Fame – or its less sexy, slower, and socially awkward cousin that I’m more familiar with – has its privileges. When I’ve needed advice, whether it was on vacations, gadgets or love, you guys, readers of this here innernets diary, have always been there for me. Your emails, especially those written while obviously intoxicated, have provided me with endless hours of enjoyment. Y’all have recommended some of what turned out to be my favorite songs and bands. And a very, very select brave (and presumably damaged) few of you have even let me kiss you with your shirt off (though mine was likely on at the time).

(Actually, strike “likely” – mine was definitely on at the time.)

And because of you, I now have become a real-live journalist on par with Woodward and Bernstein, Fainaru-Wada and Williams, and, you know, other excellent journalists or whatnot.

It began earlier this summer, when I got a call from an associate of mine who works in the entertainment news/celebrity television industry. He (or she) was calling me from the passenger seat of a car and was out of breath. He (or she) responded to my “hello” with a terse “So I’ve got a little tidbit for your blog…” And that’s when my source mentioned that his/her office had just gotten a call from their own source at Michael Jackson’s house that MJ was being rushed to the hospital, that it looked bad. My associate was en route to MJ’s with a news crew and said that if I wanted to, I should write about this on the blog, because it had the potential to be the biggest thing to hit the internet since, well, nothing. It had the potential to be just about the biggest thing ever, so there was nothing to compare it to.

After we hung up, I thought about it. While it would be cool to break a story like MJ being rushed to the hospital, that’s not my bag. Nothing against celebrity blogs or bloggers, but man, I could not give less of a shit about celebrity culture and all that junk (I swear, if I ever find one single, goddamn woman who doesn’t have at least three US Weekly’s at her apartment at all times, I might just have to marry her). Also, what if it was nothing? What if he was fine and then I went ahead and (quite uncharacteristically) wrote something on here about Michael Fucking Jackson’s health? That would look weird.

So I took the middle road and posted a Facebook status update that said if Michael Jackson died, I was concerned about what would happen to TV, the internet and life over the following days. And while I can’t say that I “broke” the story about MJ’s eventual demise, I can say that I was among the very first people to write something about it. People immediately starting commenting along the lines of “Wait, what?” Shortly after the update, I got up to take a whiz, and when I came back to my computer, I had a dozen Facebook IMs from people asking me what I was talking about it. And then we all know what happened: he died and the world fell apart.

And you know what? There was definitely a little bit of satisfaction that I was able to tell so many people first. Not a whole lot, because, again, who really gives a shit, and because about ten minutes later, it was all over the place, already the biggest story to have hit the web/world/life/God even before MJ actually died. But it was cool – someone who I am acquainted with because of this blog knew insider, secret, potentially ground-breaking info and he (or she) wanted to share it with me, so that I could tell a whole shitload of people. In that moment, I became a journalist, a trusted custodian of knowledge. Yes, I realize how egotistical this sounds, but there’s this: eff you.

But once that day passed, the coolness was gone. The rush I got was fleeting, replaced by disdain for the producers of “Dateline” who cancelled potentially awesome murder shows for Michael Jackson show after Michael Jackson show and for local bar DJs (and really, all bars with jukeboxes) who basically put MJ on a loop for the following three weeks (“Great – ‘Dirty Diana’ again! Terrific!”). My moment in the sun as story-breaker was over.

Until earlier today, that is. I was sitting there on gchat, minding my own business and pondering whether I should reheat last night’s pizza or splurge on the hickory burger from Houston’s on the walk home, when I got a curious IM from another person with whom I have a relationship from this blog. The IM read, “Dude – Vick’s going to sign with the Eagles. Thought you’d might like to know.”

Um, whoa.

I popped open several new browsers and started both googling my heart out and F5′ing on various sites that might have this info (ESPN, SI, Deadspin, Philly.com, etc). But nothing, no word of Vick signing with the Eagles anywhere.

But this was a trusted source, someone who works within the league, a good man (or woman) – and thorough. Before I could respond, my source then wrote “1 year/$1.6 mil.”

I thought about the MJ situation, but this was different – this was something I cared about, desperately and passionately. And this was big, big news. Sure, not exactly a pop icon dying, but a convicted dog killer and ex-con – and also a tremendous athlete who may have never realized his full potential – joining my favorite team. Hell, to call the Eagles my favorite team is incomplete; in my order of importance in my life, it’s me, the Eagles, boobies, beer, God, beer again, fantasy baseball, boobies again, the Phillies, long showers and fresh mozzarella cheese (oh, and money/luxury beats everything).

So we went back and forth for a bit. I quizzed the source on what they knew, how they knew it, how it had gone down, what the next step was, etc. And after our conversation, I came away convinced that my source was telling the truth, that Michael Vick was just a few minutes from physically signing with the Eagles, that in a few hours it would be announced. And so, once my journalistic inquisitiveness had been sated, I did what any responsible journalist in this crazy 21st century digital age would do: I posted it on Facebook.

Three hours later, it was officially announced on ESPN: Michael Vick was going to the Philadelphia Eagles. And unlike the MJ thing, I can say for sure that I was the first person to break this story, thanks to the source (we even got the contract sort of right; it’s a two-year deal, but the first year is for $1.6 million, like the source told me, but with a second year team option for $5.2 million, plus $3 million incentives).

And this time, the feeling was much greater than the MJ thing. I cared that so many first learned of this story from me (included the approximately 22 friends that I sent a mass text to, and kept updating until the story was confirmed), because this was real, because this was important. After the story was announced and the praise started coming in, I realized that yes, I was now officially, truly a real-life journalist. Perhaps it was time to put down the penis jokes, and pick up the phones; to worry less about all the different words I can use for “breast” and focus more on furthering connections with people in the know; to forget about making people laugh via poop jokes and work to inform people about significant events.

However, all that sounds like a lot of work. So I think I’ll stick with the third grade humor, thanks. But in the meantime, if one of you guys learns something really juicy, you know how to reach me (and I will pay you back with a beer, promise).

************

I can’t write 1500 words on learning about Vick’s signing with the Eagles without offering some thoughts on the subject itself.

- From a football perspective, I don’t think this is a bad signing. The Eagles have been one of the worst red zone conversion teams in the NFL for the last several seasons. Now can you imagine Brian Westbrook, DeSean Jackson and Michael Vick (and McCoy and Maclin, too) on the field at the same time in the red zone (or anywhere else, for that matter)? That’s a lot of speed that needs to be defended, and it’s also a lot of versatility on offense. For $1.6 million with a second year club option, it’s worth a gamble on a man once considered one of the best athletes on the planet.

- I don’t think this threatens McNabb’s job security, although McNabb is about as sensitive and insecure as the chubbiest sophomore at the school dance (male or female). I can’t imagine what would happen if this team is 2-3 and in his first game back, Vick scores twice and McNabb throws two or three picks. Chaos. Brutal, brutal chaos.

- From a PR perspective, well, that’s another story. I think that Philly is a good town for him, to be honest. Yeah, it’s a tough place to play, but if Vick can help the team succeed, the Philly fans will forgive him. I wrote on Facebook that sure, while I think what Vick did was deplorable, if Hitler could help this team in the red zone, I’d be one of the first guys calling sports talk radio saying, “Hey, take a flyer on the German! He’s got soft hands!”

- Speaking of Philly fans, I’m amused at all the vitriol being spewed by Eagles fans on Facebook right now, and I’d like to see how these same people feel once Vick breaks a 38 yard TD run against the Giants. Fucking soon-to-be hypocrites. I think most intelligent, rational Eagles fans that I’ve spoken to/emailed with have expressed something along the following lines: “I think what he has done is despicable and it remains to be seen if he is genuinely sorry, but I will give him the benefit of the doubt. From a football perspective, considering the team has been trying to get over the hump for about ten years and it cost them very little money, the signing makes sense.” One more “I h8 ThE EaGLes!!! ViCK is KILLAH aN sHoulD bE HUnG!!!” update on Facebook and I’m going to go on a murder rampage.

- While we’re here, I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating: God made animals for us to conquer and subsequently eat, wear and/or ride (it’s true – look it up). Society has evolved to the point that we no longer have to do this, which is a very good thing. Michael Vick hung and electrocuted dogs, which is a very bad thing. But the man spent 23 months in prison. This doesn’t mean he should be automatically forgiven, but let’s take that into consideration. If it turns out he’s a dick, then so be it and let’s run him out of town. But maybe – just maybe – he’s actually contrite and, with Tony Dungy at his side, he successfully turns his life around and works with PETA, helps work to eradicate dog fighting, etc. Just hear the guy out.

I love dogs as much as the next person. Really. Every time I take off or land I say a little prayer that asks God that if anything should happen to me, He take care of my parents, my brother and sister, my family and friends, and Lucky, my dad and sister’s dog. But the uproar over the dogs thing…I mean, Donte Stallworth was drunk, got behind the wheel and killed a man – a human being with family and friends, who touched people on a daily basis with his words and actions, a person who loved and thought and felt – and Stallworth went to prison for 24 days. Do you hear people going crazy over that? Who do you think is more hated, Stallworth or Vick? It’s the latter, and it’s not even close. Doesn’t seem totally right to me. So just everybody take a deep breath, please.

(And yes, if he signed with the Cowboys, Giants or Redskins, I’d be the first one organizing the boycott.)

- In the same vein, I really wish the media would stop playing up the hate for Vick, both by Eagles fans and by other football/sports fans. Again, I think that most rational Eagles fans are of the mindset that I mentioned above, and it’s the vocal minority that’s calling for Vick’s head. Of course, “I hate the Eagles and they’re the worst team in the league and I’ll never forgive them for this” makes a better story than “Meh, let’s see what happens,” so I don’t expect the media hate-mongering to quit anytime soon.

But let me say this: I am a Philly fan and proud of it. No, we may not be the most attractive fans, or the most in-shape fans, or even the most intelligent fans, but I dare you to name a more passionate fan base. The city of Philadelphia lives and dies by its sports teams, and more than anything, I’m concerned that this will portray my beloved city and us fans in a negative light. For example, I saw one Facebook moron comment: “[the Vick signing] officially puts Philadelphia at the bottom of my list of desirable places to live/be/visit.”

Really, friend? You’re now filled with disgust for an entire city – the sixth largest in America, with a metropolitan population of about 1.4 million people – because its football team signed a convicted dog-fighter? Like, the whole city? For real, the whole entire city? And everyone in it and its institutions, culture and history? Everything?

Obviously, the guy who made the comment is a stone cold asshole moron. But this country is filled with morons (see: national prominence of Sarah Palin). The most important thing to me, even more important than an Eagles championship, is that my home town, the city I love, is not cast in a negative light because of something its football team decided to do. Feel free to take your wrath out on Michael Vick, Andy Reid, Joe Banner, the entire Eagles organization, and I understand completely. But when you start saying that the fans of Philly are assholes for this or that the city itself sucks because of the decision of a handful of men who work at a company there, then you and I are gonna have some problems, you heard?