Imagine for a moment, the monumental ramifications of such a vile announcement, such a heinous proclamation, the utter outrage, the swell of revolted humanity, imagine it all, if Barry Bonds were to be sued by a young woman for the purposeful infection of a sexually transmitted disease. The news would transcend sport, elevate beyond the jurisdiction of simple media denouement. It would inspire a massive wave of hatred that would surely condemn Barry Bonds straight into a hellish oblivion.
Such news would frame the legacy of a man with nary a redeemable quality, zero saving grace. There would be no hope or help for Barry Bonds.
Luckily for Bonds, however, such an accusation was levied against somebody else.
Michael Vick.
Where upon it became immediately and undeniably swept under the rug.
………
This news, shocking as it was, only spun upon my sphere of knowledge by way of Urban Legend.
It was not a lead story.
The absolute, bare bones summation: A young women accused Mike Vick of knowingly withholding information about his condition, that being herpes Simplex 2, before they shared an intimate endeavor.
Now, in this sick Media climate, where the slightest shred of Character Default is blown into mega sized proportion, wide enough to satiate an entire ravenous Sports Nation, these types of allegations could have been, and for the sake of equal time, should have been treated with approximate zeal.
After all, this was a Superstar, and these were wholly serious claims.
Despite the apparent ramifications, the Vick situation was quickly rendered an unfounded rumor.
No Sports-Center Leads. No probing journalistic montages of suspect motive. No preening moralistic judgment as per expected on such high fiber shows as “Sports Reporters” and ” Outside the Lines.” Only silence.
Vick’s guilt or innocence shouldn’t be surveyed under a microscope. The case was settled out of court, characteristically quiet. We will never know, and it isn’t our right to either.
My pressing concern: Where were the scavengers, around this bleeding carcass of a story? Where was the outrage best left reserved for the San Francisco Giants’ Most Valuable Piñata?
There were only whispers. Off color jokes best left at the Cafeteria. A mutual secret shared only by sports fans and the obscenely curious.
” You hear about Vick?”
” Ever heard the one about Ron Mexico?”
………..
The saga of Ron Mexico only adds to the tapestry of tightlipped design that props up the NFL, making it invulnerable to any criticism.
Three Panthers on the NFC Championship team are busted for Steroid Use, yet the merits of their deeds and accomplishments, past or present, are left untarnished against any further inquiry.
It could be that the hierarchy running America’s most ordered corporation have stumbled upon the perfect formula, one that combines both adulation and apathy in equal, grandiose measure.
Often called the No Fun League, the NFL is stringently against any type of distinctive self-expression. Reprimands are severe for the slightest uniform malfunction. For instance, years ago, during his miraculous run as Bengal starter, Jon Kitna took to wearing a Baseball Cap at Press Conferences, one preaching the Saving Grace of Jesus Christ. He was summarily fined for not donning team apparel.
By constricting the individuality of it’s players, the League turns them into Super Heroes instead of human beings, lessening their resonance with fans as people, establishing them solely as predators of a violently controlled landscape.
The question is rhetorical: In commercials prompting would be viewers to tune into the Super Bowl, why is it that the teams are overwhelmed by the pageantry? Why are the people behind the uniforms secondary to the event?
The League designs it’s players to be replaceable. Dispensable. Offensive tackles, often bemoaned as under-rated, rest as a perfect example. They really are the most important cogs of any Football game, and their gained status as unmentionable only solidifies this status, instead of taking away from it. The lower the profile, the higher their importance.
We’re afraid to get attached to Baseball Players, the lot of them always free agents in waiting. We aren’t fearful in viewing our favorite Gridiron Icons, inflicting pain on the enemy while also absorbing it within themselves. It is after all, our Bloody Sunday.
Loyalty is a useless word for fans, owners, and players, useful only in its utter ability to be replaced by some other empty adjective.
Heart.
Desire.
Passion.
It’s the NFL ON CBS!
………..
There could only be venomous vindication when a vengeful party finds meaning in its callous victory over an opposing force.
Mike Vick? Just another NFL Superstar.
Stock footage.
