With Hank's record, Benoit and Vick, Atlanta reeling

By Jack Wilkinson, Special to SI.com

ATLANTA -- It's bad enough that Barry Bonds, the Anti-Hank, is zeroing in on Hank Aaron's home run record. Pray that 756 won't come next month in Atlanta, where, until recently, the populace was reeling from a certified steroid-induced tragedy.

Chris Benoit was the Canadian professional wrestler who lived in suburban Atlanta before he drugged and killed his wife and their autistic 7-year-old son last month, then hanged himself from a weight machine.

And now comes Michael Vick.

And surely the dog daze of summer this city suddenly finds itself in will continue come fall and perhaps on into the winter of our disbelief.

What kind of person does this sort of thing? What type of man not only breeds dogs to fight, but then kills the losers in the most horrific of ways? Strangulation, drowning, electrocution, even slamming the pitiable animal against the ground. And has another city suffered such a 1-2-3 combo to its sporting solar plexis in recent memory?

"I tell you, this is a big scar for the city," said Bill McCloskey, manager emeritus at Manuel's Tavern, the venerable intown bar where politicians, journalists, cops, actors, sports authorities and neighborhood nabobs are either scratching or shaking their heads over the federal indictment of Vick.

"This," McCloskey said, "is bigger than Ray Lewis."

Lewis, the All-Pro linebacker and a Super Bowl MVP, was arrested here in January 2000, and accused in the double murder of two men during Super Bowl XXXIV weekend. He pleaded guilty to a lesser charge. But Lewis was, and is, a Baltimore Raven. A tourist in town.

This is Michael Vick. Atlanta's Michael Vick.

He's the $130 million face of the franchise, the singular scrambling quarterback who can turn an NFL game into electric football. When he was drafted No. 1 overall by the Falcons out of Virginia Tech, I told a local radio talk show host, "Vick could revolutionize the position." At the time, I'd never even heard of a rape stand for breeding pitbulls.

"This is embarrassing to the city," said Brian Maloof, the proprietor at Manuel's. "It sure let's us know about Vick's character. The wrestler? That's nothing. Don't get me wrong; that's not really nothing. There was obviously some mental illness there -- the depression -- that that man had to suffer from to take your own life, and your wife's and child's lives. Even with steroids. But this is almost like some sick Roman bloodsport. It's just horrible."

It's enough to make Hunter Maloof change his wardrobe, too. "I kinda felt like throwing it away when I heard the news," said Hunter, 12, Maloof's son and a rabid Vick fan who'd proudly worn a Falcons jersey bearing Vick's name and No. 7. No more. "There was a picture of that cute little dog on the news, and they killed it 'cause it wouldn't fight? That's just evil. I like dogs."

These are tough, bewildering sporting times in Atlanta. No, it's not the Thrashers' four-game sweep by the Rangers in the first round of the NHL playoffs. Not the Hawks' latest NBA draft, or GM Billy Knight's curious decision to give permission to two assistant coaches to talk to other teams, then his refusal to let them take better jobs with said teams. Or even the Braves bringing home Julio Franco, who turns 49 next month and is easily old enough to be Vick's father.

For now, what matters most in Atlanta is Vick, and the feds, and what NFL commissioner Roger Goodell and Falcons owner Arthur Blank will do.

"Vick will have to go," said Stanley Barnes, an African-American and ardent football fanatic and Vick fan who manages the kitchen at Manuel's Tavern. "He's got to go. He's labeled. He's got too many charges here. When he shot the crowd the double bird. The water bottle. Now this. He's done.

"If Blank keeps him, he'll lose money," Barnes said. "These people don't want to see Vick. If they keep him, there's always going to be that stab, that open wound. I love Vick to death, but if he's guilty, I don't even want to see him. He's gotta go. He might need some help, too."

"I think people have a tendency to put famous people -- sports people, actors, musicians -- on a pedestal because they're good at something," said Danielle Mindess, 24, who works in the performing arts when she isn't waiting tables at Manuel's. "Here's a man who did horrible things to dogs. It's despicable. Whoever did that, if it's a man who happened to be really good at football or not, that's too bad. If it was someone who's really good at banking, he wouldn't be banking any more. It's just not OK -- no matter who you are.

"If it was Joe Schmoe, I'd be disgusted, too," Mindess said. "I sit here and watch CNN and see sick things all day. It's just one more sick thing."

It's the reason why on Wednesday afternoon, the first day of fallout from the Vick indictment, the Falcons 365 store at the upscale Lenox Square mall, was nearly deserted. "We've got other merchandise, too," a salesman replied when told, "Slow day today, huh?" Then the salesman said, "Besides, we've been through this before."

It's the reason why on Thursday, the driver of a moving van from Barnes Van Lines -- "The Official Mover of the Atlanta Falcons" -- said, "Oh, no, Vick's not moving." He paused and smiled. "Not today, anyway."

Jack Wilkinson is a guest columnist for SI.com. He lives in Atlanta. His latest book, Game of My Life -- Atlanta Braves, is in major book stores now.