“American Crime Story,” the second installment in Ryan Murphy’s FX franchise after “American Horror Story,” began with a football star. “The People vs. O.J. Simpson” focused on how fame and finances can turn our legal system into a circus, but at its center was the former Buffalo Bills running back. As played by Cuba Gooding Jr., Simpson had an erratic disposition. At times, he could be charming, even comforting, a man who fit the part of a TV personality beloved by his wealthy, white Brentwood neighbors. But under pressure, he was a different guy. He was angry in a way that felt uncontrollable, and when he flew off the handle, Simpson no longer resembled the celebrity who you’d go out to see for a Friday night movie and then invite into your home to talk football every Sunday.

“American Crime Story” wanted viewers to appreciate why so many people were certain he was guilty while so many others were convinced he was innocent, fueling an obsession with a trial that became as much about race and theatrics as the facts of the case. But seen in another light, that same behavioral shift could’ve exemplified the dangers of chronic traumatic encephelopathy, or CTE. The doctor who discovered the degenerative disease, which is all too common in football players, said he would bet his medical license that the former athlete had CTE, and Simpson’s lawyers (during later legal troubles) even cited the disease as part of his defense; that the blunt force trauma inflicted on his brain by thousands upon thousands of blows to the head made him mentally unfit to stand trial.

Then their argument failed and Simpson was found guilty. But now, a similar argument is made not in the courtroom, but in the court of public opinion via the next chapter of Murphy’s FX franchise, “American Sports Story: Aaron Hernandez.” While not up to the storytelling standards of past installations, Stuart Zicherman’s biography of the NFL star and convicted murderer succeeds in conveying two basic points: that Hernandez (played by Josh Rivera) was never properly parented or protected by the people responsible for raising him, and that football, as a physical sport to be played and a cultural institution to be reckoned with, can do considerable damage to young men still figuring out who they are and who they want to be.

Proceeding largely in chronological order from Hernandez’s recruitment out of high school through his death in prison at age 27, the series slowly but steadily links each solo step taken by a confused kid who — among other issues — always needed more support. First, there’s his father, Dennis Hernandez (Vincent Laresca), an angry, violent parent who pushed his son to be the best at the expense of being good. The family motto (and title of Episode 1) is, “If it’s to be, it’s up to me” — meaning the only person Aaron should blame for any failures is himself. But his success on the field means his only “losses” are personal. Dennis chastises his son for dancing with his friends and staying out too late, but Aaron lives in fear of his dad discovering he’s bisexual. Of course, Aaron doesn’t know he’s bisexual. He just knows he likes hooking up with his quarterback on and off the field, and if anyone finds out, he’ll be punished. He’s grown up in a Catholic family believing real men aren’t gay, but they are tough, so Aaron has to push down his natural attraction in order to stay on the path his father chose for him.

That only gets harder when he moves away from home into the rowdy locker rooms, nightclubs, and back alleys of Gainsville, Florida. Pursued by multiple college football teams, all hoping to sign the No. 1 tight end prospect in the country, Hernandez chose the SEC powerhouse led by Urban Meyer (Tony Yazbeck). Shown applying mascara for photo shoots and suffering panic attacks after big games, Meyer isn’t the sensitive, nurturing soul he sold himself as during recruitment. He promises to look out for Aaron when he gets to campus, only to ignore 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 Florida party school provides in abundance. It’s only when team quarterback Tim Tebow (Patrick Schwarzenegger) steps in with a Bible full of rules that Aaron can block out the demons on his shoulder.

From there, “American Sports Story” tracks Aaron from the NFL combine — where a Black prospect compares the clinical dissection of each young man’s physical and mental capabilities to a “slave auction” — into the NFL itself. When legendary New England Patriots coach Bill Belichick (Norbert Leo Butz) decides to draft a kid many squads wrote off for his “off the field” behavior, he argues not only is Hernandez a steal in the fourth round because of his talent, but also because a fourth round draft pick won’t cost the team much money if they have to cut him. He’s expendable, and he’s treated as such when he starts playing for the same team he rooted for as a kid in Connecticut. He’s just a “new toy” for the coach to tinker with as he sees fit.

What happens from there is infamous, and anyone curious to get ahead of the series need only glance at Hernandez’s Wikipedia page to know what’s coming. Too much of “American Sports Story” plays out like a rudimentary regurgitation of facts — this happens, then this happens, then this happens — instead of a story guided by its own distinct perspective. At 10 episodes, it’s far too long, and even when it does steer itself back on course, the dialogue can be painfully on-the-nose. (Multiple characters talk about how they want “killers” on the field, not off of it, and Meyer is saddled with multiple clunkers like, “That kid’s going to end up in the Hall of Fame — or 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 build makes for a convincing football star, and — mirroring the story’s claims about Hernandez himself — his face never fully escapes adolescence. He’s equally convincing when called on to be tender and charming as when he’s crossed over to a fury outside himself. “American Sports Story” walks a fine line between excusing and explaining Hernandez’s crimes, but Rivera never stumbles.

Also good: “Merrily We Roll Along” Broadway star Lindsay Mendez lends weight and complexity to Aaron’s older cousin, Tanya, an underwritten maternal substitute who he moves in with when things get too rough at home. Schwarzenegger doesn’t fare so well as Tebow, a larger-than-life college star who feels rather pedestrian here, and despite committed turns from Yazbeck and Butz, Meyer and Belichick (respectively) never escape caricature. (The same could be said for the five minutes you get of Laith Wallschleger’s looney Rob Gronkowski, but I would mean it only as a compliment.)

Football scenes are designed so audiences can appreciate the trauma inflicted with every hit, and directors Carl Franklin, Paris Barclay, Steven Canals, and Maggie Kiley blend real footage with recreations to a functional effect. They cut around the actual game tape to avoid showing faces, sometimes shifting from broadcast replays to a close-up of the actors completing the play in order to make the staged tackles feel a bit more legitimate. While the overall look of “American Sports Story” is a bit bland and redundant (at least 30 percent of the shots are just various framings of Aaron’s face), it works hand-in-hand with a script blunt enough to bring up Junior Seau’s suicide and a settled lawsuit about concussions via conveniently 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 Tuesday, September 17 at 10 p.m. ET on FX. Two episodes will be released in the first week with new episodes released one at a time thereafter. Each will be available the next day on Hulu.