Lately, I've been rising and sleeping under some vague, undefinable feeling of security, as if a cosmic injustice were about to be righted. Then late last week, I learned with the rest of America that the most dangerous threat to the safety and stability of Second City since Al Capone walked the streets of the South Side is soon to enter a correctional facility. Finally, it's safe to walk the streets of America. Terry "Tank" Johnson's going to jail for four months.

I must say, I don't really know why I spend so much of my time in this blog defending people whose actions seem indefensible. Maybe it's a ghost in my machine, or maybe the majority of the people kicking Tank Johnson could do us all a favor and wait to inveigh against him in the full force of righteous indignation. After all, Tank Johnson is going to prison for violating his probation, not having killed some one.

I am not saying that Tank Johnson should not be subject to due process of the law, tried, sentenced and sent to prison for probation violations. For what he has done, it seems like he deserves some jail time. It makes sense that the prison officials are going to keep him out of general population. The amount of attention and trouble he would attract would not be good for any one. And in the long run, depriving him of a chance to work out will be as big a punishment as any.

As a big, athletic defensive tackle Tank Johnson could command a lot of money on the open market, even with a red flag in the character area. For the record, Johnson is signed through the end of the 2008 season, but productivity in the upcoming season is the key to positioning himself for a big contract year. It will be hard to produce at a high level in the NFL with 4 months away from the weight room and proper speed and agility training. He better do a hell of a lot of push ups and crunches.

Yes, Tank Johnson has a history of legal trouble. But a few weapons possession charges are disturbing, but not as serious as a history of DUIs. And in one of the incidents, he was arrested after a night club valet informed the authorities that Tank had a handgun concealed in his glove compartment. This, to me is as troubling for the manner in which the crime was discovered as it is in the nature of the crime.

First of all, when did America's night club valets as a body become a sort of posse comitatus empowered to police American society? More importantly, why was the valet looking around under in patron's car? It seems to me that there is an implied trust in handing over your car to a parking attendant that should give you the right to throw a hellacious beating on said parking attendant if they invade your privacy. Those of you who read this space occasionally will know that I abhor violence, but even more than that, I hate people who mind my business and touch my stuff without permission.

Reading Jay Mariotti's diatribe in praise of Tank's incarceration got me more than a little bit upset. I hate Mariotti. He brings nothing more than bitter, small minded barbs to his column and television appearances. Worse than that, as a person who enjoys good writing (whether it's within my grasp is not for me to decide) and tries to be funny and at least occasionally fair and honest, he gets paid good money to write while I (and better men than I am) operate on the fringe of the writing business pro bono.

It's bad enough that Jay accuses Urlacher and Lovie Smith of rallying around Johnson to perpetuate the jockocracy. It is far worse that he uses these inelegant epithets to do it: "he of the mega-popular No. 54 jersey" and "he of the freshly minted contract and stoic manner." Homer wishes he could have come up with epithets like that on the poem-writing-est day of his life. Or he/she/it would have had Homer the person existed, instead of a name given to a multi-generational oral tradition.

And far be it for me to parse his words, since I'm sure as little thought went into their composition, but I think Jay meant the defense asked Lovie Smith to vouch for Tank, not vow for him (since I don't think you can vow for a person, place or thing in the King's English). And Tank isn't rehabilitated yet. The prison term and concomitant counseling are supposed to do that. Or didn't they teach that at Ohio University? But it's a grand job they do in the editing department of the Sun Times, or is Jay God on the throne over there and, as such, untouchable. At least I'm a one man show (not entirely, but my budget only covers a good friend who labels my posts and monitors my traffic patterns pro bono).

Also, it is somewhat irresponsible to commend the prosecution and the judge for their adroit handling of this case without providing examples of how these type of cases are handled when the defendant is just a man off the street with a public defender and not a professional athlete. Since I don't know, and don't have the time (and, to be perfectly frank, the inclination) I can only be so critical of Jay on this point.

What offends me most in this piece of poorly written drivel is this paragraph and the rehashing of a Super Bowl week column I already shredded that follows it:

Maybe Propes wouldn't have felt so wronged had she been standing beside me weeks earlier at Dolphin Stadium. On Media Day at the Super Bowl, Johnson was given a wonderful opportunity to show remorse, apologize and prove himself worthy of a court-arranged release from home confinement to make a business trip in Miami. Surrounded by cameras and reporters, all he had to say were the things he tried to convey Friday in the courtroom, that he never should have had guns in his house and that he has learned from his errors. Instead, Johnson went full-blown attitude on us, blaming his problems on racial stereotypes.

The fundamental dishonesty of that passage sickens me. Any reader even slightly familiar with Mariotti and his modus operandi could tell you, that criticism is a poorly veiled gambit (the chess move where a player entices his opponent into a trap by offering up a piece as sacrificial lamb in hopes of snaring a more powerful piece in return, not the tool from the X Men). This is a neat trick, and one which requires very little effort to churn out as many columns as the writer desires.

Since Tank did not avail himself of the opportunity to apologize at the media circus that is the Super Bowl, he does not show sufficient contrition to merit compassion. However, had Tank apologized, then Jay would have had the perfect opportunity to rail against another celebrity making an insincere, stage-managed apology to hoodwink a naive public into welcoming them back into the fold. Sometimes, I wish I were that kind of writer. I wonder, though, whether the financial remuneration would be adequate compensation for the permanent damage it would do it my soul.

Tank Johnson needs to understand that this is his last chance. The compassion people like me feel for him in the wake of his friend's tragic death will not last much longer if he keeps getting himself arrested. At a certain point, you cease no longer a decent guy in the wrong place at the wrong time and you become a blight on society. I hope Tank takes stock of his life and the chance he has to be a great defensive tackle in the greatest professional sport known to man.

I wish him well, and I think the overwhelming majority of Bears fans do too. For my part, it's not because he can rush the passer and stop the run. I like to see people get their lives together and succeed in spite of past mistakes. And I'd like to believe that most people feel that way too. I hope Tank can do it.

I must admit that there is something very unpleasant about having to eat my words. I don't enjoy the taste. The Bears let me down and the Colts were better than I thought. And I had to do it, why I don't know, but I ripped Bob Sanders to shreds the other day, and damned if the Bears didn't make him look like he was the evolutionary hybrid of the great defensive backs of the past that I sarcastically made him out to be. Good thing I didn't throw Night Train Lane in the mix, otherwise Sanders would likely have scored three TDs on his own.

But I promised my own version of the Paper Lace song The Night Chicago Died. I know I've promised them for a while now, but now I guess it's finally time to deliver. I must warn you, it's not very good and certainly uninspired. But you have to bear with me. Like Marvin the Paranoid Android, I'm feeling very depressed right now. So here goes:

Lovie was a coach on the north side of Chicago,
Went down to FLA, had a bad, bad day
In the rain on a Sunday night, in the southeast's crown jewel
The team from Chicago choked, and I looked like a fool
The night Chicago died.
When a man named Peyton Manning tried to make the trophy his own
And he called his fake audibles and some coverages were blown

I heard my neighbor curse and storm and swear the night Chicago died
Brother what a game it really wasn't, in fact it really sucked.
I heard my neighbor curse and storm and swear the night Chicago died
Brother what a game it really wasn't, in fact it really sucked.
God help us.

The crowd of Colts fans did roar as Rex kept falling down
And the Bears came very close to competing for the crown
Until the went 25 minutes of 3 and outs
All in all, not one of their better bouts

I heard my neighbor curse and storm and swear the night Chicago died
Brother what a game it really wasn't, in fact it really sucked.
I heard my neighbor curse and storm and swear the night Chicago died
Brother what a game it really wasn't, in fact it really sucked.
God help us.

Then there was no sound at all, since I shot my TV set
So I didn't have to see the accolades Peyton'd get
Now Junior Simple heads to Disney World, and how it does reek
And I'm not going to watch ESPN for at least a week.

The night Chicago died.

I know it's not great. Meter isn't exactly my strong suit as a poet. In point of fact, poetry isn't my strong suit as a poet. But I said I do it, and now it's done. If it kills my readership before it even gets off the ground, so be it. But the depressing end to an otherwise good season has me wondering what to do about next year.

Just so you know, I didn't shoot my television. How could I, when it gives so much and asks so little? I just threw it in there because Elvis, according to legend, used to shoot his TVs when Robert Goulet came on screen. Seeing Goulet in the Emerald Nuts commercial and loathing Peyton Manning as much as I do, the connection fell into place.

In the process of contributing to the construction of the Bears bandwagon and rebuilding it after the near disaster in Arizona and honest to goodness disasters at home against Miami and Green Bay and on the road in New England, I have become emotionally invested in the Bears. But the loser of the Super Bowl had not made the playoffs since the Titans in 2000 until Seattle did this season. And even the Seahawks submitted a lackluster performance in a very weak division this season.

Questions remain for the Bears; actually they hang over the team like the sword of Damocles. Among the big ones: Will Rex Grossman actually develop any measure of consistency? Are his health concerns behind him? How badly hurt is Cedric Benson? If he comes back healthy, how long can he coexist with Thomas Jones? How long can the team afford two high-priced tailbacks without losing players like Desmond Clark or Bernard Berrian? Will Charles Tillman be a Bear next season? Will the defense stay as healthy, or will there be another Tommy Harris injury and some other key player as well? Will Devin Hester play more defense and less special teams? Will they lose coaches in the offseason?

Based on the defensive performance, or lack thereof, tonight, I am more hopeful of Ron Rivera staying on for at least one more year. If he's not going to be a head coach, I think one more year of a great defense in Chicago will be better for him than a lateral move to Dallas or another team. I don't see Lovie leaving, either. That would be too dumb for words on the part of Bears' management. I like him as a coach. He has a quiet strength and consistency about him, his persona radiates confidence. I don't want to see him go.

I'm not sure what effect the talk about Smith and Rivera as candidates in Dallas had on the team's preparation. But I don't think it helped. And that's part of the larger problem that is the Super Bowl now. It's not just a game anymore, it's a cultural event. It's a monstrosity. And it's too bad. It's hard now, just to watch the game. Now you need to see the ads so you can talk about them, blog about them and rate them until someone like me who just wants to watch the game for its own sake loses his temper and smashes a chair over your head. For the record, I abhor violence if I can get caught in the act or it happens to me.

And then, every channel but the network carrying the game has to glom onto the game's popularity and try to come up with an alternative lineup to catch the non-fan. For instance, TBS ran a My Boys marathon, and no one called for an investigation into that crime against humanity (or at least good taste). Animal Planet ran a Puppy Bowl, which was footage of a set built to look kind of like a football field while puppies frolicked about. It was heartwarming, or it would have been if I had been lobotomized recently or if I didn't believe WC Fields was right on the money when he said anyone who hates kids and dogs can't be all bad.

But today wasn't all bad. A friend told me about Michael Vick's alter ego "Ron Mexico." I know I'm late to the party on this one, Deadspin and the Smoking Gun reported it a long time ago. I guess I live under a rock, but I figured I'd throw it out there because I laughed like hell when I read the story. If you haven't seen it yet, check it out. It's a must read.

I guess I'm not really surprised that Michael Vick has VD. It happens. Sometimes people think they're bulletproof. What really surprises me is his almighty poor choice of an alter ego. Ron Mexico? Why not Ron Smith? Ron Mexico is a really half-assed choice. There is no subtlety there. Ron Mexico sticks out like a sore thumb. An alter ego should help you blend. It's not as though any reasonable person would look at Ron Mexico and ask "Are you related to Dave Mexico from Memphis?" Might as well print out business cards that say Michael Vick, I have herpes.

But there is this site that delights in the Michael Vick/Ron Mexico saga. It's a riot. I wasted a few minutes on the name generator. The Cincinnati Kid's Ron Mexico name is Franc Ecuador. It's a nice touch, Franc with a C instead of a K. Makes it sound more exotic.

It was awfully big of the people responsible for Adult Swim to apologize for their amazingly insensitive publicity stunt before their lineup of animated programming went on the air this evening. For the life of me, I cannot imagine why people would be sensitive to suspicious packages and officials would not have a sense of humor about a gimmick like this is the post 9-11 world. More importantly, however, I still wait for the people at Adult Swim to apologize to me for their generally terrible programming.

Between Assy McGee, Squidbillies, Morel Orel, Aqua Teen Hunger Force (which is now a pale shadow of what it was when it was a pale shadow of its former glory) and the hit or miss Robot Chicken, it's getting very hard for a moderately intelligent well-adjusted grown man to watch a night of animated programs each week. If it weren't for the Venture Brothers, I'd flag animated programming altogether.

But on the off chance that the boys at Williams Street are included in the 14 or so masochists that find their way to this little waste of time, remember this: satire is no longer satire when it's not funny. Once the laughter is gone, you're left with a half hour of claptrap indulging the impulse to be a douche to every one who bullied you or simply didn't get you in high school. And maybe, just maybe, if the shows were a bit better, a major city would not have to be paralyzed in a childish effort to generate buzz for said programming.

You might be wondering at this point where this relates to any of the sports topics I tend to pursue in this space. After long absence, America's moral compass is back. Too often we lose sight of things in this country, and we need to be awakened to the shocking, agonizing, crippling injustice that is the Tank Johnson saga. Instead of being deported (despite being an American citizen) or broken on the rack or put in the stocks in the public square or forced to wear a scarlet handgun on his jersey, the Bears defensive tackle will play in Sunday's Super Bowl.

It takes the acid keyboard of a writer like Jay Mariotti to punish Tank Johnson for his transgressions. Jay Mariotti doesn't like the fact that Tank Johnson thinks his many critics (overwhelmingly, but not exclusively, of the middle-aged, Caucasian variety) might be racist. How dare he talk about race. After all, since when did that become the prerogative of an African American? With keen insight and bizarrely insensitive hypersensitivity, perhaps Mariotti could be a party standard bearer in 2008.

Among Tank's many sins: he mentioned race (I loathe the expression race card and avoid it where possible), he had 10 unregistered firearms in his house where he also had two daughters and he did not avail himself of "a chance to paint a remorseful self-portrait on a global stage." It's quite convenient to attack a guy for not busting out the tearful apology when the journalist in question would rip into him in equal measure had Tank come out with the remorseful self-portrait.

Even before Mariotti's piece, I thought Tank had every right to play in the Super Bowl. It's not because I am rooting for the Bears (even though I am, as the guy who kept the bandwagon rolling through some rough patches earlier in the year). Yes, he was arrested for the unregistered guns in his home and if he were Terry Johnson, defendant instead of Tank Johnson, defensive lineman, he wouldn't be allowed to leave the state. However, the system favors the wealthy and influential and this isn't the case that's going to restore liberty, equality and fraternity to human affairs. On top of that, not only did the judge approve, but the prosecutor raised no objections. What more do the guardians of all we hold sacred in the media need?

What would Mariotti have written or said had those guns actually been used in the commission of a crime. I imagine Jay would have found his backbone and been the first to volunteer to serve as executioner in a scene reminiscent of the killing of William Wallace in Braveheart. For the record, I don't know if one can deprive Tank of his life but not his freedom and I'm not comparing him to William Wallace. All I'm saying is that had Tank so much as fired one of these unregistered firearms and been caught in the act, the same people who are incensed that the guy is playing in the Super Bowl would probably demand that the authorities hang, draw and quarter this menace to society.

In addition to disagreeing with Mariotti's opinion on Tank Johnson's lack of contrition and status for Sunday's game, I find it shockingly reprehensible that Jay should criticize a black man for "playing the race card." It's almost as though some other Jay Mariotti wrote this piece a scant four days ago to exult in the first Super Bowl teams coached by African Americans. Why did no one bother to alert me that race could only be discussed by Mariotti in Mariotti-approved contexts? It would have made things ever so simple. I needn't think for myself at all any more.

It is an excellent thing that Lovie Smith and Tony Dungy have led teams to the Super Bowl. And I realize that it is a hard thing indeed to have to justify one's trip to Miami on an employer's dime with a daily column. Poor Jay, having to tear himself from fun in the sun, and having to work around Around the Horn's schedule to boot. It's too much to expect that hypocrisy, coin of the realm in Jay world, not rule the day.

But back to the original point (such as it was). Jay Mariotti is an unprincipled bully. I sincerely doubt that he honestly cares one way or another about the future of Tank Johnson, beyond his existence as fodder for a quick column. But it's a chance to lash out at a bigger, faster, stronger man who in the ordinary run of things could crush the average sports columnist like a bug. So for every bigger, faster, stronger kid that didn't tremble in his den at Jay's approach, now it's Tank Johnson's turn to feel his wrath. Take a run at Tank if you must, but at least leave a portion of the righteous indignation at home until there is a real crime to condemn.