By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
The PlayFaker: Don't look now, but a dog just ate Michael Irvin's homework--again. Buzz tends to be naturally skeptical. And when it comes to high-profile, lowlife athletes blaming anybody but themselves, we turn downright stubborn.
In other words: Bullshit.
Is Irvin's excuse technically possible? Yes. But is it even remotely conceivable? No.
First of all, even while the born-again Irvin has resurrected his career, the rumors persist. "Hey, guess who I saw drinking at the club at 2 a.m. the other night?" Or, "My girlfriend's friend got Michael's cell phone number last week." You hear them. You hope they're just fabrications. You convince yourself that an extremely talented and likable guy will treat his second chance like his last.
Having stopped Irvin last Friday for driving 78 mph on the Dallas North Tollway in his Mercedes, Plano police discovered that Irvin had no license, a warrant for an outstanding ticket, a multicolored pipe inside a Versace sunglasses case and plastic baggies containing marijuana residue. Worst of all, the cops found this: a lie.
Irvin initially told police the pipe belonged to his "brother." Later, he unveiled an elaborate tale of how it belonged to a "friend." Tell it to Cheech, Michael, we ain't buyin'. Burned repeatedly by being gullible, we're now just gruff.
Would you really invite a "friend" from a Houston drug rehab to spend Thanksgiving with a family you rarely see? Would you really put drug paraphernalia in your car without a "throw away" Post-It note reminder on the steering wheel? Would you really miss Texas vs. Texas A&M to go furniture-shopping with your wife?
Of course not.
Given similar circumstances, we'd not only remember the pipe was in our car, we'd make a special trip to throw it away. We wouldn't forget to tell our employer that we got arrested. We'd pay our speeding tickets. And we'd simply tell the truth, especially about something that should be as harmless as a Class C misdemeanor.
That, of course, would require Irvin to run an unthinkable route: Admit that the pipe and the pot and the propaganda are all exclusively his.
No, Michael Irvin isn't you or me.