It wasn’t so much that Michael Vick fell in with a bad crowd. In fact, he might have been the bad crowd — all that money, all that power, but nothing learned from time spent on a college campus or in a major American city.
Vick drew people to Bad Newz Kennels on his property in rural Virginia. It was not a case of Vick’s wandering onto the edge of a mob that was cheering for Fluffy to rip Rover’s throat. The way it worked, people said, Hey, Michael is into dogs killing dogs. Quarterbacks are leaders, after all.
Getting caught doing something this vicious was not even his big mistake, although enabling dogfighting is surely beyond the normal drugs and drinking and messing around and packing a gun and committing violence to other adults that athletes sometimes commit. This was against animals. As somebody said, animals and children are different.
Still, Michael Vick’s big mistake may turn out to be mediocrity. He ventured way outside the pocket of social respectability at a time when his quarterback rating was plummeting. He had not turned the Atlanta Falcons into a Super Bowl contender. In a time of other large and mobile quarterbacks, he was yesterday’s phenomenon.
Maybe he got bored. Maybe he sensed his edge was over and he was looking for new thrills, the blood of animals, on his property, off the main road.
“You were instrumental in promoting, funding and facilitating this cruel and inhumane sporting activity,” United States District Judge Henry E. Hudson said at the sentencing in 2007. And that is still true, even as Vick becomes free to live his life.
He is, however, a man without a team, because the Falcons dropped him earlier this year. This may sound cynical, but Vick, 29, could become a deserving example of the double standard that says if a player can still produce, somebody will try to rehabilitate him.
Remember Father Edward Flanagan, the founder of that worthy institution called Boys Town? Father Flanagan’s motto was “There are no bad boys” — only bad environments. Franchise owners have been known to emulate Father Flanagan. Al Davis always loaded up his Oakland Raiders with renegades and troublemakers and bar-fighters, although Davis has not had much success lately.
Character is usually overlooked in the double standards of sport. Even little kids knew Mickey Mantle was the epitome of drinking and philandering, but the Mick could hit the ball off the facade, and that was quite enough.
Some standards are inviolate. Shoeless Joe Jackson will probably never get into the National Baseball Hall of Fame because he accepted some money in the farcical gambling coup at the 1919 World Series. No less a figure than Ted Williams lobbied for Jackson’s inclusion in the Hall, on the grounds of mercy and admiration for his skills, but Williams might have been Jackson’s last best chance.
Pete Rose is going to have a tough time getting into the Hall — or earning a living in organized baseball — for three reasons: he gambled while managing the Reds; he lied when confronted; and he is forever linked with Commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti, who died days after barring Rose.
The double standard is that people will put up with dubious character — but only as long as the athlete can produce. Ty Cobb was a sociopath, but the greatest hitter of his day. Albert Belle’s antisocial pose was tolerated as long as he could hit. Mike Tyson bit off a piece of Evander Holyfield’s ear.
The double standard has kicked in with drugs. NBA Commissioner David Stern sighed and said, “This is sadness,” when, by league law, he had to banish Micheal Ray Richardson for life after a positive test. But baseball was slow to face reality, which meant Steve Howe received nearly double-digit reprieves for so-called recreational drugs because some club always needed a live left-handed arm.
Baseball is stuck with double standards in the wake of the steroid revelations. Some people fret because that nice Barry Bonds is not employed, but you can bet — well, don’t bet — that Mr. Balco would have a job if he were younger and more nimble.
Transparent obnoxiousness does not count against Roger Clemens, either. If he were five years younger, he’d be wearing pinstripes or maybe pitching in Queens.
Meantime, Michael Vick is legally entitled to earn a living. I cannot find it in myself to say he should never have another chance in the NFL, given some of the characters who have run afoul of the law without being suspended. Whenever Goodell gets around to clearing him — and what’s wrong with making him sweat a few more weeks? — club owners are going to be wary of the reaction from animal lovers, and the owners will remember what happened at the Bad Newz Kennels. Vick has put himself in Coventry. At least until a few quarterbacks go down.
This article, Michael Vick's Big Mistake, and It Wasn't Dogfighting, first appeared in The New York Times.
