There have been some big developments the last few weeks in sports. The baseball playoffs started with a no-hitter from Roy Halladay. Michael Vick resurged into the limelight only for two 800 pound men to test the limits of the human skeletal structure. Most importantly, however, my readership doubled when my parents began reading this column online. What a fortnight it has been.

I try here, as always, to talk about something you won't read elsewhere. I try to make these thoughts as original as possible. So, I had half a column written this week about how Eli Manning is a below average quarterback, but then I realized that everyone already knows that (or they live in New Jersey). I scrapped it. Thankfully, my friends Jon Ripa and Sarah Goodman got me talking about Michael Vick at Froggy Bottom. I am of the opinion that Michael Vick is a first ballot Hall of Famer with one and half more Vick-torian seasons. How is the related to the law? Ummm ... Hall of Famers make more money at speaking engagements???

The ground rules: I will not talk about the controversial dog-fighter. I will not talk about Vick's work ethic, or the sexual ethics of Ron Mexico. Enough ink hath been spilt. As always I will only talk about players that I have seen play. Today, we'll discuss athletic greatness, and I will compare Vick to Barry Sanders.

Barry Sanders played only ten NFL seasons. He averaged 22 touches, and 120 yards a game for his career. That's insane. He averaged over 1,500 yards a season. Here's the thing though, I don't care. I really only care about '95-'97 because then, for those years, Sanders was more than great. He transcended football. Every time he made his signature ankle-splintering dig cut a national television audience stopped breathing. There was a belief in that moment, that the nation was about to witness originalism. Barry Sanders had reached an apotheosis.

Here's my point: Sanders' was a first ballot Hall of Famer based on those three years alone. I had seen athletic greatness, but I had never seen anything like November 27, 1997. On that day Sanders took the handoff for a dive up the middle he broke an arm tackle at the line, stepped into the second level and... it happened. Sanders had an easy first down to his left, the strong side linebacker had an angle on him to his right, but Sanders dared for greatness. He cut beyond ninety degrees to the defender's back shoulder, put in a stiff arm, and he had the sideline. He was stopped but reached full speed in a second. An assembly line of Chicago Bears dove for his ankles. They came up wanting.

Apparently, it's illegal or something to "print photographs without permission."  Or at least that's what they tell me.  So go to this website, and you too can wonder why Sanders' ankle did not explode. http://www.profootballhof.com/hof/member.aspx?PLAYER_ID=187

So we come to Vick. He has played only four full seasons as the starting QB in the NFL. This could be his fifth if he can return to the field. Vick played minimally in his rookie season, and lost 12 playing games in his third year when Dallas Cowboy Roy Williams (the first) broke Vick's leg in a horrendous tackle. The shield stepped up the next season and made horse-collar tackles a personal foul. He also lost himself two seasons while he sat in prison, and a third playing a backup role. So how could five and a half seasons make a Hall of Famer? He's transcendent.

How many current athletes have body language that can make neutral fans stand up? How many, when you see them make up their minds that, "I will score on this play," do you rise to watch? I'll give you my list: LeBron James, Lionel Messi, Adrian Peterson, Christiano Ronaldo, and Vick. That's it. Why? Because I have been watching all of those players in action and thought, "That was dumb. They'll never make it that way." Then, channeling their inner Sanders, they prove me wrong again and again and again.

Watching Vick these past few weeks (even the play where he suffered his injury) I stood up when I saw his body language change. He has this moment when you know he's running, but not just to escape pressure. You can see it. He does this little bounce. He knows he will score in only the way a professional athlete can know he's the best athlete to ever live. Cf. Hemingway, Ernest, In Our Time: Indian Camp.  [Editor's Note:  He's been wanting to cite Hemingway in one of these articles, so even though the relevance is lost on me, we're going for it.]

Let me take you back to December 18, 2004. Vick broke his leg last season, and the Falcons are treading water for a playoff berth. They face their AFC South rival, the Carolina Panthers. The game has been even. Vick has played poorly against a stout Carolina defense, but in his usual fashion, made big plays for scores.

The Falcons are down by seven on the last drive of the game. Vick leads his team down the field, but they stall in the red zone. Seconds remain in regulation. It's fourth and goal at the twelve yard line. Vick takes the snap and drops back to the twenty. Alge Crumpler is double covered. The pocket collapses. Vick does a little bounce and... it happens.

Vick weaves through the line, makes a little cut at full speed on the ten. Three line backers converge. At the six-yard line Vick-well he doesn't exactly leap, a leap is springy. Vick does something else. (I swear on my mother's life) He levitates. Nothing else can explain it. He leaves his feet, and it's obvious that he'll fall short at the two. Then his body keeps moving, and it somehow hovers, and it's beautiful. He reached the end-zone, and I am convinced that no other man on the planet could have done what he did.

Give me a few more moments like that, Mr. Vick. Show me you can again transcend football for the next 18 months, and I'll show you a custom gold jacket.