Hey, NFL players: The message should be clear by now. The next one could be you.

You could be the guy sitting in a New York City conference room, hoping that an arbitrator will reduce or reverse controversial discipline for something the league thinks you probably did, at least more likely than not. You could be the one hoping the arbitrator, designated by commissioner Roger Goodell, will find the independence to reverse a suspension originally handed down by ... commissioner Roger Goodell.

You could be the next Ezekiel Elliott, the Dallas Cowboys tailback who Tuesday will try to poke holes in a yearlong NFL review that led to a six-game suspension for violating the league's personal conduct policy. You could be punished because you presented what the NFL termed in a letter "no persuasive evidence" that you did not physically abuse a woman.

The NFL has testimony from the accuser, it has photographs of her injuries and evidence that Elliott was with her during the time period in question. But the local city attorney declined to prosecute, citing inconsistencies in the narrative. Elliott was unable, however, to prove his innocence. You could be the next one to try to prove yours.

Like it or not, these are the labor parameters you must accept as part of your employment. You must understand that you could fall into a nearly inescapable pit, one that a rumor or accusation compelled the NFL to dig. You are accustomed to assuming that the rule of law will apply, that you are innocent until proven guilty, and you might assume the league won't possibly spend millions of dollars in resources to build a case that meets its own self-imposed standards. You would be wrong.

Your union will defend you and has, in some instances, proved that the league misapplied its own rules. That's how former Carolina Panthers defensive end Greg Hardy won a reduction of a 10-game suspension in 2015. But the United States judicial system has agreed, most recently in litigation involving Tom Brady, that the NFL has the authority to apply a policy that can discipline with far less proof than would be required in a court of law.

If you think you're a good guy who knows better and won't get into trouble in the first place, then I suggest you drop your naïveté and study the history books. This is not simply about domestic violence or other legal allegations.

Google "Anthony Hargrove" and find out why he gave a news conference in front of NFL headquarters in 2012 in hopes of clearing his name. (The NFL quietly admitted that its most crucial evidence against him was inaccurate.) Read the New England Patriots' still-live rebuttal to Deflategate, nearly 10,000 words disputing the conclusions that led to Brady's 2016 suspension. Ask Clay Matthews or Julius Peppers or James Harrison what they thought of being threatened last summer with a suspension if they did not speak to NFL investigators about a media report that connected them to performance-enhancing drugs.

Elliott is in New York City with a legion of attorneys hired through the NFL Players Association. He'll try to prove that the NFL was unjustified in suspending him for six games. He'll fight against the league's explanation, which it expressed in this type of language: "There is no dispute that you and [the accuser] were together in the same location on the dates identified, and no evidence to suggest that anyone else could ever have caused these injuries."

It will be an inherently fruitless argument, asking an NFL designee to reverse the substance of an NFL investigation. Unless arbitrator Harold Henderson finds that the league violated its own policy during the process -- a policy that puts forth six-game suspensions as the "baseline" for domestic violence and also warns that discipline could be applied with or without a criminal conviction -- the discipline probably will stand. That would leave Elliott one option to seek relief: a lawsuit.

This might not seem a productive and friendly way to maintain employee relations. In the NFL's defense, the issue of domestic violence is difficult to navigate and subject to criticism regardless from most every side. As it learned in the 2014 case of former Baltimore Ravens tailback Ray Rice, legal outcomes are not always a sufficient measure for the severity of an incident. Taking an aggressive stance on domestic violence is an inherently good thing. But marshalling an independent investigation, and building out the necessary infrastructure to conduct it fairly, is a big project.

Unfortunately, the NFL's willingness to connect dots is not limited to personal conduct. It has followed similar paths investigating bounties, the inflation of footballs and even bullying in the Miami Dolphins' locker room. If you take a step back, you see a pattern that suggests an attempt to "view the facts through a lens" that will generate a predetermined outcome, as sports attorney Peter Ginsberg once said.

And so here we are. Elliott is the latest NFL player to find himself in this situation: connected -- maybe, probably, more likely than not -- to something the league doesn't like and disciplined as a result. His story isn't over, but the next one almost assuredly will start soon.