“American Crime Story,” the second installment in Ryan Murphy’s FX franchise after “American Horror Story,” began with a football star. “The People vs. OJ Simpson” focused on how fame and money can turn our legal system into a circus, but at its center was the former Buffalo Bills running back. Simpson, played by Cuba Gooding Jr., had an unpredictable temper. At times he could be charming, even comforting, a man who fit the role of the television star loved by his rich white neighbors in Brentwood. But under pressure, he was a different guy. His anger seemed uncontrollable, and when he lashed out, Simpson no longer resembled the star you went to the movies on Friday nights and then invited over to your house every Sunday to talk football.

American Crime Story sought to make viewers understand why so many people were convinced of his guilt while so many others were convinced of his innocence. This led to an obsession with a trial that was as much about race and theatrics as the facts of the case. But viewed in a different light, the same change in behavior could have also highlighted the dangers of chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE). The doctor who discovered the degenerative disease all too common in football players said he would bet his license to practice that the former athlete had CTE, and Simpson’s lawyers (in later legal troubles) even cited the disease as part of their defense, saying that blunt force trauma to his brain from thousands upon thousands of blows to the head left him mentally incompetent to stand trial.

But their argument was ineffective, and Simpson was found guilty. But now a similar argument will be made not in the courtroom but in the court of public opinion in the next chapter of Murphy’s FX franchise, “American Sports Story: Aaron Hernandez.” While Stuart Zicherman’s biography of the NFL star and convicted murderer doesn’t match the narrative qualities of previous films, it does get across two basic points: that Hernandez (played by Josh Rivera) was never properly raised or protected by the people who raised him, and that football, as a physical sport and a cultural institution to be reckoned with, can do significant damage to young men still figuring out who they are and who they want to be.

The series moves largely chronologically from Hernandez’s recruitment out of high school to his death in prison at age 27, slowly but steadily connecting each step of a confused boy who — among other problems — needed more and more support. First, there’s his father, Dennis Hernandez (Vincent Laresca), an angry, abusive father who pushed his son to be the best at the expense of being good. The family motto (and the title of episode 1) is “If it’s meant to be, it’s on me” — meaning Aaron should have no one to blame for his failures but himself. But his success on the field means his only “losses” are personal. Dennis scolds his son for dancing with his friends and staying out too late, but Aaron lives in fear of his father finding out he’s bisexual. Of course, Aaron doesn’t know he’s bisexual. All he knows is that he likes to make out with his quarterback on and off the field, and if anyone finds out, he’ll be punished. He grew up in a Catholic family that believes real men aren’t gay. But they’re tough, so Aaron has to suppress his natural inclination to stay on the path his father chose for him.

That only gets more difficult when he leaves home for the noisy locker rooms, nightclubs, and backyards of Gainsville, Florida. Courted by several college football teams, all looking to sign the country’s top tight end prospect, Hernandez chose SEC heavyweights led by Urban Meyer (Tony Yazbeck). Meyer, who puts on mascara for photo shoots and suffers panic attacks after big games, is not the sensitive, caring soul he portrayed himself to be during recruitment. He promises to look after Aaron when he arrives on campus, but then ignores him unless he needs to be disciplined. And boy, does he need to be disciplined. He loves weed, loves parties, and loves doing whatever he wants — all of which the party school in Florida offers in abundance. Only when the team’s quarterback Tim Tebow (Patrick Schwarzenegger) steps in with a Bible full of rules can Aaron ignore the demons on his shoulder.

From there, “American Sports Story” follows Aaron from the NFL Combine — where a black prospect compares the clinical analysis of each young man’s physical and mental abilities to a “slave auction” — to the NFL itself. When legendary New England Patriots coach Bill Belichick (Norbert Leo Butz) decides to recruit a kid many teams had written off because of his behavior “off the field,” he argues not only that Hernandez is a bargain because of his fourth-round talent, but also because a fourth-round draft pick wouldn’t cost the team much money if they had to release him. He’s expendable, and is treated that way when he starts playing for the same team he cheered for as a boy in Connecticut. He’s just a “new toy” for the coach to tinker with as he pleases.

What happens next is notorious, and anyone curious and looking to stay ahead of the series only needs to glance at Hernandez’s Wikipedia page to know what’s coming. Too much of “American Sports Story” plays like a rudimentary regurgitation of facts — this happens, then this happens, then this happens — rather than a story guided by its own, distinctive perspective. At 10 episodes, it’s far too long, and even when it gets back on track, the dialogue can be painfully intrusive. (Several characters talk about wanting “killers” on the field, not off it, and Meyer is saddled with several duds like “That kid’s going to end up in the Hall of Fame — or in prison”).

Still, it’s hard not to be moved. Rivera is perfectly cast (an incredible find by casting directors Courtney Bright, Nicole Daniels and Jennifer Brooks). His physique makes him a convincing football star, and — reflecting what the story says about Hernandez himself — his face is never quite youthful. He’s equally convincing when he’s supposed to be tender and charming as when he becomes a fury outside of himself. “American Sports Story” walks a fine line between excusing and explaining Hernandez’s crimes, but Rivera never stumbles.

Also good: Lindsay Mendez, Broadway star of “Merrily We Roll Along,” brings weight and complexity to Aaron’s older cousin Tanya, an undervalued mother surrogate he moves in with when things get too tough at home. Schwarzenegger doesn’t fare so well as Tebow, a larger-than-life college star who comes across as rather banal here, and despite committed performances from Yazbeck and Butz, Meyer and Belichick (respectively) never break free of caricature. (The same could be said of the five minutes you get to see Laith Wallschleger’s wacky Rob Gronkowski, but I would mean that as a compliment.)

Football scenes are designed to help audiences feel the trauma each hit causes, and directors Carl Franklin, Paris Barclay, Steven Canals and Maggie Kiley mix real footage with reenactments to functional effect. They cut away actual game tape to avoid faces, sometimes switching from replays of the broadcast to a close-up of the actors finishing the game to make the staged tackles seem a bit more authentic. While the overall feel of “American Sports Story” is a little bland and redundant (at least 30 percent of the shots are just various crops of Aaron’s face), it works hand in hand with a script that is so direct that Junior Seau’s suicide and a settled concussion lawsuit are brought up in appropriately timed news reports. “American Sports Story” may not be as formally or thematically ambitious as “American Crime Story,” but it gets its message across. Enjoy this fall’s football, everyone — if you can.

Grade: B-

American Sports Story: Aaron Hernandez premieres on Tuesday, September 17 at 10 p.m. ET on FX. Two episodes will be released the first week, then new episodes will be released one at a time. Each episode will be available on Hulu the next day.