Michael Vick totally doesn’t want to make dogs engage in brutal combat and then murder them with his bare hands if they lose. Anymore. The canine-fighting kingpin is attempting to simultaneously prove that he’s an NFL-caliber quarterback and animal lover. And nobody should fall for either pile of dog shit.

Barricade your doggie doors: Vick has left the clink and is serving under home confinement through July 20. It’s the ass end of his 23-month sentence for running a dog fighting ring, and Vick is using this time to wage a public relations campaign for himself. Specifically, he met with the Humane Society president Wayne Pacelle, of all people, while still penned. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to arrange for Vick to be neutered.

Instead, Vick supposedly wants to join a program to fight staged dog skirmishes. Taken to its logical extreme, it’s the equivalent of the late Jeffrey Dahmer spearheading an anti-cannibalism crusade. Forget that Vick’s effort to modify his ruthless image seems as unconvincing as it does insincere. There’s already an anti-dog fighting program: it’s called “just don’t fucking do it.”

The anti-Rover-battle movement doesn’t need funding or a spokesman. Most human beings never thought of getting involved with a monstrous, clandestine society where domesticated animals are pitted against each other. It’s not a normal temptation like escorts, blow, or illicit poker -- you have to be one fucked-up scumbag to even be aware that dog-fighting is an option as a pastime.

Young males should focus on normal concerns, like whether one’s phony I.D. is good enough to allow admittance into a tavern; attending an animal mêlée should be the furthest thing from their minds. Any youngster who thinks otherwise needs to talk to a shrink, not hear a public service announcement.

It’s true even without enduring his utterly lame apology: everyone knows Vick’s preferred blood sport is unconscionably disgusting. That goes for all. Even we carnivores condemned Vick; we did so during mealtime conversations when we weren’t tearing chunks off pork ribs with our incisors. A1 aficionados and plant-consumers are united in the desire to see Vick disappear from the public consciousness. That includes hoping he’s kept off the field for as long as possible.

While the former Atlanta Falcon is currently indefinitely suspended by the NFL, he’ll apply for reinstatement after he’s done his time. And it shouldn’t matter if he gets to play again. Every team should pass on him because he’s a shitty human being. Sadly, that won’t be enough to keep him out of the game, as some shady owner will give him a shot.

If the mystery franchise had any sense, they’d pass because he’s additionally a shitty quarterback. One key number for football geeks says a lot. Specifically, Vick owns an underwhelming 75.7 career passer rating. It’s an insanely complex stat that attempts to measure throwing effectiveness, but all you have to know is that 1) higher is better, and 2) a mark of 80 is only about average.

Worse, the man who once went by the alias Ron Mexico has been sacked 9.75 percent of the times he’s dropped back to pass. For those unfamiliar with the statistic, that sucks. In fact it totally sucks, especially for an uncommonly mobile quarterback who should be able to evade defenders. The problem was that the dog-hater ran like a spooked housecat any time he faced even a hint of pressure. His scurrying led to his tackling.

He got to three Pro Bowls, but that was largely due to his ability to sucker voters with his capacity to generate highlight-type rushes. Vick basically ran around like a video game character, playing like a freaky athlete instead of being a damn quarterback. There’s a huge difference.

Vick hasn’t played in the NFL since 2006, and his banishment won’t be long enough no matter how long it lasts. It will be quite tough to forgive Vick, much less think he’s capable of leaving behind the callous mentality that allowed him to participate in a literally bloodthirsty activity.

A good step for Vick would be to visit an animal shelter and see the neglected, lovable animals that would be a joyful addition to any home. Hopefully, such a trip would make an impression upon him. And hopefully, the shelter’s employees would grab him, duct tape bacon to his junk, open the cages, and lock the facility’s doors from the outside. In dog terms, Vick will always be a rabid bitch.


Anthony Bialy is SG's no-jocks-required Sweaty Pursuits sports columnist. He follows sports religiously even though he's quite bad at them. He ran cross country and played rugby in college, and was horrid at both. He schedules his life around his favorite NHL team's games, and sadly lists his alma mater winning the NCAA basketball championship as his happiest moment. He likes other things besides sports, too, and requests a minute to think of them.