We here at Harpyness have been down on professional athletes recently. And no wonder; our judicial system–financed by our tax dollars, I should point out–has spent lot of time processing these morons, all of whom seem to feel that they can behave however the fuck they want, and then whine or blame the victim when they get called on it.
Today, Plaxico Burress, the supremely talented former Giants WR appeared before a grand jury to speak in his own defense on weapons charges after a November incident where he accidentally shot himself in a Mahattan nightclub. His attorney, Benjamin Brafman said Burress
“asked the grand jury for compassion and understanding. I think it took a big man, not just physically, but a big man to come here today and acknowledge his responsibility and ask for the compassion of the people who he testified before.”
Give me a fucking break.
Plaxico Burress doesn’t get a cookie for showing up in court to take responsibility for his actions. Granted, he didn’t have to–he was not required to testify. But he’s not a “big man” for admitting ”Yeah, I did that,” especially when it’s glaringly obvious that he did that. Did Plax think there was anyone besides him who could take responsibility for the fact that he shot himself in his own personal leg by sticking his own personal gun in his own personal waistband with the safety off? Bish plz.
Note to professional athletes: you are morally obligated to take responsibility for your own actions. I’m sorry to report that there is no trophy or cash bonus for this. But you will never be a “big man”–or any kind of man at all–unless you do it.
Professional athletes in major sports have the double whammy of entitlement: gobs of money and physical prowess. Add that to fans, wannabes, and entourages, and it cannot be good.
They terrify me, frankly. I imagine that it’s really easy to let all that stuff go to your head and believe that you are invincible.
The Plaxico Burress case is absolutely insane. It’s hard for me to even find anything to say beyond a Homer Simpson-esque “D’OH!” Really, Plax, what the hell were you thinking? And Mr. Branfman, I’m not about to dump a keg of Gatorade over your client’s head to celebrate his oh-so-brave move. Oh, and this case is monopolizing NYC media because it’s easier to care about this than ACTUAL issues.
And he wore sweatpants to a club! Wtf? It was a whole evening of Not Cool. I’m just glad he shot himself and not some other poor sucker.
@mischiefmanager: Elasticized waistband + heavy handgun = Uh Oh. I’m glad he didn’t shoot anyone else, either. And he should be glad that bullet missed his femoral artery, or he’d have bled out before EMS got there.
We all know that pro athletes aren’t selected on the basis of their stellar intellects. *rolls eyes*
I went to college with Plax. He was uh, very friendly with my suitemate. One day, he came looking for her while she was out. The following conversation ensued:
Plax: Um, yeah, I’m looking for a black girl.
Me: You mean Kris?
Plax: I don’t know. Does she have a [makes a circle in the air with his hands] big booty?
Me:
@awkwardavenger: LOL. Stay classy, Plax!