Philadelphia's Phoenix

By Ian Roderick

Can the rebirth of Mike Vick end with a Super Bowl victory?

Americans love an underdog. Our cultural memory is filled with examples: from the Pilgrims to the colonial minutemen, from the self-made millionaires at the end of the 19th century to the 1980 US Men’s hockey team. We pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. We go where nobody’s gone before and do things that nobody’s done before. We’re Americans.

That narrative, of individuals rising above their circumstances and making a better life for themselves is a part of who we are. And in a time when there are no more pioneers, and fewer American success stories, we look to sports to fill the gap. We love when an underdog beats a favorite, or when an athlete catches a lucky break and makes it big. Think of Rudy. Think of Kurt Warner and when the New York Giants defeated the supposedly unbeatable New England Patriots in the 2007 Super Bowl.

But there’s another side to that story, the darker, meaner side. The side where we tear down the people that we’ve built. If it’s because you cheated to get where you were, or because we discover a moral defect, we pull the rug out -- fast. Think of Tiger Woods and Eliot Spitzer, and the guys at Enron.

F. Scott Fitzgerald famously said that there are no second acts in American lives. And the experiences of Woods, Spitzer, and the Enron CEO seem to bear that out. Our love for you is boiled off immediately by our disappointment and rage. We made you, we say, and you betrayed our trust. The roses we threw at your feet turn to stones.

Now think of Michael Vick.

Until 2007, he was a perfect example of someone who, by his own talent and hard work, became one of the most electrifying players in his profession. He was the fastest quarterback that anyone had ever seen, and unlike other so-called “running quarterbacks”, he could throw the ball too. He was rewarded with admiration and fame and money. Millions of people bought his Atlanta Falcons #7 jersey. He became the face of an NFL franchise and one of the most marketable personalities in all of sports. He was a truly American success story.

And then in 2007 the curtain was thrown back and we learned that Vick had trained dogs to fight and kill. He had operated a dog fighting enterprise out of his back yard, and had even killed a few dogs himself.

Americans were outraged, calling him evil and spoiled and deserving of punishment. Fans burned his jersey and swore they’d never root for Vick again. The Falcons fired him and sued him for breach of contract, winning a $20 million judgement against him in court. He went bankrupt. He lost his six houses, his cars and his luxurious lifestyle. And then he was convicted of animal cruelty in federal court and sentenced to two years in prison.

It was something out of a Greek tragedy. The very things that helped Vick get where he was: the loyalty, the competitiveness, the desire to be where the action is, to be at the center of things, had sowed the seeds of his downfall. He had made himself, and then he had himself unmade.

The day that Vick reported to prison, many of us believed, was the day the Vick story ended. There are no second acts in American lives, and even fewer in NFL careers, especially if the second act commences two years after your last game, when you’ve been sitting in a concrete cell in a federal penitentiary.

So we forgot about Michael Vick as a player for two years and focused on his fall from grace and whether he would ever play in the NFL again. When he was released, some analysts speculated that his quarterbacking skills had been so diminished that he might be forced to play at another position.

Shortly after he was released, however, he signed a contract with Andy Reid’s Philadelphia Eagles. The signing itself was something of a surprise, with Donovan McNabb firmly entrenched as the starter and the talented backup Kelvin Kolb designated as future starter in waiting. But Reid and the Eagles organization - including, it’s said, McNabb - couldn’t ignore the talent and signed Vick to a one year contract with a club option for a second year.

We all know what happened after that. McNabb was traded after the 2009 season. In 2010, Kolb was injured in Philadelphia’s first game. Vick subbed in and was phenomenal. He was the best athlete on the field, outrunning defensive backs and eluding linebackers. He threw tight spirals to the young Eagles playmakers and electrified fans in ways they hadn’t been in years - not since the last time they saw Vick play four years prior.

For a couple of weeks, Reid claimed that Kevin Kolb was still the starting quarterback. But eventually, inevitably, Reid acknowledged what many fans could clearly see: Vick was a superstar talent playing at the height of his ability. Kolb was moved back to the bench and there, standing before us, was #7 Michael Vick, once again a starting NFL quarterback.

The debate about whether Vick can lead the Eagles to a Super Bowl is a familiar one. Analysts point to his mediocre passing statistics and his history of injuries, and to his failures in previous playoff games. He’s 31 years old, and the athleticism that gives him such an advantage on the field will surely decline.

But as he returns to Atlanta this weekend, it is worth reflecting on what Vick has already achieved. Few of us will face the personal and professional devastation that Vick brought on himself. Fewer still will rise from the embers of such ruin and make ourselves new again. Say what you will about Vick, but his is a quintessentially American story: the self made man, twice over. How’s that for a second act?


Ian Roderick is a guest contributor for Began in ‘96. He has previously written for Cold Hard Football Facts.com