Go Vick.

Growing up was interesting as I was clearly more Shameless than other kids. While others played football and learned to ride bicycles, I was occupied with traveling to distant lands.


Not across the Atlantic Ocean. Not in a train, plane or automobile. No. I physically went no where. Except. To my room to get my toys.

It was my own world and I was the creator. Endless plots and character development spewed from my mind as sound effects and spit shot from my mouth. Even when my father would take us to play catch I would sit feet away pretending that grass was a mere safari for my imaginary world.

My dad used to get "pissed" off as he threw football with other kids. I would frown when he asked me to play, and return to the Ninja Turtles.

This consistent flourishing and allowance of imagination exercise became the essence of Shameless writings, and although there were certain signs of developing skills, my perceptions were eccentrically askew. The values of physical activity and outdoor recreation came much later in life. I eventually found my way to break a sweat in distance running, track & field, basketball and socce , and excelled in each.

However, none of my athletic achievements could make up for one "major" flaw.

I HATED football.

It made no sense. It held no entertaining qualities except for cheerleaders, parties and halftime shows. While superbowls took place I was doing interviews at rock concerts and watching the latest box office smash.

It was the WORST sport on earth.

I used to watch the headlines about Michael Vick.

Drugs. Parties. Eventually. Dog Fighting Kingpin.

I would say:

"What a moron. All he has to do is play football and retire and he's set for life! I just don't get it! Football is so stupid."

I continued to watch.

A release from prison. A public appeal. A contract. A success story?

I have never been seriously interested in football, but I have always been interested in plot and character development. I watched with anticipation as God the creator molded and led his creation all the way to starting for the Philadelphia Eagles.


I watched as number 7 picked apart opponents. Juking. Jiving. Sliding. Footwork conniving.

I want to buy a jersey!

I see an honest story every time I watch. A life publicly tarnished and praised. A success story embodied in every touchdown and victory. I'm interested and effected. Win or loose.

Go Vick.