If I said I wasn't here to judge, I would be lying. It is something that I do on a daily basis, beginning with my choice of breakfast cereal and ending with the side of the pillow I choose to drop my head. In between these momentous decisions, I make hundreds if not thousands of little choices that add up to a day full of judgement. Today I would like to add this to the pile: Elvis Dumervil is a dolt.
You may or may not be familiar with Mister Dumervil. If you are not, a brief biographical sketch: Elvis (his real name) is a professional football player currently employed by the Denver Broncos. His job is to find the player on the other team who has the ball and tackle him. For this he is paid a very handsome salary. He is scheduled to be paid twelve million dollars this season. It should be noted that in 2010, he was paid three million dollars not to play, since he was injured. This is an important statistic, since we don't know what his agent will be able to get for him if he ends up spending the 2012 season on the bench. In jail.
Elvis was arrested last Saturday night in Florida after he was involved in a road rage incident. Tempers flared. Guns were brandished. Police were called. Charges were filed. And here's what I can't comprehend: It didn't have to happen. Let's start with the part where Elvis didn't need to be driving himself. He could pay someone to drive him wherever he needed to go and still have plenty of that twelve million to spare. He could have stayed in the car he was driving and waited for the other nincompoops to settle their differences, and then motored on to his destination. He could have even jumped out of his car and hurled invective at those who might have limited or halted his progress. But then he went and brought out a gun. When the police showed up, he denied having one. "You mean this gun that you don't have in your glove compartment?"
And so, the wheels of justice grind on, and the processes that will determine just how much football Elvis gets to play for the Denver Broncos remains to be seen. But I've already made my judgement. Professional athletes are sometimes awarded with colorful nicknames to reinforce their unique abilities. Elvis had a nice start with his first name, but the powers that be granted him the scary epithet, "Doctor Doom" as a tag on his last name. Pretty cool when he's chasing quarterbacks around the backfield, but when he's waving a gun around in south Florida because he can't get to the night club of his choice, I'll stick with "Doctor Dum." Short "u."
Now I've got to go figure out what's for lunch.