No justice in Plaxico's prison sentence

He looks like the portrait of injustice. That’s about all you can say about Plaxico Burress as he walked into a New York courthouse Tuesday and prepared to begin his sentence of two years in state prison.

Yeah, Burress broke the law, but if his punishment reflects the best of American justice, I prefer something else.

I guess if I hadn’t seen lesser crimes than his earn a “perp” probation, I wouldn’t feel as I do about this sentence. I also know that if I liked Burress more, I might even be more outraged about it.

But he’s hardly a player whose behavior engenders warm feelings. Burress exudes a cockiness this is off-putting, and he doesn’t help his public profile when he lets his appetite for high style trump substance. He often displays a smug callousness that borders on self-righteous, although he’s hardly the lone athlete who does so.

Yet athletes who flaunt their wealthy lifestyles win few popularity contests. Fans yearn to see a star's profile packaged with humility, the sort of image they extol in Peyton Manning, Kurt Warner, Roger Federer, Tiger Woods, CC Sabathia and Derek Jeter: classic cool instead of hip-hop crass.

Image is everything, isn’t that what Andre Agassi told us a decade or so ago? Agassi had it right, but when that image carries a hard, urban edginess to it, it isn’t much of an image in some people’s minds.

That image never sits well with the larger public, and when that image is that of a black athlete like Burress … well, that’s an altogether different discussion.

In some ways, I suspect what happened to Burress, the New York Giants star, had less to do with his skin color and more to do with bad law. I do understand New York City’s interest in getting unlicensed handguns off the street; I applaud the city’s efforts. Laws should be in place to punish people who run afoul of that effort; the remedy, however, should be a sentence that reflects all circumstances.

The law should have some bend to it, all things considered.

For if it did, I doubt anybody would find two years in prison an appropriate punishment for a man who shot himself in the leg – an unlicensed .40-caliber Glock or not. The person that Burress hurt was Burress.

I know others might argue that he could have hurt someone else. His Glock went off inside a Manhattan nightclub, and a gun that goes off in such intimate surroundings threatens more than the gun’s owner. The bullet could easily have ricocheted and taken a bystander’s life.

Had the bullet killed or injured another person, New York City has laws to address the taking of a life. Nobody, athlete or not, could expect a free pass, not even a man with Burress’ access to the best lawyers.

But when the law itself has no bend -- gives no consideration to an extraordinary set of circumstances -- it becomes a law that needs to be changed. For no man deserves two years in jail for shooting himself.

Punishment should always fit the crime, but the crime of stupidity, which Plaxico Burress pleads guilty to, shouldn’t put a man behind bars for two years. I see no justice in that.

( Photo of Plaxico Burress by sholmes10191's photostream)

What else is left for 'Fed' to prove?

You wonder whether Roger Federer, the world No. 1, has the stomach for the grind that will be the U.S. Open.

His season has already been wildly successful. He’s conquered a demon: the slow red clay of Paris; he’s recaptured the glory on the hallowed grass at Wimbledon when he bested Andy Roddick in an unforgettable Finals, and he’s marched on toward the kind of greatness few men in any sport have ever achieved.

On Monday, Federer returns to New York City to perform on the largest theater in men’s tennis. He’s already earned the affection of crowds in Flushing Meadows. They adore him, as tennis fans elsewhere do. They’ll root for "Fed" to repeat, cheering on the Swiss star, a five-time winner here, as they’ve cheered on Americans like Connors and Ashe and Agassi and Sampras in Grand Slam yesteryear.

All had much to prove as they stood on the U.S. Open courts and prepared to slug it out with competitors who longed to win the year's final Grand Slam to put a signature on their tennis seasons.

Federer doesn’t need a signature on this season. For aside from the Australian Open in January, he’s won all the tournaments that matter. He’s beaten Rafael Nadal on clay, though not on the red clay of Roland Garros. But it wasn’t Federer’s fault he didn’t. A gimpy Nadal didn’t make the Finals there, perhaps opening the way for Federer to claim the only Grand Slam that had eluded him.

His trophy case is filled with more than Grand Slam glory. He has awards that he’s won from every corner of the tennis universe. His bank account is flush with cash, richer than he could have imagined. He’s happily married now, the father of newborn girls.

And he’s No. 1 again, ahead of the extraordinarily gifted Nadel – the lone player who has dared to challenge the Federer supremacy in men’s tennis.

On the first day of the U.S. Open, Federer will show up with no tennis worlds left to conquer. To say he’s playing for pride, as clichéd as that statement is, would be accurate.

But if he must play for something else, then play for the crowds that worship him. Give them what might be the last great moment in a career of great moments. In a young man’s game, the old pro Federer might not have many great moments left in his brilliant forehand.