Jerry Brown

Another week in the NFL.  Another tragic death.  Another reaffirmation of a culture of “play on.”

Last week it was the Kansas City Chief’s Javon Belcher who shot himself in front of his coach.   This week it’s the Dallas Cowboys’ Jerry Brown.  Brown was the passenger in teammate Josh Brent’s car, when Brent lost control, wrecked his car, killing Brown –  who just announced a couple days ago that he’s a father-to-be.

Brent, who survived the crash with a couple cuts and bruises, is being charged with “intoxication manslaughter.”  The crash happened Saturday, effectively destroying the lives of two young men.

On Sunday (the day after the crash), the Cowboys, like the Kansas City Chiefs a week before, decided to play their game against the Cincinnati Bengals.  And like the Chiefs, the Cowboys won.

This from the head coach of the Cowboys after they beat the Bengals:

I’m very proud of our football team. Somehow, someway they did find a way to channel the emotion that we had. I think there was a feeling of numbness out on the field today but somehow they focused it and we figured out a way to win this ballgame. I thought we honored him as well as he could be honored. This is a day I’m never going to forget. Its’ a tragic day for all of us. I’m never going to forget how this football team came together and honored Jerry Brown and his family. We’ll continue to mourn his loss. We’ll continue to miss him, and we’ll never forget about him.

It’s obvious that – like the Chief’s players and coaches – the Cowboys are mourning the loss of Brown.  And it seems obvious that – like the Chiefs – the Cowboys saw that they honored Brown by playing and by winning.

This style of grieving is important to note, as it is distinctly what psychologists have termed an “instrumental grieving style.”  This “instrumental grieving style” is generally attributed to the style that men choose to use.  Most (not all) men tend to

One. suppress their emotional responses,

Two.  hide their vulnerability,

Three.  focus on thinking (as opposed to feeling) about the loss,

Four.  seek to solve practice problem via engaging in physical activity

Five.  immerse themselves in work. (Martin and Doka)

The other type of grieving style (intuitive) is where the person learns to express their emotions and reach out for help.  The intuitive style has traditionally been seen as the conventional norm for grieving, where the “instrumental style” has been downplayed as improper and incorrect.

The fact is that different people have different styles of grieving and both styles can come with their own forms of complication.  A person using an intuitive style can just as easily bury themselves in their emotional life as a person using the instrumental style can bury themselves in their work life.

Traditionally, the instrumental style of grief (usually practiced by men) has been belittled.  But, it’s not wrong per se.  In fact, it’s the way many grieve.  And it’s okay.

What’s wrong is the culture of the NFL that is so predominately male that there’s little to no pause from work.  There is no pause.  There’s just an attitude of “play on.”  An attitude that sees “winning” and “playing” as nearly synonymous with “honoring.”  A culture that would rather play the game than allow for a pause and send a message that “drinking and driving is dead wrong” … that “even the athletes of the NFL aren’t impervious to bad choices.”

It’s okay that the players and coaches what to honor their deceased friend with their work.  What’s not okay is that the NFL let the game go on the very next day.  The NFL might be a case study in “masculine grief”, but it’s also a case study in money and sport over life and death.

Javon Belcher played his college ball at the small University of Maine.  He went undrafted in the 2009 NFL draft, but was eventually signed by the Kansas City Chiefs and in 2010 he started as an inside linebacker, producing his best year in 2011.

In football, there’s players who are considered “character guys”, which essentially means that although they might lack in talent, they make up for it in their willingness to learn from their coaches and in their solid off the field reputation.  Javon Belcher was described as a “character guy”.  He had a supportive family, was a proud father to his 3 month old daughter and was described as a genuine person.

This past Saturday, December 1^st, Javon murdered his girlfriend (and mother of his child), 22-year-old Kasandra Perkins.  He then went to the Chiefs stadium, thanked the Chief’s GM, Head Coach and other personnel for the opportunity they had given him and shot himself in front of them.  The coach tried to convince Belcher to stop, but the coach acknowledged that he failed to do so.

Belcher’s girlfriend and their daughter.

He didn’t take the time to apologize to his daughter for making her an orphan.  No, he thanked the football gods.

The powers that be discussed the possibility of postponing the Chiefs game on Sunday against the Caroline Panthers.  From the Miami Herald:

A league official said NFL commissioner Roger Goodell spoke with both DeMaurice Smith, the head of the NFL Players Association, and Chiefs chairman Clark Hunt.

Neither the union nor the Chiefs, after Crennel spoke with team captains, objected to the game being played as scheduled. The possibility of a postponement was discussed, but none of the parties thought that to be appropriate.

The hot topic for NFL Commissioner Goodell wasn’t when the grief counselors could meet with the team, it wasn’t how the Chiefs could start the mourning process and how the NFL could encourage proper services.  No, they thought it would be inappropriate to cancel the game.  I mean a guy ONLY shot himself infront of his coach.  He ONLY just killed his girlfriend.

Already, the quarterback of the Chiefs is questioning himself.  After the game, Brady Quinn talked about his thoughts:

“It’s hard mostly because I keep thinking about what I could have done to stop this. I think everyone is wondering whether we would have done something to prevent this from happening. And then we’re all thinking about his daughter, three or four months old and without a parent. It’s hard to not allow the emotions of the situation to creep into your head with the game this close. But we’re going to do the best we can to concentrate on the task at hand.”

The players are doing the best they can to ignore their emotions so that they can concentrate on the task at hand?  This is why they should have postponed the game.   

But they didn’t.  This from Sportsillustrated:

“As far as playing the game, I thought that was the best for us to do, because that’s what we do,” Crennel said, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “We’re football players and football coaches and that’s what we do, we play on Sunday.”

“We’re football players” says Crennel.  Apparently that means that they’re not human.  They’re better at hitting people than they are at dealing with loss, love, violence, emotions.

The NFL could’ve used this opportunity to pause, postpone the game and allow for the much needed discussion about suicide and domestic violence to ensue.  Sure, postponing the game might have angered the Networks, but that’s the idea.  Instead of all the commentators and pundits talking about how the Chiefs won the game over the Panthers, they’d be talking about the pause; they’d be keenly reflecting on the tragedy.

If the game was postponed, this is the message that would have followed: “Suicide and domestic violence, life and death are more important than football.”

The NFL isn’t the only part of American society that doesn’t give a pause for death.  Death is simply too much of an inconvenience for us.  We’re so set on building our gods … building ourselves into a god, that we remove anything that reminds us of our humanity.  The NFL is a microcosm of American life.  We’re so intent on building the dream, that we like to ignore reality.

I see this “ignorance” all the time at the funeral home.

“Johnny can’t make grandpa’s funeral … he has finals.”

“Let’s push Dad’s funeral to next Saturday … I have a big business meeting this week.”

“So and so can’t make grandma’s funeral … he’s got a lot going on.”

We’re too busy with school to give a pause.  Too busy with work to give a pause.  Too busy with our Facebook feed to give a pause.  Too busy with OUR lives that we forget about the lives of others.

And in some respects, it’s inaccessible for many. Unlike baseball and certain positions in football, the physicality of hockey limits it to a rather small population with large athletic ability.

Not to mention (unlike soccer and basketball) that VERY few public schools in the US have a hockey team and so those who do play not only need some ability, but their parents need some economic backing as the starting price of this sport (once you consider all the gear and joining a league) is higher than just about any other sport.

Yet even with those factors, you have to have some sort of physically competitive streak.  Hockey isn’t golf. You can be healthy and wealthy, but if you aren’t willing to hit and be hit, you’re not cut out to be a hockey player, yet along a hockey fan.

It is, in many respects one of the more intrinsically marginalizing and exclusive sports.

The Demons of a Few

Since May of this year, the international hockey world, though, has taken some very violent hits.

Three “enforcers” (guys who are paid to send a message to the other teams through nasty hits and checks), have recently died from self-inflicted wounds.

Wade Belak, 35, twelve year NHL player, husband, father to two young girls and soon to be color commentator hung himself at his luxury apartment this past Wednesday.

Rick Rypien, 27, lost his battle to depression when he took his own life in mid August.  Rick was set to play for the NHL’s Winnipeg Jets.

Derek Boogaard, 28, died in May.  His death was ruled as an accidental overdose to alcohol and oxycodone.

Belak, Boogaard and Rypien

Some enforcers suffer from what many describe as “demons.”  A plague of the mind that eats away at sanity.

Doctors suggest that these “demons” are caused from the violence of hockey and the abnormal violence suffered by the enforcers, who’s heads are knocked around too often for their own good, often causing undiagnosed concussions, and eventually causing chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE for short).

Dr. Robert Cantu, an esteemed neurosurgeon, stated,

“We’ll never know with any certainty when someone commits suicide whether CTE played a role.  We do know CTE attacks the portion of the brain that controls functions of memory, emotion, addictive behavior and impulse control, the latter associated with suicide. And so we’re clear, in some cases the people involved may well have had emotional issues before its onset. But every time I read or hear about these tragedies, my first question is, ‘Did CTE play a role?’

It’s almost ironic that such a privileged group of humanity would be plagued by demons.  Men of physical stature.  Men of wealth.  The men of men.  Brought to their death, not by anybody else’s hand but by their own. Men, who few could dominate physically, overcome by weakness and damage of their mind.

The Demon of the Many

Perhaps the greatest hit sustained to the international hockey world was felt this past Wednesday, September 7th in Russia when a plane carrying an entire European professional hockey team clipped a beacon antenna on takeoff and crashed 500 yards from the runway, killing all of the 45 passengers, save two.

I hate flying.  I hate not being in control.  I hate the thought of falling some 30 plus thousand feet … the questions of “how long would I be conscious?”  I don’t mind death, but anxiety … that’s a killer.

At least these guys had it short.

And it’s amazing, based on the photos, that the two survivors even had a chance.

This wasn’t a flight full of random people whose communities where spread far and wide.  This was a hockey team.  A group of people entrenched in the hockey community.  This wasn’t the loss of a friend … this was the loss of many friends.  This wasn’t the the loss of a person from a specific community … it was the loss of a whole segment of a community.

And tragedies like this can scar an entire community.

It’s the way they died.  It’s the fact nobody was able to say their good-byes.

It’s the sudden, slap in the face, “not only is such and such friend dead, but so and so, and so and so … etc., etc., etc., etc. are gone as well.

It’s more like a sudden 36 quick slaps in the face.  A demon that can destroy the mind, the soul and the body.

The Demon of the One

And then there was one.  One Alexander Galimov who lives, but in a grave condition with 80% of his body burned.

Imagine being that one guy left alive.  Would you want to be THE ONLY ONE?  What would you say to the families of your lost teammates?  How would you answer their questions?  How would you answer your own questions?

If you were Alexander, would you be fighting for your life right now or would you just rather join in the travesty with your teammates?

Alexander Galimov

In any large scale tragedy, you see this.

In 9/11 we saw it.  People asking, “Why me?  I should have ….”

In war we see it.

In earthquakes, tornados, etc., the question / feeling of “I’m alive.  Everyone else is dead.  Who’s the lucky one?” is a demon of a whole different class.

It’s a demon that begs for legitimization.  Of “earning this” … of “proving to myself.”

It’s that whole “Saving Private Ryan” weight.  The weight that Captain Miller places around Ryan’s neck.  The weight of “earn this.” The weight of being the last survivor.  Being the last one standing isn’t all it’s made out to be.  Being the last one comes with the plaguing need for affirmation … the “tell me I’m a good man.”

And really, in one way or another, we can all ask such question.  In one way or another, we live off another’s sacrifice.

And I think the only right response … the response that can cast out the demons … is seeing life as a gift and responding, not in an “I’m going to pay it back” attitude, but in gratitude … gratitude for life.

I’m praying for Alexander.  I’m praying that if he survives, that he’d also find a way to live.

Somewhere in that time he met Jesus in a real way, surrounded himself with community and both his life and career were reborn, eventually resulting in the 2010 MVP award as he carried his team all the way to the World Series. Even his teammates respected him when they forewent the post-game AL Championship celebration champagne and substituted ginger ale in it’s place so Josh could join in on the jubilation.

All this … the MVP, the World Series, the love of his teammates, even his book deal are a testimony to God’s goodness … right?

2011 has been an entirely different year for Hamilton.  On April 12, he was on third base when the coach inadvisably sent him home despite the nearly impossibility of Hamilton scoring.  Josh collided with the catcher, fractured his right humerous and went on the Disabled List for nearly a month and a half.

Then, on July 7, Hamilton and his Rangers were playing at their home field.  In the sixth inning, a foul ball was hit Josh’s direction and unlike most outfielders who toss the ball into the stands for an adoring fan, Hamilton tossed it to the ball girl.  When he did so, he heard a shout from the stands, “Hey, Hamilton, how bout the next one.”  He looked up, saw the man that the shout came from, with the man’s Hamilton jersey clad son beside him and acknowledged them both.  A couple pitches later, another foul ball came Hamilton’s way and this time, he tossed it short to the man, who reached for it, fell over a railing, landed on his head and died eight hours later.

Hamilton said the sound of young Conor Jackson screaming as he watched his dad, firefighter, Shannon Stone falling still echoes in his mind.  Apparently Shannon was still conscious when paramedics arrived.  And the first thing Shannon told them was that his son, Conor, was “up there by himself”; a statement that unfortunately had a double meaning as today his son is fatherless.

So, what?  Is Hamilton now cursed by Satan?

Another baseball player suggests a third option: maybe God is using bad for good purposes.  The New York Met’s outfielder Angel Pagan (who has possibly one of most Lutheran names possible) stated,

“Only God knows why that happened and the purpose of it.”

It seems Pagan is suggesting God’s somehow behind the “accident”.   Even Hamilton himself stated:

“I can’t imagine what they’re going through right now. … All I can think about is praying for them and knowing that God has a plan. You don’t always know what that plan is when those things happen, but you will.”

Inexplicable rises and falls are often accredited to higher powers. Inexplicable riches and fame.  Inexplicable accidents.  Inexplicable deaths.   The God of the gaps idea extends beyond mysteries of the mind.  In science, when we can’t explain something we simply place God in the gap.  When something is beyond our comprehension, we answer it with “God”.

And is it any different with life’s mysteries?  When something inexplicably good happens to us … who do we credit? And to whom do we credit the bad?  But, is it really God?  Is it really Satan?  Or is it really just an accident?

I love Josh Hamilton.  I love his story and the power it has for others who struggle with drug addiction.  I too hope that God has a plan for the family that lost their father … a plan for redemption.  Unlike the implication in Hamilton and Pagan’s quotes, I just don’t think God ever intended it to happen.

God's Gift Achiuwa

It’s official, God’s Gift Aciuwa, the Nigerian basketball player, who was rated a top 100 college prospect by most scouting and recruiting services, declared his intent to play for St. Johns College on Thursday, April 28th, 2011.

Apparently, his decision was made on Easter of this year, but he didn’t sign his letter of intent until last Thursday.  God’s Gift is a 6-foot-9, 240 pound forward who may play the four or holy seven spot for St. Johns.

Said his former coach:

“He’s a good leader who leads by example. The first one in the gym and the last one out,” Coach Nwora said, praising Achiuwa. “He’s a good kid, always makes eye contact, [and] he’s very coach-able.”

Although the following quote hasn’t been verified as infallible, Jesus is quoted as stating that, “I wanted to give St. Johns a strong presence in the heart of their middle, so I gave them God’s Gift.  They deserve him.”  Apparently, Jesus then went on to ramble about distinctions between how a gift from God isn’t deserved and can’t be earned, so technically God’s Gift isn’t a gift per se, but a right for St. Johns because they named their college after John the Apostle, who was Jesus’ favorite disciple.

According to the Wall Street Journal, God’s Gift is the son of a Nigerian pastor who has named all of his children after religious themes.

I bet Nicolas Cage and Charlie Sheen are going to sue this kid for brand infringement.

Finally, if we’re allowed to name our kids after biblical concepts, I could name my daughter, “Irresistible Grace.”  She could star in a Calvinist romance movie, based on the novel to the right.  The byline is classic, “Your name must be Grace cause you’re irresistible.”

Any other Bible terms or concepts that would make great names?

1. You could change your name from “LeBron” to “King”. Sports writers would love you for the change, as it would give them ample headline fodder like “King of Kobe”, “King Humbles Warriors”, “A King in Philly” and “The King of the Court” and other dumb sports titles … but the rest of us who aren’t sports writers would hate you. And, as an addendum with special regards to J. Andrew Hostetler’s comment below, if you did change your name to “King” that would make you “King James” and would make just about anything you said biblical (codex #6), giving you immense FALSE authority and inciting the hatred of all Christians everywhere as well as all good Americans. Hate Points = 1000

2. You could date Winona Ryder. That would make me and a ton of other white males uber jealous (that Beetlejuice crush still hasn’t worn off … only after writing that, do I realize how weird that is). Hate points for LeBron = 10.

3. Instead of donating your proceeds from “The Decision” to the Boys and Girls Club, you could have donated the proceeds to the “Clone Bob Barker Foundation.” Being that Bob himself doesn’t like reproduction, he and the rest of us would hate you. H.P. = 500.

4. In retrospect, instead of having Jim Gray interview you for “The Decision”, you could have had Dick Clark do the interview … and snickered every time Dick speaks. Hate points for LeBron = 5.

5. You could become the new promo man for Gillette and advocate manscaping at the end of every interview, thus increasing the generational spike in pansy boys. H.P. = 5.

6. You could start wearing a fur coat made from Golden Retriever hide. Although, I think that’s illegal. H.P. = 200.

7. Right now, LeBron, you are a pretty intelligent interview – by athlete standards – although you’re nowhere near Brian Wilson status. Speaking about oneself in the third person has been done before by the likes of Rickey Henderson, et al, so it wouldn’t be entirely original, but I’m sure it might help increase the hateration if you did the, “LeBron is going to bring home the title; he’s going to win the M.V.P. and he’s going to make fun of your Mama” stick. H.P. = 316.

Being that I help perpetuate the whole “white boy can’t jump” or play basketball stereotypes, I really don’t have much experience with basketball and count it a “win” that I could even do the preceding basketball related villain suggestions. But, I’m hopeful there may be better educated suggestions for LeBron’s increased villiantude from some more aptly skilled ballers. Please, help the cause by commenting below.

Carlson Tucker (one of Fox News unbiased anchors) was filling in for Sean Hannity the other night, and he stated that he believes Mike Vick should be executed for his crimes.

Here are some thoughts as to how Vick could be executed:

1. We could send him out as a gladiator against 11 angry men and give those angry men a full hour to try to pummel Vick.

a. Could you imagine the publicity that would garner? I mean people would pay money to see that.

2. To make it even more exciting, we could give Vick a gladiator coach … you know, to prep him on how to handle the 11 angry men.

a. But, we could pick a coach that is rather bad at making adjustments during the one hour battle. Since Vick is really good at making adjustments (he must have a sports IQ that is off the charts), it would be a poetic death for Vick and his coach.

3. We could make a stipulation – just like the gladiators of old – that if he makes it through the gauntlet of death, he could win his freedom and we could give him some shared profits from all the money we make from these games … assuming, of course, he uses some of the gained freedom to champion the greatness of the Dog.

I don’t know, that sounds more entertaining than Carlson’s suggestion. Carlson was probably just thinking about electrocuting or drowning Vick … boring.

Chris Henry is one of those people that make me thankful for evolution. In fact, I’m going to throw Henry’s name in the whole “Darwin’s Award” discussion for this year … maybe even this decade because if anybody deserves it, it’s got to be my man. I don’t want to take any Darwinian discussions away from the only living Neanderthal, Ron Artest, who in his blog to Tiger Woods, wrote about how he too often wants to have sex with multiple women, and therefore can’t really blame Tiger, but Ronnie remembers his wife and children and it keeps him clean … most of the time (for one of the best blogs ever, let me refer you to Ronnie’s blog to Tiger http://www.ronartest.com/blog/?p=74).

Seriously though, we can’t blame them … they are after all, the gods of our nation’s male demographic. We pay them steep tributes, we erect massive temples in their name, we give them our best women (Wilt Chamberlain boasted about sleeping with 15,000 women during his basketball career), we follow them with warrior like admiration (NOTE: tailgating), we stroke their Egos from the age of twelve and we allow them to do anything they damn well please, because, after all, they are gods.

Dwayne Walton and I were talking about starting a “Character Training School for the Gods.” A school that would use god-like stimuli to teach these guys that cheating is not nice, that killing dogs is bad, that using drugs is unhealthy, that investing millions of dollars in a time machine is probably unprofitable and that you should probably wear your seat-belt when you get in a car with your angered fiancee. Yet, I’m not sure if we could get the gods to attend the school … after all, they know more than we do and they play by a different set of rules ….

Well, except for Chris Henry. Poor guy, I guess the laws of gravity do apply to star football players. Oh, then there’s Tiger Woods, whose wife is about to leave him … I guess there are moral consequences in the heavens. And Steve McNair … yeah, I guess bullets through the head do kill the gods. And Mike Vick did go to jail. And it does seem like Big Ben has been distracted this year … his Steelers aren’t looking so hot. And A-Rod … apparently even the ever sweet Kate Hudson has left him, after Madonna left him, after his wife left him.

Maybe there are rules for the gods too. But, I’m afraid, one of the main reasons children admire these stud athletes, like the title of my book series suggests, is because these guys can get anything they want, have all the fame they want and can supposedly do anything they want and the kids buy into the lie. But, this year … this decade in sports has confirmed otherwise.

As these gods are proving, they aren’t really gods after all. Call me a bitter atheist, but I’m looking for some replacements.

A smooth cat (yes, they keep coming), on the course, Tiger is on pace to not only be the greatest golfer to ever live, but possibly hold the ever debated title of greatest athlete ever. Yes, golfers are athletes. If you ever question their athleticism, you try hitting a small ball the distance of a football field and placing it within a couple yards of your intended target. Tiger’s focus, though, extended outside the course into the business field, where he – as evidence by the utter joy of his demise by sports commentator and business men alike – made great business moguls look like tabby cats (I can’t help it).

A preacher once told me that adultery is the worst problem to counsel. If the woman is the jilted one, and they usually are, they just sob and sob and sob so that the preacher, or counselor, just has to sit there and watch the awfulness of what is called “adultery.” I speculate, when this all came down, his wife, Elin, probably ruined her beautiful face with weeping so intense that capillaries burst, giving her the temporary, although rarely permanent, blotches of a jilted lover (have you ever seen that before?). She probably convulsed, had trouble breathing and maybe even vomited. Seven women have come forward and hinted at alleged affairs. That’s right, seven at last count. Tiger is an Ass.

As I’m taking a break from my homework, the news flashed on sportsline.com that Tiger is indefinitely leaving golf to try and repair his family. The blurb stated, “…he is aware of the disappointment that “my infidelity” has caused to his wife and children. He says he might not be able to repair the damage, but he wants to try.”

I wonder, if Tiger were a part of a Church how should they react? How would I react if Tiger were my friend? Well, I don’t know. But I must say, I’m somewhat morally challenged by Tiger Woods. We love putting people under us, especially when they’re supposedly better than us. “Oh,” we say, in reference to Tiger, “we might not be as rich, we might not be as talented, we might not have all the stuff he has, but” we console ourselves, “we certainly have better morals.”

Well, I don’t know that I do. Granted, I haven’t cheated. Nicki is my only … ever. Yet, hypothetically, if I were Tiger Woods and I have the ability to be the best ever in the revered sports world, I’m not sure that I wouldn’t just forget my family and pursue my dreams. Remember, Woods cheated, but he’s now laying down his job … that thing that gave him utter confidence … utter respect from his peers and utter dominance (the three things men most desire) for the relationships of his family. That’s epic. Biblical. And I don’t know that I’d do it. This is Tiger Woods, for now at least, choosing to be a tainted dad over the best athlete ever. If you’re Tiger Woods, why even try to do something that you’re obviously a failure at when you can easily do that thing that you dominate at? Why try? Epic … if he really tries and lays down his career … epic.

I’m not proposing a moral relativism. I’m not trying to say that what Tiger did wasn’t all that bad. It is awful. As I said before, he’s a bad puttee cat (I can’t stop). If you were invisible and you were there, watching as it hit Elin that Tiger cheated on her, you’d probably utterly hate him, and never want to hear his name again. But, don’t be blinded by that hatred, Tiger is (if the reports are true in the way they seem to be) doing a Jesus inspired thing. He’s laying down power and respect for love … which, in my opinion, is Jesus’ supreme ethic and one that few of us, including me, follow.

And I’m praying for him and Elin. Maybe Jesus will get a hold of that family. I hope so. Especially as we consider Christ’s birth, this would make a great story of Christ-like redemption.

Back in the third grade, when I spiked my hair and was spoiled with an overabundance of transformer toys, I had a friend named John who also had spiked hair but lacked in the toys. Our friendship was conditional. He liked me because of my toys and I was okay with that. After spending a couple hours dominating his group of transformers in our made up battle, my mom took John home, but not before going through the drive-through at McDonalds. After consuming his 1000 calories, John abruptly threw his trash out the moving car. My mom hit her brakes because not only had John committed the sin of littering, but he had thrown the litter in the yard of my mom’s best friend. Left over french fries everywhere, grease staining the well manicured driveway. Mom slammed on the breaks, reared up over the front seat and screamed, “You get out of the car and clean up that trash or you’ll never come back to play with Caleb again!” John’s eyes were dogged. He opened the door, got down on his knees and picked each French fry off the asphalt. A dog.

Years later, John confessed that he didn’t understand my mom’s anger … that his family always “littered” … that the only reason he picked up those fries was because he wanted to play with Optimus again … that he still didn’t think littering was that bad.

This story isn’t true (my mom would never do that), but the Michael Vick story is. It’s a Pavlovian Proof. Dog does what owner wants because dog get’s treat. Dog is remorseful because dog doesn’t get treat. Dog wants treat. Michael’s been rolling over, shaking hands and now, with the Eagles, he’s about to play fetch.

Is Michael Vick really sorry? Maybe. Or is he just sorry that he hurt the people who have the toys? I don’t know. Littering is wrong, nasty and lazy. I blow my horn loud and obnoxiously when I’m behind a litterer, but my horn won’t change them. Did jail time change Michael Vick? Or did it just let him know not to mess with the people who have the power?

Just like the fries on the asphalt, it wasn’t that Vick did anything absolutely horrific, like kill his wife, even Kobefy his wife (isn’t even adultery worse?), it was that Vick spilled his nasty fries on the wrong person’s yard. It’s that many in this culture are more sensitive to their messed up yard than to a messed up kid. It’s that we seem to care more about dogs than we do people. That’s what’s messed up. Where were the protesters at Donte Stallworth’s trial? Yeah, Stallworth, the football player who was drunk, hit a person and killed him and only got one month in jail! And as if that’s not enough punishment for poor Donte, Commish Goodel slaps Donte’s wrist, suspending him from football for a whole year!

We’ve turned men into dogs and dogs into men.

And next time you hear somebody say, “You can’t legislate morality” remember Michael Vick and how the highly educated bourgeois, PETA supporting lobbyists have legislated their morality, caring more about their own yards (the environment) than the people who have spilled their fries. I love dogs, don’t get me wrong. I love the environment. But, the second biggest illegal industry in the world isn’t dog fighting, it’s selling child sex slaves (www.love146.org). Aren’t there bigger battles to be fought? Whose values? Whose morality?

There’s a scripture that states, “Woe unto them that call evil good and good evil” (Is. 5:20). What is good? Well, the answer’s going to sound childish to those of you educated elite, so brace yourselves. The answer: Jesus. He was, if I can say this, the sacrificial dog, so that we could be human again. He’s calling us out of doghood and into childhood. He doesn’t dangle a treat over your head saying, “Do this …. Good boy!” Maybe that’s how some of you dog’s have interpreted it, but if you look harder, he’s extending a bloodied hand, asking us to join Him; not out of slavish fear, but out of love. Calling us, not as dogs, but as children.