Brandt’s Corner
A different take on who Michael Vick has become
In 2007, the sports world was struck by news it hadn’t really seen before: Michael Vick, the dual-threat quarterback of the Atlanta Falcons, was being investigated for his involvement in an illegal dog-fighting ring. Vick would spend 21 months behind bars for his crimes. His story has been told many times in the 18 years since, but one part is often overlooked — his repentance.
There is no doubt in my mind that Vick was guilty of the charges for which he was convicted. The evidence was so clear that I, just 13 years old at the time, could tell he had done many atrocious things. I idolized the former Virginia Tech standout at the time, mostly due to his abilities in Madden. He was revolutionizing the game at a pace we had never seen before.
Sure, the Randall Cunninghams of the world existed before No. 7 for the red and black Falcons down there in the ATL did. So did Joe Montana, Dan Marino, and many other quarterbacks — especially those who could run relatively well, like the aforementioned lot. But they couldn’t do it as well as he could.
My generation was exposed to someone who changed our favorite game in a whole new fashion. I’d argue it was the biggest change since the invention of the forward pass, even.
Before the dual-threat QB became as popular as it is now, defenses really only had to worry about either the pass or the run — rarely, if ever, did they need to concern themselves with both on a play. At most, a draw play would be their biggest concern in defending both simultaneously. The only quarterback runs that teams had to consider for a long time were QB sneaks up the middle on short yardage situations or the occasional option run (mostly in college football, though).
A quarterback spy was just telling the future of who Tom Brady would become, not an actual defensive adjustment (because there is never a bad time to talk about how TB12 cheated).
The game has evolved to teams needing dual-threat quarterbacks in order to even compete in today’s NFL. And it’s been that way for a while, all thanks to Vick.
I could write for hours about how much I loved watching the lefty run around and sling the ball, making plays where there usually weren’t any to be made. He could be wrapped up by the opponent’s biggest lineman and still, somehow, throw a 40-yard dart down the sidelines. He would juke out even the swiftest, most agile defenders right out of their cleats — just ask Tommy Polley and Roland Seymour, who both tore their ACLs on a juke from the shifty Hokie in the 1999 Sugar Bowl.
This isn’t just about his athletic achievements, though, as you might have guessed. Nor is it about his criminal investigation, trial, and conviction. It’s about his life afterward.
I won’t get into my personal feelings on the climate surrounding America’s justice system, because frankly, nobody wants to read a sports editor’s thoughts on that. What I will say, though, is that many people who serve their time in prison are never truly rehabilitated and they often re-offend.
The same could be said about NFL players. In no way am I saying the situation I’m about to list is anywhere near the same as Vick’s, but Josh Gordon is an example of someone who just couldn’t get himself right. He continued to fail drug tests after being suspended many times, and at one point he was even expelled from the NFL permanently.
Vick broke both of those stereotypes.
I know I’m going to catch flack for this take, but I’ll defend it until I’m six feet under. I also know Vick pleaded his charges down and never truly served a single second for animal cruelty — the time served was for his intent to commit felonies across state lines. I understand these facts.
I also know there was outrage at him being a Pro Bowl legend a few years ago. Idolizing a man who committed absolutely appalling, horrible crimes against innocent animals is wrong. I hear you.
But what you might not be hearing is about how he truly was rehabilitated. And it started with his own dogs.
Nearly $1 million of his own money went to the care and rehabilitation of the animals he abused, meaning his own money was used. Whether this was forced by the court or not is a moot point; it was his own money that went to the care of those he hurt.
In 2015, he supported Pennsylvania lawmakers with House Bill 1516 regarding pets in cars. He’s given speeches, he’s been an advocate, and he’s done a 180 on who he used to be. He hasn’t been in legal trouble since. He’s served his time, been banished from the sport he loves, criticized, picked apart, withstood death threats, and even had nearly a million people sign a petition to prevent him from being at the Pro Bowl as a captain some years ago.
But you know what he hasn’t done? He hasn’t played the victim. He hasn’t begged for forgiveness. He’s flown pretty well under the radar off the field. He has a family and he now has a second chance at football, as the head coach at Norfolk State, an announcement that came last month, much to the disappointment of many people.
I would argue that his animal rights advocacy is some of the most notorious, high-profile, most effective championing that animals have ever had. PETA has criticized his every movement since it was discovered what he did, which, in many eyes, is warranted. But in my eyes, his words have more power and merit to them than anyone in PETA’s organization.
Reach Brandt Young at (910) 247-9036, at byoung@clintonnc.com, or on the Sampson Independent Facebook page.