members say complaints went nowhere and doors stayed closed. It didn’t matter how obvious Strauss’s actions appeared or how many voices spoke up. The university’s own 2018 investigation laid it bare: leaders had been aware of the abuse, and yet they looked the other way. Dr. Ted Grace, who once headed student health, lost his medical license in 2021 for brushing off repeated reports. He was supposed to help—he chose to protect the institution instead.

Spotlight on Accountability: Jim Jordan and Ongoing Fallout
The documentary also shines a harsh light on current House Speaker Rep. Jim Jordan, who served as an assistant wrestling coach during part of Strauss’s tenure. According to the film, wrestlers told Jordan directly about Strauss’s conduct. Their stories echo: they claim Jordan shared a locker room wall with the doctor and was unmistakably in the loop. The documentary documents moments where Jordan allegedly dismissed complaints outright—something he flatly denies, even as survivors recount those uncomfortable exchanges on camera. He says he knew nothing. Yet, with court battles still dragging on, Jordan is set for a sworn deposition in July 2025. Lawmakers, advocates, and survivors are watching closely.
Ohio State has tried to move forward. The university issued a formal apology, paid out settlements to many survivors, and announced changes to campus health procedures. They want people to believe it’s a “fundamentally different institution” now. But pain from the past doesn’t fade fast, especially after decades of inaction. Some details in the documentary, like allegations of Strauss injecting students with performance-enhancing drugs, remain unaddressed by university spokespeople.
The public reckoning isn’t over. The film pumped new urgency into old questions: Who did enough? Who turned away? Survivors are demanding more than words—they want to see real, lasting change, not just for themselves, but for every student who deserves a safe place to learn, compete, and trust the adults in charge.
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