Our son Griffin’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when he opened up the package containing the gleaming white and red Atlanta Falcons jersey on the day of his 10th birthday.

The name and number of his favourite player was emblazoned on the back of this authentic National Football League keepsake, and he couldn’t wait to wear it to school. Who could have known that a little over a year later, Michael Vick, number 7, star quarterback of the Falcons, would have been run out of the NFL on his way to a prison cell for his role in a despicable dog fighting scheme?

Previous to the shocking revelation of Vick’s fall from fame and grace, Griff was forever asking his mom if she could wash out the grass and mud stains that always seemed to end up on his jersey when he played football at school. But it was clear that this damned spot would not be eradicated any time soon. Griff accepted the judge’s verdict. There were no disbelieving cries of “Say it ain’t so, Mike!” The sweater sat like a pariah beside the washing machine for weeks afterwards. It was as if no one wanted to be the one to pick it up and stash it away, who knows where, to where clothing associated with convicted felons ends up.

But then one day Griff finally decided to take the jersey out of quarantine, thinking, perhaps, that the statute of limitations had run out and it would be okay to wear his favourite football shirt again. After all, it made him feel like a real football player when we wore it, it was all so glitzy and big league.

I approached him as he was about to head off to school. “Griff, aren’t you afraid some dog lover at school will beat you up, or maybe one of your teachers who loves dogs and was particularly offended by what Vick did will give you an F?”

“But I really love that shirt Dad”, he countered. He insisted it was the jersey, and not the player portrayed upon it, that was the object of his affection.

When Griff returned home that afternoon I was relieved to see no black eyes or bloodied nose – and no F’s. We threw it around over dinner that night, each of us offering our opinion as to what the future should hold for the Vick jersey. “I think he should keep it,” said our 14-year-old son Drew, always the opportunist. “What if Vick gets out of jail and comes back to the NFL and becomes the poster boy for animal abuse?

“The poster boy for animal abuse?” my wife Sue asked incredulously. “That’s something to be proud of?”

“No, I mean if he turns himself right around and speaks out against animal abuse,” Drew shot back, thankfully clarifying his position. “Then that shirt would be worth a lot of money.” We didn’t reach any firm conclusions and the jersey was folded up and put back in Griffy’s clothes closet.

I think we’ll get Griffy an authentic Maple Leafs jersey for Christmas this year. But this time we won’t take any chances – we’ll have the name Stapley put on the back. And hopefully he’ll keep his nose clean.

Categories: Columns, Out in Write Field
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