So Michael Vick got busted smoking marijuana as he awaits his sentencing after pleading guilty to assorted federal dog-fighting charges - on the same day he finds out he may be facing more state charges (and more jail time) for his expensive, cruel and sadistic (other) habit. 

Now he has to stay in the house from 10pm to 6am, subject himself to random drug tests, sign up for in-or-out-patient drug and mental health counseling at his own expense (tip money on top of his legal fees yet still more "green" flying out the door), and wear his very own electronic monitoring device to make sure he keeps the schedule. To top it off, If he breaks curfew, he gets a free trip right to a federal holding facility, where at least his room and board will be taken care of.

The potential thought process for Vick, America's most entertaining athlete: OK I lost my job, I've lost my endorsements, I'm losing my freedom, I'm losing my money to these lawyers, I'm awaiting more charges and more jail time . . . I just need something to relieve the stress. Who wouldn't blame the old chap for an odd hit or ten of the Green Monster?  But now the feds have even taken away that final bit of freedom from Michael Vick.  Now it's really real.

'The heart of the career of sport's most dynamic athlete (yes, ALL sports, readers check the film) has been electrocuted, drowned, burned and buried forever'


America's most entertaining athlete is throwing his life away. And for what? For the status symbol of being a dog breeder?  What warped kingpin fantasy was he playing out by financing a dog fighting ring? What latent sadism manifested as he creatively burned and drowned under-performing dogs? 

We most probably will never know.  But now when we wake up on Sunday, fighting off the impending doom of another work week, we have one less escape. 

The man with the golden arm and the golden legs, the never before seen blend of strength and grace, who could sling the ball 60 yards with a graceful flick of his forearm without even stepping into his throws, the guy who jogged gracelessly and carelessly down field while faster, stronger and bigger would-be tacklers flew by him grasping at astonished air, the first quarterback to surpass 1000 yards rushing (running, not passing, a total that only the best running backs in the NFL can dream of reaching), the player who changed the way defence in the NFL is played, is gone. 

The heart of the career of sport's most dynamic athlete (yes, ALL sports, readers check the film) has been electrocuted, drowned, burned and buried forever because the person inside that wondrous body is a not-so-common criminal - actually, a symbolic moral standard-bearer of sorts bringing more attention to animal rights than ever before - who has inspired more stringent enforcement and writing of animal enforcement laws across America. 

The greatest irony is that even if he is a criminal who must serve jail time, most Americans would rather watch Vick play every Sunday, slipping and sliding, jinking and eluding down the sideline in between launching passes with such little visible effort they it doesn't even make sense to the naked eye . . . even if he was just on work furlough for the day.  But that's not going to happen. Michael Vick has truly gone and thrown it all away. 

Was it really worth it? No more multi-milion dollar endorsements, no more adulation, no more shot at the Super Bowl, no more pro football salary, no more Madden video star, no more freedom, and now no more officials looking the other way while he burned the best green money could buy. Was it really worth it? The question is no question. The real question is why? And that question has no answer, the cruelest penalty of all.     

What on earth possessed Michael Vick to throw it all away? Post your comments below or submit an article to Sportingo.