Two Men, Two Stories: Mike and Rick
Listed in:There are a few Where Were You When... moments every year in the sports world. Where were you when Aaron Boone hit his home run to beat the Red Sox? Where were you when LeBron scored 48? Where were you when Vince Young came back to beat the mighty Trojans? The summer of 2007 features at least two such moments, one depressing, one inspiring.
First, the sadness. The suck. The sludge in every sports fan's veins. Michael Vick will plead guilty to charges he organized and funded a dogfighting operation on his property. Vick's tale is a tragedy in the classic sense: a man gifted with impossibly wondrous attributes has thrown it all away because of a fatal flaw, perhaps even the most fatal flaw of hubris. So the story goes (and to be clear, I definitely mean the story, not necessarily the bare truth), Vick risked everything because he thought he was untouchable, that he was Marcellus Wallace and his boys were Vincent and Jules, and anyone who cared to test him was Brett.
Strained analogies run rampant. Even here.
Because there is no analogy that makes modern day sense. No matter what ultimately happens, Vick will be forced into an archetype of the hero who's committed an unforgivable sin and must wander for eternity awash with regret. Sadness. Suck. Sludge. It may lead to revisionist history and mournful odes to how he done been wronged. Say it ain't so, Mike. But the stain is the stain is the stain. So, what now? Do you slink off into the woodwork and hope you can just be Mike, living in some NoVa suburb? Or do you fight to regain the goodwill that you've lost? Do you scratch and claw and wrench your way into a different archetype?
The second Where Were You... moment this summer was Rick Ankiel's return to the major leagues. I don't expect you actually watched the game, but I'm sure you remember hearing he hit a home run, and if you remember that sorry day back in 2000 when the thumps on the backstop wouldn't stop and a 21 year old lost a chunk of his soul in front of a rapt nation... well, I got a kick of adrenaline and pumped my fist just a little.
Because the bare facts of Ankiel's character, gumption, and resolve mean nothing in the face of the tale we can weave around his achievements. We can make direct comparisons to mythical heroes who performed impossible feats. And they will be true! We make them true, dammit! I don't care what Ankiel does from here on out, because he's written the script, and while the credits roll we understand the only thing that matters is the can-do spirit, and that love for an innocent boy's game triumphed over selfish egotism. Didn't it?
Doesn't matter, though, because the story is the story is the story is the truth, and I'm afraid that what I think I know is so filtered that I don't know anything. Mike Vick is sadness. Suck. Sludge. Rick Ankiel is hope. Innocence lost and experience overcome. Raise your glass and tell me the story again.
