A Note on Michael Vick

Living in a black neighborhood for the past few years has helped me come to understand the two disparate views of the just released from Leavenworth Penitentiary and disgraced ex QB, Michael Vick.

When I heard that Vick might be connected to a dogfighting ring, I was upset. I love dogs. I love them as pets, though, which is different than most of white America, which sees dogs as members of the family. Anyone familiar with Cesar Millan's television show knows that this point of view can lead to behavioral problems with their dogs.

But to me, a lover-of-dogs-as-pets, the idea to pit them in fights to the death with each other is twisted and corrupts the natural abilities of the animals. I would imagine one-on-one fights to the death are not usually in the wild-dog world and its ancestry.

The uproar in the white world over Vick is predicated, I feel, on that member-of-the-family attitude attached to dogs. Viciousness towards canines is an old problem in the States, what with the ASPCA being founded in 1866, modeled after a British counterpart being founded in 1824. This was before there were even any child-abuse watchdog groups in the Union.

In black neighborhoods across the nation, the consensus among the masses was "here's white America again taking away the livelihood of a young black man, who happens to be the most exciting player in the NFL, and doing so because he's black." Dogs are not members of the family in black America (not like in white America, anyway), they are pets, ornaments, objects, or protectors. For a people so marginalized throughout American history, the compassion seems to exist for their fellows, for their comrades in blackdom, especially when that fellow is the highest paid player in the NFL, rather than with any four-legged ill-tempered or ill-trained pet. To the black folks I talked with, this whole thing had to be a conspiracy to get Vick, because how could these white folks get so worked up about some stupid dogs?

In black America, fellow black folks, especially the uber-famous, are always more important than dogs. In white America, dogs are people. Another moment of the two worlds not seeing eye-to-eye.

But then I found this advertisement for a reality show featuring Michael Irvin, a football Hall of Famer, found it in a dingy subway station in Brooklyn, and it was graffiti-ed as such:

What does this show? Maybe Vick doesn't have the unending support in my neighborhood? Maybe people are upset at the decisions he's made and the position he's put himself in?

Most sports writers here in the City think Vick's paid his debt to society, that he's learned his lesson (they hope), and deserves another shot at NFL stardom. PETA is ready to call for a lifetime ban. They're ready to boycott any team that pursues him. Should PETA dictate the rest of his career? I'm not sure how I feel about that. Should Vick get another chance in pro-football? Again, I have mixed feelings.

One thing I know for sure, though, is it's going to take a lot for me to really give a crap. The most exciting and highest-paid player was a stupid jackass, thought of himself as invincible, bankrolled a dog-fighting ring, personally killed some of the dogs, got caught, went to prison and flushed his financial security down the drain. I'm supposed to care that all he has now is a $10 an hour construction job? This is the current line from the sports writers here in the City.

That sounds like a job to me, which is more than plenty of us in this Depression. Welcome to real life, Mr. Vick. Try paying your bills and making ends meet like a real person.