by Michael Vick
I just wanted Commissioner Goodell to know I was a man of my word and that the guy who sat before him in April 2007 and told him those lies was not the guy who came and sat in front of him in August of 2009.
After the Virginia Beach birthday party incident, I telephoned Coach Dungy. I was so upset, I couldn’t carry on a conversation. I thought my career could be over. What made matters worse was that I had become lax and hadn’t called him for about a two-month stretch. As soon as he picked up the phone and said, “Hello,” all I could do was cry. I couldn’t even talk to him because I knew how badly I screwed up. I knew all the people I had let down. I knew he was upset. He probably could barely hear what I was saying; I just told him how sorry I was, and I cried so hard.
He kept saying, “You’re going to be fine. You’ve just got to know what situations you’re putting yourself in.” I didn’t believe it. I had lost all hope; I thought that was it. But Coach Dungy still had faith in me—for some reason—and this was merely one day after the incident. It strengthened our bond. Coach Dungy says he could tell I was sincerely remorseful, and he didn’t think anything like that would happen again. In the end, he thought the incident was actually good for me because it helped me realize that I would have to take full responsibility for my decisions.
My biggest mistake was not letting my mom and my fiancée have the party they wanted to have—invitation-only, at a place called Nautica’s in Virginia Beach. It was going to be over at 1:00 a.m. because the facility didn’t stay open late. Mom and Kijafa were only going to invite people who were close to the family, along with some of my teammates and loved ones.
It felt horrible to face my mother about the issue because it troubled her so much. Kijafa scolded me for not putting my foot down and for making decisions like letting Marcus plan the party.
Marcus and I still communicate and talk on the phone, and he’ll come down to visit. But I can’t go out with him unless it’s a stable environment—whether it’s at home or at my mom’s house.
It hurts because I want to help Marcus, but he seems to resist advice. His NFL career with the Miami Dolphins was very short-lived because of it.
I look at Marcus’s life and all the potential he had, and recall everything I ever told him, and I can see he is basically going to do what he wants to do. As close as we are—and everyone knows Marcus and I are airtight—Marcus just won’t take the advice that I give him. He’s always been that way. He won’t come and talk to me if he’s having a problem or if he’s struggling. But it’s different with non-serious things; we’ll laugh and joke all day.
Determined that the incident at the birthday party would be the last of its kind, I intensified my commitment to rebuild my reputation.
After a while, it gets old. When you’re a grown man, you get tired of having your name in the press for reasons that could have been prevented.
I entered the 2010 offseason unsure of whether I would remain with the Eagles, even though I had a year remaining on my contract after the team activated that option in early March.
I really thought I was going to be traded. They still had Kevin Kolb and Donovan McNabb. I was just preparing myself and praying that I would end up with another team. News reports said any one of us could be dealt away. Donovan was the longtime starter, and Kevin had been viewed as the starter-in-waiting. I thought I might be the odd man out. But we didn’t know for sure. It got to a point where I really wasn’t concerned, because my agent assured me I would have the chance to play somewhere. Knowing that gave me confidence.
Eventually, Donovan was traded to the Washington Redskins. I was surprised because they’re one of the Eagles’ rivals in the NFC East division. It is extremely rare for a player, especially a star, to be traded within a division.
I was also confused. If anyone was going to get traded, it should’ve been me. I was the No. 3 guy. I hardly played in 2009. I wasn’t close enough to Coach Reid at the time to figure out why Donovan was traded. All I could do was worry about myself. The only reason I came up with was that the coaches saw my development in practice—which is true, I was making strides. If the award existed, I probably could have been Scout Team Player of the Week every week. But still, it should have been me who was traded.
With Donovan gone—though I didn’t understand it—I was one step closer to getting where I wanted to be. Still, I knew it was Kevin’s team. I was going to play the backup role in 2010, and I was fine with that. That was my role. I was content.
The 2010 offseason was an enjoyable time in my life. It was my first full offseason since coming home, and I had a lot of free time to relax and get my thoughts together about what I was going to do.
I also really had a chance to go out and prepare for the 2010 season. That was a blessing in itself. I had never worked so hard before in any offseason to get ready to play football. I spent time training in Virginia Beach with Tom Anderson, an assistant football and track coach at Landstown High. (We were introduced to one another by my former high school coach Tommy Reamon, who had moved on to become Landstown’s head football coach.) This was important because it had taken me much of the 2009 season to get back into shape after nearly two years in prison.
I began working out with Coach Anderson in mid-February, and he put me through a rigid regimen. He worked me hard and wasn’t afraid to step up and say, “Mike, this is the way we’re going to do things.” Coach Anderson wasn’t hesitant or timid just because I was Mike Vick. He approached it with a professional attitude and a tough work ethic, like, We’re going to get it done, and we’re going to bring you back so you can reap all the benefits we know you are capable of reaping.
I regained my leg strength and speed working with Coach Anderson. Then I reported to the Eagles’ offseason conditioning program. Team strength and conditioning coordinator Barry Rubin picked up where Coach Anderson left off and just took me to a totally different level. I explained to him what I was trying to do—where I wanted to be—and he took over.
This was a whole new way for me. The personal commitment I put into offseason conditioning far exceeded anything I had done when I was with the Falcons. I had never put in that type of time and had never put in that type of work—but now it was paying off. It was great. Before prison, I didn’t have that type of work ethic in the NFL. After prison, I wasn’t even sure I would have the opportunity to play in the NFL. And now, I had both: work ethic and an opportunity.
I entered the 2010 season refreshed. Strangely, having three years off rejuvenated me.
Even with all the rest I had, I didn’t profess to be as fast as I was in my younger days. When I was twenty-two, I could really run, but I never really had long speed. If you think about all my runs, they were just bursts of speed to get out in front.
Though I wasn’t twenty-two anymore, I still thought I could run the forty-yard dash in less than 4.5 seconds, which is much faster than other quarterbacks. Age is a big deal, though. You can’t outrun Father Time.
The other thing about not playing for three years was that my body hadn’t taken the pounding that other thirty-year-old football players’ bodies had. I was only twenty-six when I played my last game with the Falcons. Then there were the two years in prison. Then I basically spent a year on the sidelines in 2009. I also played sparingly my rookie year when I was twenty-one, and when I was twenty-three, I didn’t play a full season because of an injury. So, I really only had four seasons of wear and tear on my body coming into 2010.
I was glad to stay in Philadelphia. Living there was inspiring in a lot of ways. For example, one of my favorite movie characters, Rocky Balboa, is an icon there. The Rocky film series was set in Philly.
I watch Rocky every time it’s on TV. I could watch that and the movie Jaws over and over and over again. Rocky exemplifies everything you want in your son, in your father, in yourself—which is strength and courage and a great woman by your side who is very supportive and urges you to do the right things in certain situations. He is just a warri
or.
All the Rocky movies are inspirational, but especially Rocky IV, when he goes to Russia and has to fight Drago. He did it because he believed in himself. That was the only reason. There was no one who could convince him otherwise. It was in his heart.
It’s not just the story, though; the music from those movies motivates me too. I remember when I played with Patrick Kerney in Atlanta, he had the Rocky soundtrack, and I always asked him if I could borrow his iPod so I could listen to it. The soundtrack is very inspirational.
To many people, the season I would have in 2010 would be very inspirational as well.
Chapter Thirteen
MV 2.0: The 2010–11 Season
“I’ve never seen anything like this!”
—Mike Tirico, ESPN play-by-play announcer
Just hours before we kicked off our season on September 12 against Green Bay, my high school coach and mentor, Tommy Reamon, told me something profound: “Something is going to happen in this game, and your life is going to change forever.”
Right, I thought to myself. What are you talking about? I’m the backup quarterback. I’m No. 2. Whatcha think is going to happen? Think I’m going to score three touchdowns from the shotgun running a quarterback draw?
As expected, Kevin Kolb entered the season and the game as our starting quarterback. Honestly, I figured it would stay that way the whole season. I thought Kevin would thrive and do well. And as I said, I was back in the NFL—that was a start—and I was content.
Kevin, however, sustained a concussion on a hard hit by Packers linebacker Clay Matthews at the end of the first half and was sidelined. I never want to see someone get hurt—especially a teammate—no matter what position he plays and no matter what position I’m fighting for. I remember seeing Kevin on the ground, hoping and praying he’d go back into the game. I wasn’t prepared. The only package I had was the Wildcat. I had studied throughout the week, but I hadn’t studied thoroughly to the point of knowing the ins and outs of every concept. I was nervous because I didn’t want to go out and embarrass myself.
In the locker room at halftime, I remember one of my teammates—I think it was Juqua Parker—coming up to me. “The door has been opened for you,” he said. “Whatcha gonna do? You gonna go through it or walk away from it?”
Each and every play that game, I wasn’t trying to prove that I was back; I was just trying to win. I knew I had a shot to show everyone that I could still play the game. But I knew it was Kevin’s team. More than anything, I was trying to show the Philadelphia coaches, potential teams, and football fans that I could still play. Remember, I didn’t have a contract. I was auditioning for a potential job around the league.
We were down 20-3 that game, but we nearly pulled off a comeback win, losing to the eventual Super Bowl champions 27-20. I threw for 175 yards and a touchdown and ran for 103 yards on 11 carries.
I remember looking over at the Green Bay bench as I walked off the field that game. One more half, I said to myself. One more half, and we would’ve destroyed you guys.
After the game, I talked to Coach Reamon again, and he said, “I told you.”
The way he prophesied that—I couldn’t put it all together. I still don’t know what to think of it. But when he told me that before the game, I could hear it in his voice. He wasn’t just saying it. He was extremely adamant and passionate about what he was saying.
He was right.
Because Kevin wasn’t cleared by team doctors, he was also sidelined the following week against Detroit. And for the first time since my prison sentence—for the first time since the 2006 season—I was starting.
We were going up against the Detroit Lions. They had a tough defense, so I knew it would be a challenge, but I was excited because I had more time to prepare and had been studying all week.
Still, my mindset had nothing to do with making an epic return to the NFL. We were 0-1 after our loss to Green Bay, so I kept telling myself, We gotta win. We gotta win. It was all I was thinking. On a personal level, I knew this was still Kevin’s team; but if I played well, I might have a chance to earn a contract on another team. First and foremost, I needed to get the Eagles a victory.
Going into the game, however, was also bittersweet, because before every game I started in Atlanta, I had called my grandmother. I liked to check up on her and see how she was doing; and talking to someone I loved help take the pressure off me and put the game in its proper perspective. She calmed my nerves and helped me kick the butterflies.
Now, I didn’t have that. She was gone. To this day, nobody plays that role, although before the Detroit game, I did call my pastor and we talked.
I cried in my room. It was sad that I couldn’t share the moment with my grandmother.
I wish she could have seen that game. We beat Detroit 35-32, and I passed for 280-some yards. I did my job. As a backup quarterback, I helped get us the win, and improve our record to 1-1 for Kevin to take over the team for the remainder of the season.
I was on stage, and my phone kept vibrating in my pocket.
C’mon, I was thinking to myself. Is it that serious?
The week following our victory against Detroit, I was speaking to youth at a “What It Takes” event about the mistakes I’d made and the importance of making good choices. But my phone kept vibrating—over and over.
When I checked my phone, I had a text from Coach Reid saying, “Call me ASAP.”
I knew exactly what it was about. I knew he’d either tell me “You’ll start this week,” or “Kevin isn’t ready yet.”
I called Coach Reid.
He always starts phone conversations with a quick, “How ya doing?”
“Good,” I said.
Then there was a long, awkward pause.
“Look here,” he said, dragging the conversation out a little. “I’m gonna make you the starter.”
Coach Reid initially had said Kevin would remain the starter once he returned from injury, but then he changed his mind and named me the permanent starter.
I was amazed by the sudden change in my status. I was caught off guard because I had gotten so relaxed at being a backup that I started feeling like a backup.
I knew what it was like to be a starter in this league. I knew the pressure—what it takes and how much it can take out of you. And just like that—boom—I was back in that position. I was thinking, Hold on, I didn’t prepare for this. I’m not ready.
At Virginia Tech, I remember looking on that depth chart and seeing “Vick—No. 1.” I remember how proud I felt that I had fought and beat out Dave Meyer for the starting role. Being named the starter at Philly, however, was completely different.
There wasn’t a competition between Kevin and me, because I had accepted the backup role. Philadelphia was his team. And I could live with that.
Right when I hung up the phone, I knew I had to get my mind right. I called my counselor, who I met with regularly through the NFL.
“Man, we gotta talk,” he said after I gave him the news.
In order to perform week in and week out and be consistent, I had to approach each game correctly from a mental standpoint. I was excited. But I was also nervous. This was something I didn’t expect. It’s tough to play in Philly, and it’s easy to get booed on Sunday. Who wants to get booed with your family in the stands? I sure didn’t. All the ability in the world means nothing if you can’t think and play. I needed to sharpen my mind.
It was hard to wrap my mind around everything that was happening. It was happening so fast. Sitting in a cell in Leavenworth, I never doubted that I’d play in the NFL again. I knew I would get there, and I knew I could start at some point. I just couldn’t put a time frame on it.
The only thing I could go back to was that this was all God’s plan. There was a reason behind it, so I was going to enjoy it, because I knew He was with me every step of the way.
Things became even more unbelievable as the season wore on.
We beat Jacksonville 28-3 in Week 3.
I was motivated before the game by our chapel service. The speaker talked about how Jesus made the great sacrifice of dying on the cross for our sins. I had already asked Jesus to forgive my sins and be the Lord of my life, but I was sitting there thinking, Man, all this for us? Why can’t I sacrifice for Him? I made a promise that day and thought to myself, I’m going to sacrifice for Him and try to do the right things on a day-to-day basis. Then I went out, and the Lord blessed me with a good game. I threw three touchdown passes and ran for another.
A few days later, my friend Arthur Blank—the owner of the Falcons—called to congratulate me and to talk, which meant a lot to me.
I was shocked that Mr. Blank called; but at the same time, I wasn’t. We’d had a great relationship in Atlanta; I just didn’t take advantage of everything he had to offer. He wanted nothing but the best for me, and he probably would have liked to play the role of a mentor in my life. But I didn’t want to continually come to him with questions and overstep my boundaries. As a man, I felt like I should be able to take care of myself and make my own decisions. But I was twenty-four or twenty-five. I wasn’t a man. I was a kid. Knowing what I do now, I would go back and confide in Mr. Blank more, and things would have never ended up the way they did. But it happened.
“Take advantage of the opportunity,” he told me on the phone that day. “Don’t lose sight of how you got into the position you’re in. I’m rooting for you every game until we play you.”
Next was a big Redskins-Eagles showdown in Philly. The game had more than enough storylines to make it the national game of the week. It was a homecoming for former Eagles quarterback and my good buddy Donovan McNabb. The McNabb-returns-to-Philly talk was big, and so was a McNabb-versus-Vick theme, since Donovan had played a key role in the Eagles signing me the previous year.
I really wanted to win that game. I hadn’t had too much success against Donovan; he and the Eagles beat us twice in the playoffs when I was with Atlanta.
