Americans should thank Michael Vick for restoring the sanctity of American sports.
Our recent national foray into the underbelly of athletics is wholly unnatural, as we are a people who value purity (especially in petroleum) above all other things.
As our ancestors thrived in the new world, so too did American sport prosper. From witch drownings, to bear-wrestling, to the first real game of baseball, our national pastimes have never been anything but the purest distillations of joy. That is, until they let the riff-raff in. The first major corruption of American sport came in 1919 with the Black Sox Scandal, when ruffians Chick Gadil and Joseph Sullivan (note: both of questionable immigrant stock) led the all-American Shoeless Joe Jackson (note the solid Anglo surname) and others to commit the ultimate sin of sport: throwing the game. From there on it got worse, from Pete Rose to Tanya Harding to Barry Bonds to ref Tim Donaghy. Gone are the golden days when raw egg was the only known steroid and NFL coaches had the good sense to toughen up their players by denying them water. American sport has gone soft. Thanks, Gatorade.
But there is hope and it lies in the hands of great innovators like Michael Vick. Though traditional athletic pursuits may be irrevocably tainted, there exists a whole world of alternative sports, and dog fighting is only the tip of the iceberg.
These canines and their keepers are true competitors; they don’t bandy about growth hormones and they certainly embody the all-American ideal of winning at all costs (see Hiroshima and the Miss America pageant).
It is time for America to embrace the winds of change that are swirling. Joey Chestnut is another example of an under-appreciated innovator. Chestnut, winner of this year’s Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest restored honor to our nation by thwarting six-time Japanese champion Takeru Kobayashi, boldly putting out the message that though the Japanese may be taking over baseball and the automobile industry, America can still grub.
It will take time for us as a people to turn away from the pastimes we so blindly follow, but there are glimmers of promise to show us that American sport is escaping the old-fashioned notion of actual physical activity on the part of human beings for bigger and better things. NASCAR, for instance, has ingeniously combined our passions for destroying the environment and shameless advertising ploys, while the WWF has produced role models for years. We must keep in mind that those who break the mold have always been persecuted, from Jesus Christ to Ghandi.
And so to Michael Vick, press onward, you savior of sport, you mahatma of men’s souls.
