by Michael Vick
But the first thing Commissioner Goodell said was, “We’re not here to talk about the past. We’re here to talk about how you’re going to change your life moving forward—how you’re going to better yourself and correct all the mistakes you made and how we can prevent you from going down that path again.”
When I saw the look in his eyes—the intensity in his face—and heard what he was saying, I knew he was in my corner. I didn’t know exactly how I would be reinstated, but I realized I had the chance to rebuild myself, my image, and my self-confidence.
Initially, I was reinstated only for the preseason, with the possibility of missing the first few weeks of the regular season. (That would later change.) Nevertheless, I was thrilled to have a chance to sign with an NFL team again.
The chance that a team might want me and take the risk on me was greatly enhanced by Coach Dungy’s unwavering support. He encouraged teams to sign me, and he served as an advocate for me.
Coach put his name and reputation on a kid—a man—who was coming out of prison and didn’t know what direction his professional career would take him. Coach Dungy basically reached out to Commissioner Goodell and to a couple of teams, and said, “Believe in this guy. I’m sending him to you with my blessings. Trust him.”
Without Coach Dungy, it probably wouldn’t have worked; I probably wouldn’t have been reinstated. I needed a prominent figure who had integrity, respect, and the spiritual blessings to help me get a job in the NFL.
Coach promoted me despite receiving criticism for doing so.
When Coach Dungy spoke out for me, this is what he told people:
I think Mike understands about having Christ in his life, and that God has given him this second chance. As much as he doesn’t want to let me or other people down, he doesn’t want to let the Lord down again. I really believe that.
That was one of the reasons I didn’t feel I was taking a gamble or going out on a limb. I felt like he was going to come out and do the right things. I had no idea if he would get his athleticism back and be able to play quarterback, but I didn’t worry about him going down the wrong path once he got out.
My agent, Joel Segal, told me Buffalo and Cincinnati were interested in signing me. But it came as a big surprise when I was informed that Philadelphia was strongly in the mix too. The Eagles already had my friend Donovan McNabb as their starter, plus a talented young backup, Kevin Kolb, a second-round draft pick in 2007.
Even though Philadelphia was already loaded at quarterback, it actually was a better situation for me than Buffalo. The Bills would have been screaming for me to play immediately, and I knew I wasn’t ready or in shape to do that yet. Because I was fresh out of prison and no one knew what the public’s reaction would be, it probably would have been a bad deal to put me in a situation where I was going to have to play immediately. We were all conscious of that.
More important to my comeback than public opinion was my need to get in football shape: it was huge. Remember, I weighed 225 pounds instead of my usual 208 to 210.
The Eagles kept their interest in me top secret. My close friend CJ Reamon and I drove to Philadelphia from Virginia and stayed overnight at the home of Eagles owner Jeffrey Lurie after first meeting with team president Joe Banner. I played a game of chess with Mr. Lurie’s son and also talked with Mr. Lurie’s wife, Christina.
My interview with Mr. Lurie was very intense. He has a way of asking you questions and trying to get a read on you and what you’re thinking. He really grilled me—wanting to know if I was sincere, if I wanted to take advantage of my second chance, and if I was serious about football this time around.
I could tell the Eagles put a lot of thought into it. I didn’t expect it to be easy, and it wasn’t.
They were sticking their necks out for me and didn’t want me doing anything to smack them in their faces. They told me, “Don’t embarrass the organization.” I made them a promise that I wouldn’t.
The next morning, I signed a one-year contract with an option for a second year.
Once again, I was part of an NFL team.
It was great because I had no pressure on me. The Eagles were just going to mix me in with a couple of packages and give me time to get myself in shape. What more could you ask for?
This time around, I knew I would give anything for the organization that I belonged to.
After a press conference, I reported to practice, taking the field for the first time in more than two years. It was so gratifying to have a new opportunity to play in the NFL. Eagles coach Andy Reid took particular interest in my recovery because his own sons, Garrett and Britt, were imprisoned on drug-related charges in 2007. I think Coach Reid totally understands the meaning of a second chance. Most people don’t have to experience walking into a prison and seeing their son or daughter incarcerated.
You just see so many guys locked up, enduring wasted lives and idle time. If you know that individual and you know their heart and what type of effect they can have out in society, then you have a little sympathy for them. I think that was the situation with Coach Reid. He understood I was a good person, a good kid, and all I wanted to do was play football. I just got caught up doing the wrong things. Not just dogfighting, but everything else that came along too.
My signing was met with mixed reactions from Philadelphia fans. Some supported me, while others blasted the move, including the owner of a sandwich shop who vowed never to serve me food. But you know what? People have said so many things about me that it doesn’t even bother me when they say negative stuff—unless it’s something I know is absolutely not true.
But not everyone had negative feelings toward me. I found two great places to have a cheesesteak: Pat’s King of Steaks and Jim’s Steaks. The first time I visited Jim’s, they recognized me and gave me a cheesesteak on the house.
Shortly after signing with the Eagles, I was photographed having a drink in the bar of a Philadelphia hotel. It stirred media speculation about whether I had violated my probation.
I was meeting with James DuBose, who was producing The Michael Vick Project documentary for BET. We were just sitting there, having a nice conversation, talking about how we were going to present the documentary to the world. I had a Grey Goose and pineapple. At the time, as a twenty-nine-year-old man, I felt like if I wanted to mellow out and just relax, I could have a drink.
When I left the bar, I got on the elevator, not knowing a beat writer or a sportswriter had gotten on with me. He had seen me down in the restaurant, so he went there to find out what I ordered and what I was drinking. He wrote in the paper that I was having a conversation with another guy and also having dinner with a mixed drink. He tried to find out if that was a violation of my probation. That’s how far he took it.
I didn’t know whether it was personal or whether people just didn’t want to see me succeed. But why would someone take it so far to see if it was a violation of my probation?
Even though I felt I had done nothing wrong, Coach Dungy let me know I needed to be more careful and use better judgment. Coach said I had to be conscious of what I was doing. I had to be conscious of where I was and realize that I couldn’t do certain things I had done before, like having a casual drink at a bar. Now, I was under the microscope.
I had no margin for error.
Two weeks after signing with the Eagles, I played in my first NFL exhibition game in three years.
The day of my Philadelphia debut, August 27, 2009, was exhaustingly full for me. I traveled to Newport News, Virginia, during the day to participate in my bankruptcy settlement hearing and then arrived back in Philadelphia for the game. The judge approved a $20 million settlement for me to repay my creditors over a six-year period.
On the field that night, I appeared in six plays, including one as a slot receiver and another when I completed a pass right-handed. I was 4-of-4 passing for 19 yards.
“It’s been a long journey for me,” I told the media afterward. “I just want to do it right this time ar
ound.”
Philadelphia fans are stereotypically brutal and unforgiving, but that night, I received a standing ovation when I entered the game and even heard “We want Vick!” chants as I walked off the field. I listened for the reaction when I ran on the field at the start of the game and was very humbled and thankful to receive a warm welcome. I didn’t expect it.
Once the regular season arrived, I played sparingly, mostly as a Wildcat quarterback to either run the ball or serve as a running decoy. For the season, I completed 6-of-13 passes for 86 yards and one touchdown, and rushed 23 times for 95 yards and two touchdowns. Two of the touchdowns—one rushing and one passing—came in a reunion game in Atlanta against the Falcons.
Playing against Atlanta was bittersweet. It was weird taking the same road I had always taken to the stadium. And I shed a tear because that was once my home. That was my city. That was my team. And here I was—once a starter, playing my old team as a third-string quarterback.
It was humbling for me and taught me that you can’t take life for granted. If there’s an opportunity and you can put yourself in the driver’s seat, it’s happening for a reason, and it’s a gift from God. I had an opportunity in Atlanta, and I threw it down the drain.
I felt like I had a lot to clear up in Atlanta. I love that city, and it felt like I left so suddenly. I dropped by an Atlanta radio station a day before the big game. I wanted to apologize for what happened and speak to the city.
Radio host Ryan Cameron’s son asked me a question during the interview. “Did you think about your fans when you were dogfighting?” the little boy asked.
“To answer your question,” I said, “I really wasn’t thinking about anybody but myself, which is selfish. I didn’t care about anybody else’s feelings; I only cared about mine. I made a bad decision and [used] bad judgment at the most important time in my life.”
“You never said a proper good-bye,” Ryan commented toward the end of the interview.
“I wish I could turn back the hands of time,” I told him. “Wish I could do it all over again and do it the right way. I just want people to know—all the people that will be in that dome tomorrow—that I appreciated every moment, every cheer, every outcry. I just hope everybody can forgive me, and if not, I understand.”
I signed off, saying, “ATL, I love you, baby.”
It was true. I will forever love that city.
Really, the only other notable thing I did that season on the field was complete a 76-yard pass to wide receiver Jeremy Maclin in a playoff loss against the Dallas Cowboys. At the time, it was the longest scoring pass of my career.
At the conclusion of the season, I was extremely honored that my Philadelphia teammates voted to give me the team’s Ed Block Courage Award. And during Super Bowl week in Miami, I was invited to speak with Coach Dungy at an Athletes in Action ministry event. It gave me an opportunity to share my testimony about how God had given me a second chance in life and how I was trying hard to make the most of it.
Overall, my first year back in the NFL was like my redshirt year at Virginia Tech all over again. I could have been a starter elsewhere, but it wouldn’t have been what was best for me. I wasn’t ready physically or mentally. I didn’t know the Eagles’ offense. And I didn’t have the confidence I needed to excel. But the Eagles gave me an opportunity to work hard and get my legs back in shape. Like Virginia Tech, that year helped prepare me.
It helped prepare me for another takeoff.
Chapter Twelve
A Crucial Offseason
“I just wanted Commissioner Goodell to know I’m a man of my word.”
There were times in the months between the 2009 and 2010 seasons when I wondered if the Eagles would keep me—or if I’d be allowed to stay in the NFL.
It was an eventful and pivotal offseason—a time when I worked harder than ever to get into the best shape possible, but also when there was plenty of speculation that I could be traded away from Philadelphia. I also made a summer misjudgment that I feared had put my career in jeopardy again.
One of my codefendants in the dogfighting case, Quanis Phillips, was shot some time after a verbal altercation with me at my thirtieth birthday party in June.
I wasn’t present at the time of the early-morning shooting, and I eventually was cleared of any wrongdoing, so I wasn’t further disciplined by the NFL. However, I put myself in a very vulnerable situation, and the incident made me more committed than ever to avoid even a hint of trouble.
The original plan for the birthday party seemed harmless. My mother and Kijafa were going to host a private event for family members and close friends. However, I agreed to allow my brother, Marcus, to plan the event instead and make it open to the public for a cover charge.
I was trying to help Marcus make some money. We had hoped to profit somewhere between $10,000 and $12,000. I wasn’t even going to make anything off it. Marcus was simply trying to get independent and make his own money.
We were actually planning to have three or four similar parties after that. But that never happened, of course, because the first one turned out to be a near-disaster.
For starters, Quanis and I were not supposed to be in one another’s company since, as codefendants, we both had served time for felonies and were still on probation. Prior to that night, I hadn’t even seen him for about seven or eight months. There really wasn’t a friendship while we were on probation; we stayed away from each other and avoided any dealings with each other, understanding that it’s better to keep it that way.
I arrived late for the party at Guadalajara Restaurant in Virginia Beach and only stayed for about an hour. I saw that Quanis was there, and we exchanged only a wave and a nod from a distance.
Later, after the singing of “Happy Birthday,” Kijafa playfully put some birthday cake on my lips, much like what happens at wedding receptions. I was embarrassed and overreacted.
Okay, it was funny, but I was like, “Why would you do that in front of all these people?” For whatever reason, I was irritable that night, and it made me mad. Then she did it to one of my friends and I said, “All right, Kijafa, let’s stop.”
But that’s when Quanis snuck up behind Kijafa, took some cake from her, and put it on my face. He had been drinking, and it was more cake than she had put on my face. It was a little too much. I was upset. I had some words with him and told him that I was basically ten seconds from jumping on him. But I calmed myself down and went away to sit in the car for a minute.
Kijafa got in the car and I told her to pull away. Then I told her to stop the car because my father was there, and I wanted to make sure he had a ride. I got out and, as I was walking toward the club, I saw a fistfight involving Quanis and one of Marcus’s friends.
People thought I was coming back to fight, so everybody rushed me to try to calm me down. I told them, “Hold up; get your hands off me! I’m not coming to fight anybody. I know if I get in a fight out here, it’s going to be on the five o’clock news tomorrow.” I understood the consequences from a public standpoint, especially because it was at a nightclub, so I calmed everyone down, got in the car, and we pulled off.
Several minutes after that, Quanis was shot.
When I met with the police the next day, they saw everything on the footage from a video camera, including me leaving. Only about four minutes after I pulled off, another crew of guys came into view of the camera. They were fighting. You don’t see anyone get shot. You just see two cars pull up next to each other, with one car pulling off, and another car pulling up, supposedly to shoot a guy.
I received a call on my cell phone about the shooting approximately fifteen minutes after it happened. I knew at that point it was going to be a long two or three weeks.
For days, I was in tears over the ordeal, including the next day at a youth football camp I was leading in Virginia Beach. I thought, Man, I’m starting all over again. What a setback. There were stories in the media about the Eagles letting me go. I felt like, You’re talking
about cutting me? Who’s going to pick me up knowing I’m going through this?
So now I was thinking about my family and how I let them down. I was just so hurt, I can’t even explain the feeling. I was older and more mature; I had come back and given everyone my word, looked them in the eyes, and said, “You can count on me.” That’s why it hurt.
I had a difficult conversation with Eagles coach Andy Reid about the incident. He told me he couldn’t predict how the situation would go or what NFL commissioner Roger Goodell might do about it.
Commissioner Goodell had been complimentary about the changes I had been making. He would text me or call me randomly—just to see how I was doing. He even checked on me once when I was injured. I appreciated that. There’s nothing like being able to pick up the phone and call the commissioner when you feel like things are in turmoil and not going your way, or when you see a potential problem.
Commissioner Goodell is a great friend who cares about you and your family. He only wants to see you excel. I made a promise to him, and I’ll never forget what was said at the conclusion of our roundtable meeting back when I was reinstated. It was Commissioner Goodell, a couple of his representatives from the NFL, Senior Vice President of Law and Labor Policy Adolpho Birch and the entire NFL group, along with me, my agent, and my lawyers. We all sat down at the table and had a four- or five-hour discussion.
At the conclusion of the meeting, Commissioner Goodell asked me out of the blue, “Without preparing a statement or having time to think about what you want to say, what are your expectations for me and for yourself?” I’ll never forget that. I told him, “Nothing would be more gratifying to me than to be able to come to you in three or four years and say, ‘Commissioner, I made you a promise in August of 2009 that I would do everything I possibly could to be the best ambassador on the field and off, and to make you proud of me.’” So you can see why I was so troubled when the shooting happened and my name was being attached to the incident.