The Year Virginia Rewrote the Rules of Popular Culture

At the peak of his powers, Michael Vick could make a broken play look like it was planned. In 2002, as quarterback for the Atlanta Falcons, he was a newly minted NFL star, known for his ability to confound defenses with his deep passes and exhilarating runs. In my Virginia Beach high school, this was the year of the Michael Vick jersey; we were about a Vick-length scramble from his hometown of Newport News. Sure, Vick played in Atlanta, but we were keenly aware that he was bred from our soil, and we were proud of his ascension to the national stage.

In December of that year, when the Falcons played the Minnesota Vikings, Vick more than confirmed his star status. The game was tied at 24 in overtime, and Vick had the ball. Facing an oncoming pass rush, he instinctively moved to the left, his strong side, and found a running lane. Most other quarterbacks of that era would likely have taken a few yards and slid to avoid a blow from an opposing linebacker. But Vick kept running. Two defenders closed in on