Mark Madden: For some athletes, it's easier to prioritize fame over accomplishment

America is in the age of gravitating to the stupid.

Less than two weeks before the PittsburghSteelers season begins, JuJu Smith-Schuster was filmed doing the milk crate challenge. You stack milk crates, then climb and walk the length of them. The goal is to not go splat, but many do. Smith-Schuster didn’t, but what if he had?

The priority is apparent and has been for some time: branding uber alles. But Smith-Schuster remains Pittsburgh’s darling.

Why wouldn’t he? The two most famous boxers in the world aren’t even boxers. Brothers Jake and Logan Paul are social-media “influencers” (gag) who are making millions via meaningless fights that have somehow caught America’s fancy.

It works, so it’s not wrong. Anything that works and doesn’t break a law isn’t wrong.

But what if you trained your whole life to be a boxer, then the Paul brothers create their own game within the loose context of your profession and cash in big immediately?

Neither of the Pauls ever will be champion of anything. But they will be richer than all but a few boxers, and it’s “earned” by being famous for being famous.

The big question: Which Paul brother will fight Conor McGregor?

Drew Magary, ex- of Deadspin and now of Deadspin Jr., wrote in a Steelers “preview” that he hopes Ben Roethlisberger “dies in a snowmobiling accident.” If there’s a joke there, I don’t get it.

To some, Roethlisberger is a villain in perpetuity because of two sexual assault claims from 2008 and 2010. Roethlisberger served a four-game suspension, though no charges ever were filed. The Steelers backed the NFL, not their quarterback.

Meantime, DeShaun Watson remains on Houston’s roster despite 32 allegations of sexual assault (22 civil, 10 criminal).

Do the math: If Roethlisberger missed four games, Watson should be banned for 64 games.

Yet Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher Trevor Bauer remains informally suspended by MLB because, evidence shows, he engaged in a kinky, violent and regrettable yet consensual sexual encounter.

Logic hasn’t just taken a holiday. It’s in seclusion in the west wing.

At the very least, Watson should be forced to navigate a mountain of milk creates before playing.

Al Roker goes on-camera in the middle of a hurricane. (Shane Helms told him to stand back.)

The New York Mets heckle paying customers.

A fictional high school football team conned ESPN.

The feud between Bryson DeChambeau and Brooks Koepka took the shine off an epic six-hole playoff at the PGA’s BMW Championship.

The Carolina Hurricanes and Montreal Canadiens are in a urinating contest on social media over signing players out of restricted free agency despite both playing by the rules agreed upon in the NHL’s CBA. It’s like begging the players’ association to file a collusion lawsuit.

Fanboy media says we should feel empathy for NFL players who get released. Maybe do that when said cuts give a damn about your employment status. A) The world needs ditch-diggers, too, and B) There’s always barber college. (“Caddyshack” or “Road House,” take your pick. “The Big Lebowski” got shoehorned in earlier.)

Everybody doesn’t have to think the same way. But at least think.

Smith-Schuster doesn’t aspire to be Jerry Rice. He aspires to be a Paul brother or Paris Hilton.

Smith-Schuster will fight a Paul brother. It seems inevitable. Jake Paul already made the challenge: “If I could fight any current NFL player, I’d probably fight JuJu Smith-Schuster.” Smith-Schuster is dumb enough and self-absorbed enough to do it.

It’s easier to prioritize fame over accomplishment when you get the backing of your fans, your town and your generation. Negotiating a milk-crate obstacle course erases the memory of three season-defining fumbles. Fun matters more than anything.

But how much fun would it be if Smith-Schuster falls off those milk crates and misses time at his job because of his never-ending quest for attention?