Brennan: Treat off-camera abusers same as Ray Rice

Ray Rice is gone from the Baltimore Ravens and suspended indefinitely by the NFL. That's a very good ending to an absolutely horrible situation.

But what of Ray McDonald, the San Francisco 49ers defensive lineman who is facing a felony domestic violence charge, yet still playing?

Or Greg Hardy, the Carolina Panthers defensive end who was found guilty of assaulting his former girlfriend and threatening to kill her, who also is still playing?

Why haven't the Panthers released Hardy, who's awaiting appeal on the guilty verdict, or even suspended him? Why haven't the 49ers benched McDonald, who was arrested this month but has not yet been charged? Where's NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell on these two?

It's a privilege to be an NFL player, not a right. They picked this profession, a career with great financial reward, but one that also puts them in a public spotlight and holds them to far greater scrutiny than were they to, say, be selling insurance. They are role models, and the league is in the business of creating role models, and setting standards for society.

Apparently, Hardy and McDonald are lucky alleged domestic abusers. They were very fortunate that they did their abusing, alleged or for real, far from the view of a video camera.

Now that the Ravens and the NFL have finally come to the right decision on Rice, can Hardy and McDonald be far behind?

And if not, why not? Is it because we can't see it? That must be it, because if you read about what they did or allegedly did, it certainly sounds just as bad as what Rice did to his then-fiance Janay Palmer in that Atlantic City elevator.

So, as positive as the Rice banishment is, it begs a very big question: What did everyone think domestic violence looked like?

And, now that we know, how can anyone who is cheering the Rice news today, including all kinds of NFL players on social media, also not demand that McDonald and Hardy go too?

Or what about Rice's Baltimore teammate, Pro Bowl linebacker Terrell Suggs? Suggs' longtime girlfriend, Candace Williams, claimed in a protective order filed in 2012, obtained by the Baltimore Sun, that Suggs punched her in the neck and drove a car containing their two children at a "high rate of speed" while she was being dragged alongside.

Let's imagine that video for a moment.

Also, in a 2009 incident, Williams said Suggs, "held me down on the floor and poured bleach on me and our son, held me down on the floor and kicked my face and broke my nose. Throughout our relationship since early 2007, he has punched me in the face and stomach and threatened to take the children from me if I left him. He stole my ID so I could not leave."

This man played Sunday for the Ravens in their loss to the Cincinnati Bengals. Why? Was it because there's no video? Of course it was. And he'll be playing this Thursday night on national television against the Pittsburgh Steelers, even though he shouldn't be, at least according to the NFL's new Rice standards, as of today.

As we are quickly learning, videos (and audio tapes) matter. They matter more than we ever thought they could. We can see it. We are there. They give us vast amounts of new information. They change public opinion in a heartbeat. Whether this is right or wrong is a moot point. They do. We're here. This is our reality.

In this case, seeing the disturbing video was a fortuitous turn of events. It showed us exactly what we -- the NFL, and all of us -- needed to see.

Wondering what domestic violence is, exactly? That's domestic violence.

This could be a watershed moment for the NFL and the nation on this crucial issue. Think about this: Last night, Rice was a beloved member of the Ravens, who with their fans were counting down the days until his two-game suspension ended. Now, he's a pariah, an outcast, gone.

It took a video to make this happen. From now on, we shouldn't have to see it to act on it, and throw the abusers out for good.