The Philly Sports Journal

Whose soul is Tony Dungy trying to save, Michael Vick’s or his own?

Dungy, a Promise Keeper who writes a blog on AllProDad.com, tragically lost his 18-year-old son James to suicide 3½ years ago. Dungy, who by virtually every account is one of the thoroughly good guys, wasn’t able to help his own son but now he’s there for Michael Vick.

Vick is his personal project, his crusade, through which he hopes to somehow cleanse, somehow make up for, somehow resolve… something.

Vick, we’re being told, deserves a second chance. Even though his second chance, a second chance at life, was his release from prison. He even could have played pro football. The upstart United Football League, which carries neither the prominence nor the ties to a community that an NFL franchise does, was willing to pay him the same millions. But apparently that option, even in the short term, wasn’t good enough.

The truth is that nothing, not even saving Michael Vick, will bring Tony’s son back. And nothing will make up for the guilt Dad feels.

That guilt is there to stay. Forever.

Do I blame Dungy for his son’s death? Absolutely not, so don’t misinterpret my words. But I’m sure he blames himself, fair or not, because he loved his son. I sympathize with Dungy and his unthinkable emotional torment.

But what about the people who can’t run fast, who can’t out-juke a linebacker? Do they get the same kind of accountability-free “second chance” Vick is getting after such a hideous offense? Of course not. And they shouldn’t, just like Vick shouldn’t.

That’s the only reason that Vick stepped out of prison and into a $1.6 million contract with your Philadelphia Eagles. Not because of any so-called deserved second chance, but because he can run fast.

And with the revered Dungy by his side as he tried to fake and spin his way back into the NFL, you know Vick was thinking, “Man, I’m in there now! Paydirt.”

Let’s be clear. Lots of NFL players have gotten into trouble, been reckless, been dumb. Sometimes their actions have even had heartrending, fatal consequences, such as in the case of Donte’ Stallworth’s DUI manslaughter case. There is no denying that. But, as I’ve pointed out before, the difference between what Stallworth and others did and what Michael Vick did was their intent. That fact should never be forgotten.

Michael Vick held dogs’ heads under water while they writhed in terror as he drowned them. He intended them to die, deriving pleasure as he felt their lives slip away between his hands. He took helpless dogs out into the woods behind his house and shot them, hung them, electrocuted them, because they didn’t perform to his satisfaction in deadly matches with other dogs.

And this went on for years.

There is no doubt about Vick’s depravity.

Did he serve his time? Yes, he served as much time as Plaxico Burress might serve after stupidly shooting himself in the leg. Now Vick is a free man, free to live life and not abuse animals again. Why does that mean he should be allowed back in the NFL — on my team and representing my hometown?

It’s not about whether or not Vick screws up again; it’s about him being associated with Philadelphia and its football franchise. And it’s not about animal rights groups; it’s about having a conscience. I can’t cheer for Michael Vick. If he scores a touchdown in an Eagles uniform, I’ll feel nauseous.

Even though I’d be cheering for the logo and not the name on the back of the jersey, I can’t cheer for the logo as long as Vick is wearing it. I can’t cheer for it as long as Jeffrey Lurie owns it, as long as Andy Reid and Joe Banner are running it, and as long as Donovan McNabb, who lobbied for Vick to come here, represents it on the field.

Michael Vick is a sociopath who’s not capable of real remorse. Don’t be suckered.

Perhaps you have your own guilt about mistakes you’ve made in your life, so you’re hesitant to be judgmental. I completely understand that, because we all have our baggage. But chances are your mistakes are different than being a sociopath. I bet you’ve never taken your dog out into your back yard, tied a noose around his neck, hung him by a tree limb and watched him struggle and die.

That was an ordinary afternoon for Michael Vick. That psychology doesn’t change.

Or maybe you’ll be content if Vick just “says and does the right things.” Because, after all, he’s fast and also agile. That’s all it took for him to manipulate Dungy, commissioner Roger Goodell, Lurie, Banner, Reid and McNabb — Vick’s latest litter of puppy dogs.

When a franchise wins a major championship, like the Phillies did last year to finally end Philadelphia’s drought, it is as if your whole city wins something. You take pride in it, you walk a little taller. Because your club, in which you have invested time and money and energy, stands at the pinnacle of the sports landscape. Because your team represents your town.

Life is shades of gray, and I’ve overlooked plenty of questionable off-field behavior by plenty of athletes. But if the Eagles win a championship with Michael Vick on the team, I want no part of it.

I don’t want what Dungy is hocking. I don’t believe in Michael Vick. He doesn’t represent me, and I’m not selling my soul for a football title.

Entire Vick press conference
Eagles owner Jeffrey Lurie press conference

Tags: Eagles, NFC East, NFL
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For more on Jim Johnson, and to share your thoughts, click here.
 

He was a teacher to many players, both on and off the field, and devoted his life to the game of football. He had a positive influence on scores of young men, and leaves behind a wonderful legacy.   —NFL commissioner Roger Goodell
 

I’m not sure there’s a person that I’ve met that isn’t a Jim Johnson fan. He really represented everything this city is all about, with his toughness and grit. That’s the way he fought this cancer.   —Eagles coach Andy Reid
 

He was a tough coach who wasn’t afraid to let you know how he was feeling, but at the same time, he cared about us deeply.   —Former Eagles safety Brian Dawkins
 

I loved Jim Johnson.   —Former Eagles assistant coach John Harbaugh

Tags: Eagles, NFC East, NFL
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Aside from running a dogfighting ring and personally killing dogs, Michael Vick hasn’t had any character issues, Terrell Owens says. Therefore, he deserves a second chance.

Hmm… Can you count the number of things wrong with that statement?

Unfortunately, T.O. isn’t the only one who thinks Vick “deserves” a second chance. But Michael Vick already got a second chance — he’s not in prison anymore.

He got a second chance at making something of his life, a second chance at freedom. It doesn’t mean he simply gets to pick up where he left off in the NFL.

Owens says Vick has “suffered enough,” as if we should feel sorry for him, and that there are guys around the league who “have done far worse things” than Vick did and they’ve gotten second chances.

Really? Who?

There have been plenty of guys who’ve committed crimes, even crimes that have resulted in people’s deaths. But how many of those guys had the depraved intent that Michael Vick had when he derived pleasure from murdering dogs? What Vick did was irresponsible but it was no accident. It was how he got his kicks.

Here are my thoughts on Vick, which I laid out when he pled guilty. Maybe T.O. just doesn’t want to be the only outcast stuck in Buffalo.

Tags: AFC East, AFC South, NFL
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Imagine the humiliation and anger his wife must feel, not to mention what his four sons must be feeling.

The most striking thing about Steve McNair’s death, besides the fact he was shot multiple times, including in the head, was that he was with a woman who wasn’t his wife of 12 years. It’s as if he died caught in the act.

I would never judge his marriage, and he certainly wasn’t the first famous name to screw around (or non-famous name). Perhaps he and his wife even had some sort of agreement — after all, she must have known about his condo in downtown Nashville. Maybe she suffered in silence, choosing to quietly look the other way. Or maybe their marriage was on the rocks. But for a husband and father to go out the way he did, and now the publicity, it adds a sense of contradiction to the pain and shock his family and his fans are going through.

By all accounts, it sounds like a murder-suicide. He and his 20-year-old girlfriend possibly got into a late-night drunken argument, and then she shot him to death and took her own life. Police have stopped short of such a pronouncement, and there has been no word yet about forensics, such as gunpowder residue on the girl’s hands. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t have happened if Steve had been home with his family that night.

To greater or lesser degrees, everyone’s life has its dark alleyways. McNair died in his.

Tags: AFC South, NFL
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While Donovan McNabb and Brian Westbrook were marching the Eagles down the field on their first possession, shortly before a DeSean Jackson punt return for a touchdown, Jimmy Rollins belted a leadoff home run.

While Washington chewed up most of the second quarter and part of the third, after the Eagles had decided to stop rushing the ball despite finding early success on the ground, Pat Burrell drilled a three-run homer to left. Jayson Werth followed with a home run, and Burrell later added a solo shot.

And as the Eagles completed one of their most pathetic, disgusting losses of the past two years, the Phillies celebrated on the mound at Miller Park and popped champagne corks in the clubhouse.

Phils starter Joe Blanton, who delivered one of the best performances of his career, earned his stripes to become a true Phillie (you know, like a “true Yankee”) which — believe it or not — actually means something these days.

Maybe it was good that TBS and Major League Baseball dumped all over Philadelphia fans by scheduling the Phillies’ game opposite the Eagles when there was absolutely no reason to do so. What better excuse to flip off the rotten Birds than to watch the Phillies clinch their first appearance in the NLCS in 15 years?

Still, it’s typical of Philadelphia sports: All joy must be tempered by nausea.

You know what? For this week, forget the Eagles. We’ll vent today, but let’s not allow Andy Reid’s lack of passion (“Hrumph, hrumph … It’s my responsibility. We’ll get it fixed.”) and failure to correct the mistakes he’s been making for 10 years to sully the Phillies’ accomplishment. Let’s not allow Donovan McNabb’s symbiotic lack of passion and failure to correct the mistakes he’s been making for 10 years to dull the shine on this Ferrari that is the 2008 Phillies. Let”s not allow the Eagles’ frustrating stubbornness to drag down the optimism the Phillies are creating. 

Not just happy to be here: You kind of figured they wouldn’t sweep the Brewers. Milwaukee has too much heart. But you figured Sunday would be the Phillies’ day. Yet, as exciting as it is to get this far, to be able to play for the National League pennant with a trip to the World Series on the line, you get the feeling this team is quietly focused on the ultimate prize. There’s a maturity about this team, a hard-knocks quality, a bit of a jagged edge that comes from weathering disappointment and controversy. You’ve got to feel good about the Phillies’ chances against the Dodgers.

Quotable: “Thank God the Phillies won. It’s the only thing that will keep a number of Philadelphians from suicide today. It sucked from the beginning to the end.”  —Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell, on the Eagles” loss to the Redskins.

“Hopefully we’re going to turn this town more red than it is green.”  —Phillies pitcher Cole Hamels

Tags: Baseball, Eagles, NFL, NLDS 2008, Phillies
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It has been a rough day for NFL commissioner Roger Goodell, with a U.S. Senator coming down on him and all. Come to think of it, it is curious that Goodell never spoke with Matt Walsh, a longtime employee in the Patriots’ video department, who claims to have more incriminating evidence that dates back several years.

As someone who felt “Spygate” was overblown, even I am beginning to wonder how pervasive the issue really was. But my question to Goodell is on a different subject:

Why are you stealing revenue from the city of New Orleans?

Although word had leaked out earlier in the week, at his state of the league press conference today Goodell proudly announced the New Orleans Saints will play a scheduled “home game” against the San Diego Chargers on October 26 — in London.

Sure is good New Orleans rebuilt the Superdome to generate much-needed money in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, only to see the NFL rush in like a flood and sweep that money away.

Saints owner Tom Benson, who wants to permanently move the team elsewhere despite a loyal fan base on the Bayou, quickly agreed to the England plan.

“We think it will actually be a great thing for the people of New Orleans,” Goodell told the Associated Press. “It’s going to create an opportunity where you can get more people from London to come into New Orleans and Louisiana. I actually think this is going to be a great benefit to the community economically.”

Really? So why didn’t you send the Saints to Wembley for one of their away games?

Goodell doesn’t care about New Orleans. He’s using the league’s most sympathetic franchise to promote the NFL overseas — at the expense of that franchise’s region.

Goodell has been praised for his hard-line stance against NFL players who get into trouble off the field, but being a disciplinarian doesn’t necessarily signify leadership. With his destruction of evidence, a looming labor fight with a players union that has dug in and, now, taking money from a city that needs it like no other, maybe this guy Goodell isn’t such a good commissioner after all.

Tags: NFC South, NFL
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Whether it’s batters who constantly adjust the Velcro on their batting gloves, guys who can’t make foul shots, or broadcasters’ overuse of the word genius, there are plenty of pet peeves people have about sports.

Mine?

NFL commercials.

Most sports idiosyncrasies and clichés don’t really bother me. But something that often goes overlooked, and which goes beyond a pet peeve to the point that it’s insulting, is the amount of commercials TV networks jam into NFL games.

In Sunday’s playoff game between the Tennessee Titans and San Diego Chargers on CBS, for instance, there was roughly 1 hour, 18 minutes of commercials. I know because I kept track, just to see how much of my life I was wasting.

Regular season games aren’t much different. During the December 9 game between the Eagles and Giants on Fox, there was an estimated hour and 12 minutes of commercials.

NBC’s Sunday Night Football and ESPN’s Monday Night Football are the worst, often pushing 90 minutes of commercials. You could watch an entire movie in that time, or drive from Philadelphia to the Jersey shore, or enjoy a sit-down dinner at a nice restaurant — with dessert and a couple glasses of wine.

Plus, most of the commercials are shown over and over again. During the Chargers/Titans game, I saw the same car ad in four consecutive commercial breaks. Is that really necessary? (I don’t even remember which car company it was.)

It isn’t just the volume and mind-numbing repetitiveness of commercials that’s bothersome, it’s the frequency. The average NFL game has at least six commercial breaks per quarter and 24 to 30 commercial breaks per game (including halftime). Unless a team mounts a long scoring drive, rarely will you see more than five continuous minutes of football during an NFL broadcast.

Throw in the 40-second play clock, a time-out here and there, officials’ convening to discuss penalties and a couple of coach’s challenges, you’re hardly getting any actual football.

Although college football games often run longer than NFL games, commercial breaks are less frequent (excluding major bowls) and you get more actual football because the play clock is shorter (at least for now).

Baseball games are long, sometimes going four hours, but it’s not because of batters’ adjusting their gloves or other rhythmic ticks of the game, which have gone on since the inception of the sport. It is mainly because commercial breaks are so long. But at least in baseball you know when they’re coming — between innings and during pitching changes. That’s it.

For the NFL, it’s anytime. Sometimes you even miss portions of plays because the broadcast isn’t back yet. Most networks take a break after an extra point, come back for the kickoff, and then take another break. During that Eagles/Giants game, there was a stretch in which I saw one play in nine minutes. On Sunday, CBS took breaks at virtually every change of possession, including fumbles and interceptions.

And the NFL doesn’t mind networks’ doing this.

Not to mention, it’s not as if you can flip around to other games. Even on Sundays in the regular season, the most games you’ll get at once are two — unless you buy NFL Sunday Ticket, which is available on DirecTV and nowhere else.

(Maybe cable companies could agree to show NFL Network on their basic digital packages if the NFL allows them to offer Sunday Ticket. That way, everybody would win, including fans.)

I have nothing against people making a buck. But can’t the NFL and television networks cut down on the frequency and length of commercial interruptions and instead charge a little more for advertising?

Most hour-long shows, like House or Lost, run 44 minutes and incorporate 16 minutes of commercials. NFL Replay or other condensed versions of games On-Demand — which eliminate a lot of filler and run between 30 and 90 minutes — only add to the insult of what NFL viewers have to put up with on Sundays.

An average NFL game, including normal stoppages but excluding commercial breaks, would take about 105 minutes. Using the ratio of 44:16 that many hour-long shows use, NFL fans should not have to endure more than 38 minutes of commercials per game.

Instead, watching the NFL is like fighting freeway traffic for a weekender in Atlantic City.

Tags: Going Deep, NFL, TV Media
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It’s often difficult to feel bad for a billionaire.

Even if things in your billionaire life aren’t going billionaire well, you’re still a billionaire.

But it was hard not to feel bad for Atlanta Falcons owner Arthur Blank, founder of Home Depot, as he spoke at today’s press conference about the team’s latest crisis.

Blank, visibly hurt by Bobby Petrino’s abrupt resignation, blasted the coach for being a hypocrite who had lied to his face.

“The best way to describe the way we feel is betrayed and let down,” Blank said.

On Monday afternoon — before the Falcons’ big game against New Orleans on Monday Night Football, during which Blank graciously visited the booth to discuss how the Falcons would proceed in the future — the owner had a meeting with Petrino to make sure the two were on the same page. He specifically asked Petrino what he should say if the question comes up about coach’s future with the team.

“He stood up, he shook my hand, and his answer to me was, ‘You have a head coach,’” Blank said.

Twenty-four hours later — after Blank stated on national television that the organization, especially Petrino, is committed to a long-term turnaround that would include drafting and developing a new quarterback — Petrino quit and hopped a plane for Arkansas to do the Woo Pig Suey.

Blank, a self-made man who grew up in Queens, N.Y, from all outward appearances seems like a genuinely good guy — a guy people like and a guy people like working for. And, as someone who is not a billionaire, I could relate to Arthur Blank today.

When it rains, it pours, whether you’re talking about the endless turmoil the Atlanta Falcons have faced this year or personal turmoil most of us face.

Blank’s Falcons, who had hopes of making the playoffs before this season began, instead have seen their superstar quarterback revealed as a psychopath who is now in jail, their shell-shocked team go 3-10 and their new coach jump ship with three games left to play to take a job at Arkansas.

What’s next, locusts?

We’ve all been through crises in our own lives, and many of us have found out about real friends and fair-weather friends, patient friends who could see through the difficult times and friends who were repelled by difficulties. We may have been through such experiences with members of our own families.

As you read this, you may be someone who has been bailed on in the midst of hardship, or you may be someone who has done the bailing.

“I think the timing of Bobby’s decision was wrong,” Blank said.

“Bobby had made a commitment to us, and we made a substantial commitment to him,” he said. “Beyond that, there were commitments that were made to many others — the rest of the coaching staff and their families, our players and their families and their children. Not to mention the culture a new head coach establishes, which affects everybody in this building.

“In my opinion … 13 games … is not a reasonable commitment,” said Blank, who also mentioned that he, general manager Rich McKay and assistant GM Bill Devaney had talked late into Sunday night with Petrino to discuss the coach’s list of concerns.

“We went through everything together … and felt everything on the list were ones we could resolve.”

Perhaps Petrino knew for a long time — regardless of the Michael Vick saga and the Falcons’ on-field problems — that he wanted to go back to the college game, that he’d made a mistake by jumping to the NFL. Any of us who have accepted a job only to find out on the first day that it’s completely awful can understand that. And perhaps coaches, who at one time were disposed of as heartlessly as Vick disposed of dogs, are having their day now.

But it’s hard to believe this year’s unique situation in Atlanta played no role in Petrino’s departure. And why he couldn’t have waited three more weeks (Arkansas would have waited for him, even if it is college recruiting season), why he told Arthur Blank before Blank appeared on the MNF broadcast, “You have a coach” — those things are hard to justify.

I’m not in the habit of coach bashing. Although they get paid a lot of money, the media are brutal on them, and the nature of the profession is cut-throat and cruel. So I’m hesitant to vilify coaches who take better jobs, hoodwink reporters or leverage outside offers to get more money.

But something about Petrino gives me the nauseating sense he’s one of those cheesy, fair-weather guys who’s not really made of much on the inside.

Tags: NFC South, NFL
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Philadelphia fans want greatness. They’ll happily settle for grit.

Chuck Bednarik was both. So was Reggie White.

Donovan McNabb is neither.

Never mind the fact McNabb is the guy who led the Eagles to four straight conference title games and, when he finally got a good wide receiver, a Super Bowl. Never mind that McNabb is the guy who once played on one leg against the Arizona Cardinals. Never mind that McNabb made it back from ACL surgery in just 9½ months.

None of that matters.

McNabb is also the guy who lost three straight conference championships and choked —literally, when he vomited on the final drive — in the Super Bowl. McNabb is the guy who was too thin-skinned to handle a loudmouthed, prima-donna wide receiver, even if it was the best receiver in the league and the best the Eagles ever had. And McNabb is the guy who failed to hold up for an entire season three of the last five years.

That’s why Sunday’s 33-25 win in Washington will be remembered, if it is remembered at all, for the Eagles’ magnificent goal-line stand at the end of the game (as well as for Joe Gibbs’ head-scratching play calls and mismanagement of timeouts). Never mind that McNabb fought through a mangled shoulder to complete 71 percent of his passes for 251 yards and four touchdowns.

But, as the Eagles try to eke their way to .500 before it’s their turn to face New England, there is at least one guy who appreciates and believes in McNabb, just like he has from day one.

Andy Reid.

Reid — who is so extremely committed to being a winning coach that he has a pair of emotionally neglected adult children in jail to prove it — openly embraced McNabb on the sideline at the end of the game. It has been a difficult time for both men, and after the win, Reid lauded his quarterback’s “gutty” performance.

“There was a lot of love there … a lot of love,” McNabb said of the hug.

Of course there was. If George Bush’s legacy is tied to Iraq, Reid’s legacy is tied to McNabb, at least when it comes to the Eagles. In his first NFL head coaching job, Reid took a perceived risk by drafting the scrambling Syracuse QB in 1999. He made McNabb the cornerstone of his rebuilding of the Eagles and of his own NFL coaching career.

As much as these two men have accomplished in the past eight years, as much as these two truly nice people have done for this franchise and for the fans of this city, the only embrace they feel is from each other.

They are viewed in Philadelphia as the same person. They are talented but not transcendent. They have won here but haven’t won it all. And, most damning, they show very little fire. They are seemingly emotionless, win or lose.

Philadelphia fans are harsh. But the truth is they will put up with not winning for a while, perhaps even longer than they should, if you show that you care.

If you show that you care as much as Philadelphia fans do.

Reid and McNabb simply aren’t that way. There is no throwing of clipboards, no knocking over of podiums, no tirades, no tears, no meltdowns for the ESPN archives, no jubilant screaming, no jumping for joy, no anything. No passion.

That’s why, after eight years and more success than most of the NFL, Reid and McNabb are still outsiders. If they want to be embraced here, they have only one recourse.

To cure the bad blood, all they have to do is something Reggie White never did in Philadelphia, something Buddy Ryan and Dick Vermeil never did here, something no Eagle has done since Bednarik 47 years ago.

Win a championship.

That’s all. You’ll be embraced for life, and for the afterlife.

Trouble is, with the tandem of Reid and McNabb, that’s never going to happen.

Tags: Bird Watching, Eagles, NFC East, NFL
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The denials, once robust and delivered from a podium by men in Versace suits, have dissipated into the air. The steely proclamations of innocence and indignation have melted away. The attempts to keep a stiff upper lip and stroll chest-out through a crowd of protestors were for naught.

Michael Vick pled guilty today.

Guilty.

Just two and a half years ago, the Atlanta Falcons quarterback signed a 10-year, $130 million contract. It included $37 million in guaranteed money and was the richest deal in NFL history. It didn’t include the $7 million per year he made in endorsements with companies such as Nike, Coca-Cola, Kraft and Rawlings.

To varying degrees, virtually everyone has a vice or two. It could be cigarettes, wine, pot, chocolate, or dirty movies. In Michael Vick’s secret stash was a dogfighting ring.

Today — indefinitely suspended by the NFL, dropped from his endorsement deals and at risk of losing $22 million of that once-guaranteed money — Michael Vick admitted in court, yes, I did fund dogfighting. Yes, I did kill dogs.

Because none of us has a completely clean slate, the sane among us are hesitant to judge when others get into trouble. Not to mention, Vick isn’t the first NFL player to get into trouble. The list is long.

Leonard Little of the St. Louis Rams was drunk after a party one night, got behind the wheel of a car, and killed a woman. He was arrested six years later for again driving under the influence.

Adam “Pacman” Jones of the Tennessee Titans faces charges of inciting a riot in a Las Vegas strip club that led to gunfire and left a man paralyzed.

O.J. Simpson murdered two people.

There have been cocaine charges, spousal abuse charges, tax charges, gun charges. In the last seven years alone, more than 300 NFL players have been arrested. (That’s roughly one-fifth of the league in a given season.)

But, O.J. aside, there is a fundamental difference between what most of those players arrested did — ugly as some of their crimes were — and what Michael Vick did. The difference is intent, or more specifically, a line of depravity that most people, not only in the NFL but in society, don’t ever and won’t ever cross.

That’s why many of us have absolutely no problem judging Michael Vick.

What Leonard Little did was ignorant, reckless and horrendous, but his intent was to drive home, not to kill someone. Physical assaults, as hellish as they can be, for the most part are rage and insecurity problems, not sadism. Illegal gun possession, although potentially dangerous, is a crime of stupidity.

The essence of Michael Vick’s crimes was the intent.

Mike intended to pit one dog against another in fights to the death. When Mike put nooses around dogs’ necks and strung them up in the woods, he intended for the dogs to die. When Mike held dogs’ heads under water, as the terrified animals writhed under his hands and struggled for their lives, he intended to kill them.

It was the violence, and in fact the very killing of the dogs, from which Michael Vick derived pleasure. It’s what he got off on when he dipped into his stash.

Any criminal psychologist will tell you it isn’t a giant leap, mentally and emotionally, to go from murdering animals to murdering a person. It isn’t merely the fact that dogs are man’s cute best friend that repulses us about Michael Vick’s actions. It is the fact that Vick stands at the entryway to a whole other realm of sickness.

As dumb and as infuriating and as tragic as many NFL players’ transgressions have been, you have to be pretty low on the food chain to do what Michael Vick did. That’s how many of us feel.

“I made a mistake of using bad judgment and making bad decisions,” Vick, doing his sociopathic best to appear contrite, said at a press conference after his appearance in court. “Those things just can’t happen. Dogfighting is a terrible thing, and I do reject it.”

Made a mistake?

Eating pizza when you’re on a diet is a mistake. Going through airport security with a water bottle that has a hidden compartment and mysterious resin is a mistake. Flipping off the fans in Atlanta is a mistake. Giving a girl herpes, after going to a clinic and testing positive under the name “Ron Mexico,” is pushing it but could be interpreted in the most generous and forgiving light as a possible mistake.

Bankrolling a dogfighting ring for six years and murdering dogs — that’s not a mistake. It is a way of life. It is a way of life to the point that it is who you are.

That’s who Michael Vick is. He’s a guy who couldn’t read a defense and couldn’t always put the ball between the numbers, but he could run fast, juke, and throw far. He was Mr. Potential. (“If he could just learn to run an offense and be a leader, with his speed he’d be the best ever,” his coaches said as they salivated, only to be fired later when the team underperformed.) And Vick is a guy who liked to fight and kill dogs.

The outrage over Vick is not a race thing either. Race is a factor in all walks of life every day. Racism is America’s disease, and it continues to affect lives in our country on the most basic levels. But that’s not what this is about and we all know it.

Michael Vick is not the victim.

If Peyton Manning or Tom Brady had run a dogfighting ring and killed dogs, the outrage would be just as prolific, perhaps more so. PETA would still be right there on the footsteps of federal court. Endorsement companies would still scramble to distance themselves. The NFL would still come down hard to make a statement. It would be scandalous.

For defenders of Vick, it certainly could be a class thing. But more than that, it’s a humanity thing. What Michael Vick did was inhumane. That’s who he is.

That’s why many of us get angry when we see players, former players and members of the media offer critiques of Vick’s somber apology. They tell us “It was suprising” … “It was what he needed to do” … “It seemed very sincere” … and, my favorite, “It wasn’t scripted because he wasn’t reading from a piece of paper.” They forget the depraved deliberateness of his crimes as well as his attempts just days ago to lie and cover up.

Why would anyone believe Vick is sincere now?

People in the media, who either don’t have time or don’t take the time to seriously think about what they’re saying to millions of viewers and listeners, are analyzing Vick’s P.R. campaign as if it’s synonymous with his personal rehabilitation — much like equating a political horserace to a candidate’s actual ability to govern. People are forgetting that this wasn’t just another sad screwup by an NFL player. People are forgetting about Vick’s intent, which speaks volumes about him as a person.

There was no fall from grace for Michael Vick, just ebbs and flows and tidal waves in public perception. Through college at Virginia Tech, through the richest contract in NFL history, through the endorsements, through the children of all races who looked up to him, through making the playoffs, through not making the playoffs, through the coaches who mistakenly put their careers in his hands, through the deliberate passing of an STD, Michael Vick has always been the same guy.

Try as he may — with lawyers, public apologies, fake sincerity, and sudden invocations of Jesus — you can’t buy a conscience. Just like you can’t grow one in jail or during a courthouse press conference. Don’t let him soft-sell you into believing otherwise.

Like he always tried to tell us, he’s just plain old Mike.

Tags: Going Deep, NFC South, NFL
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