Monday, December 10, 2007, 03:32 PM
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Richmond, Va. — Surely, as I sit here on Monday inside a packed federal courtroom, this is just a fleeting nightmare. Whatever the situation, it is a self-inflicted one. You can attribute this to someone who carelessly went from wearing No. 7 for the Falcons to the black-and-white prison stripes courtesy of becoming Case No. 07CR274 for U.S. prosecutors.
Is this really happening? When does the alarm clock sound?
If this isn’t fantasy, why did that someone continue to lie, even when those normally ruthless prosecutors gave him a second chance? Mostly, why didn’t that someone have the decency to save many of his Atlanta disciples from embarrassing themselves through blind loyalty by just telling the truth months ago?
There is Brenda Boddie, the grieving mother, weeping with her head dropped toward the floor. Now her sobbing and the whispers throughout the place have vanished in a flash. That’s because nobody can breathe. Not only did Michael Vick just enter from a back door with federal marshals, but he is dressed in an outfit normally associated with chain gangs from the 19th century. The only thing missing are leg irons.
Among those gasping is ESPN legal analyst Lester Munson, who says of the scene while recalling his 40 years of watching defendants come and go before benches, “Wow.” It’s a judge’s decision in these situations as to whether those before them wear a suit or dress as the criminal that they are. Even so, Munson says, “I’ve never seen anything like this, with somebody wearing that type of an outfit, and the imagery is striking.”
You have the white judge, Henry E. Hudson, a George W. Bush appointee, who doesn’t necessarily agree that the meek will inherit the earth. You have Vick, the African-American defendant, who has drawn the ire of animal rights folks everywhere for his role in fighting and torturing dogs when he wasn’t the Falcons star quarterback. You also have the sentencing for his role in the matter happening in a building that still proudly boasts through a plaque at its front door that it was the treasury building for the old Confederacy.
Not a good look. Still, if Vick doesn’t spend years financing something called Bad Newz Kennels, run by some of his thuggish pals on his Virginia property, he isn’t sitting over there looking worse than he did under a pile of defenders.
Now Vick’s lawyer, Billy Martin, is sounding un-Johnnie Cochran like, with a somewhat shaky voice and no bloody glove that doesn’t fit. He is telling the judge that Vick was “clinically depressed” when he violated his plea agreement by smoking marijuana afterward. You can tell that Hudson isn’t buying as much, because he is alternating between a little smile and a cold stare. Neither is the judge amused by Martin’s explanation on why Vick told the feds that he didn’t participate in the drowning or hanging of dogs, then was fingered by those thuggish pals for doing just that, and then later announced with tears after five hours of interrogation, “I did it. I did it all.”
Across the way, the grieving mother still has her head bowed, while Marcus Vick, Michael’s younger brother, sits to her left and softly rubs her back. They listen to one of the prosecutors tell the judge of the older Vick, “Unfortunately, he was not forthright in his role in killing these dogs.” Then they hear the judge say, “There were other matters where (Vick) was less than truthful or inconsistent.”
Twenty-three months in prison, says the judge, along with other things, but nothing trumped those 23 months.
Just like that, everybody is losing their breath again, because Vick rises after accepting the judge’s invitation to address the bench. After Vick apologizes to the court and to his family, he says what he also said through the years after all of those other Vick things (water bottle, flipping off the hometown fans, stolen watch, Ron Mexico). He says he “used poor judgment” and that he “made some bad decisions.” He says he “accepts responsibility for his actions,” and that he is “willing to deal with the consequences.”
Later, as spectators file from the room in silence, a sullen Vick stays behind at the defendant’s table. He rests his head against his left hand. That’s when it really hits Vick, along with everybody else.
This is reality.
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