I don’t follow football, and though I knew Michael Vick’s name from years of selling Madden for the various and sundry game consoles, I wouldn’t have known Vick if he’d walked up to me. I couldn’t even have told you what team he played for.
I’ve said nothing about the court case involving Vick. Or rather, I’ve said nothing yet.
Vick agreed to a plea deal with federal prosecutors today on charges of criminal dogfighting. Prosecutors are rumored to want Vick behind bars for a year to eighteen months.
A statement from Vick’s lawyer: “Michael wishes to apologize again to everyone who has been hurt by this matter.”
If Michael Vick’s reading this, let me say this:
Can you apologize to the dogs you killed, Michael? Can you apologize to the dogs you beat? Can you apologize to the dogs you threw against the ground breaking their bones? Can you apologize to the dogs you drowned? Can you apologize to the dogs you electrocuted? Who are you apologizing to, Michael Vick? Fans of the Atlanta Falcons don’t deserve an apology — you didn’t hurt them. Fans of your career don’t deserve an apology — you didn’t hurt them, either. It’s the innocent dogs that you bought, trained, and then tortured to death that deserve the apology, Michael Vick. And frankly, Michael Vick, if it were somehow possible for you to know one iota of the physical suffering and torment you and your gang of hoodlums put those dogs through, it still wouldn’t be enough to right the karmic balance. You are an asshole, Michael Vick, and I feel no pity for the fact that you have lost your liberty and your career.
If, readers, you have the impression that I’m incensed about this, you would be correct. A year behind bars for animal cruelty doesn’t seem like enough. The loss of his career doesn’t seem like enough.