By Josh Koehn
I can’t tell you how the world has changed. I can’t tell you how
the cost of life has been cheapened. I can’t tell you what the real
differences are between my generation and your own.
More or less, we’re the same.
By Josh Koehn
I can’t tell you how the world has changed. I can’t tell you how the cost of life has been cheapened. I can’t tell you what the real differences are between my generation and your own.
More or less, we’re the same.
Lust. Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Wrath. Envy. Pride.
Young and old can both be guilty of as much. Old folks can sit on the porch and say back in their day things were different, and maybe they were, but it’s more likely the same acts were simply happening on a different side of town, or the next town over.
One thing young and old should be able to agree on is the power of money. Almost everything has a price. Putting value to possessions and people is a historical constant. And, for the last century, it has become the standard in the arena of professional sports.
Superior athletic prowess equals a bigger paycheck, which can lead to an endless assortment of possessions and entitlement.
But the last of those seven mortal sins – pride – is one that seems to be attached to the hip of too many of our modern-day gladiators. Excessive pride, hubris, is the fatal flaw that results in athletes looking like Icarus in the morning headlines.
Michael Vick ruins his life by running a dogfighting ring for kicks. Plaxico Burress cuts years out of his career by illegally carrying a gun, because it makes him feel bold, and he accidentally shoots himself. Donte’ Stallworth celebrates his $4.5 million roster bonus into the wee hours of the night, and he kills a man while driving drunk in the morning.
Each of these NFL players has and will continue to pay a price for their actions, but the price is less than you or I would have to pay in a similar scenario.
The power of money is exceptionally obvious in the case of Stallworth, who pleaded guilty to DUI manslaughter last week and will spend a total of 30 days in jail.
The Cleveland Browns receiver reached a financial settlement with the family of Mario Reyes, a 59-year-old husband and father, who was walking home from work when struck by Stallworth’s car. Reyes did not use a crosswalk, which created some debate, fair or not, of how much fault should lie at Stallworth’s feet.
The family of Reyes asked prosecutors of Stallworth to conclude the case as quickly as possible for closure, eliminating any chance of a lingering criminal trial. Guilty of being over the legal limit for alcohol in addition to speeding, Stallworth will spend the next eight years on probation and serve two years of house arrest following his release next month.
While the outcome of the case is different, the circumstances of how Reyes died are somewhat similar to a local tragedy.
Lourdes Sanchez, a mother of five, was killed last September by a drunk driver while on her way to work in Gilroy. Julian Navarro Murillo was well above the legal limit. He pleaded guilty to DUI and vehicular manslaughter – the same charges as Stallworth – and he received four years and four months in prison.
Like Stallworth, Murillo caused unnecessary pain and anguish to a family that could never be properly compensated. Unlike Stallworth, Murillo wasn’t made of money and no deal was reached with the Sanchez family – not that they seemed interested in any kind of deal, as several family members asked the judge in Murillo’s case to hand down the maximum sentence.
Were it not for NFL Commissioner Roger Goddell, who has taken an active role as sheriff of the league, policing his players when the legal system’s scale loses equilibrium, Stallworth would be getting off nearly scot-free. Goddell suspended Stallworth indefinitely without pay and has yet to decide the player’s fate in the league.
During sentencing, Stallworth showed remorse by telling the judge, “I accept full responsibility for this horrible tragedy. I will bear this burden for the rest of my life.”
Responsibility is a tough one to measure, but making the distinction between remorse and penance is easy. Thirty days, travel restrictions and a lump sum don’t account.
Not that it’s anything new. It’s just the latest example of how money continues to make the world go ’round.
