Straining Out The Gnat

There’s an old saying: “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

In Philadelphia this week, it’s been more like, “While the superficial things may change, the really important stuff stays the same.” I’ll explain:

This week marked the inaugural trial balloon for the long-awaited Sugarhouse Casino, which has been more than five years in the making, and the subject of hot debate every step of the way.

Neighbors and community organizations in the nearby Fishtown area have been opposed from the beginning. Their fear is that the glitzy casino will bring increased crime, traffic jams, parking nightmares, open prostitution and general drunken stupidity to the neighborhood like never before – and frankly, they have a point.

Casino supporters, on the other hand, cite the hundreds of jobs the casino brings the city in a down economy, lick their chops over the potential billion dollars in tax revenues from the venue and see Sugarhouse as the goose that laid the golden egg. They, by the way, have a point too.

In the end, the casino will gleefully strip cash from the sweaty palms of desperate people trying to find a quick way out of debt; neighbors will suffer and complain about the traffic and parking, and the rest of the city will go about its daily business.

We’re also spending a great deal of time and a couple of barrels of ink talking about Michael Vick’s sudden promotion to Eagles’ starting quarterback. Happens all the time in the NFL, but because it’s Vick, its national news, and the talk of the town.

Vick is the superior quarterback over Kevin Kolb right now, concussion fully healed or not. Kolb stunk to high heaven all pre-season, and right up until the moment he left the field in the opener against Green Bay with a pounding headache and a mouth full of grass and dirt.

Michael Vick, on the other hand, has clearly matured as a player. The old Vick was a threat with his legs, no doubt about it, but he was undisciplined; running wildly without looking downfield. The new Vick is also a threat with his legs, but maturity makes him twice as dangerous. Now he uses his running ability as a psychological threat – freezing the defense in place while he scrambles around in the pocket.

They can’t afford to take their eyes off him, because he can take off like a jet at any second - but they can’t afford to leave their receiver either, because the new Vick is looking downfield while he scrambles, and will fire one right to the open man.

I’m happy to see the brother finally come into his own, and it really does appear that he has learned a lot about football - and about life - since his public downfall. But let’s be honest, it’s just football, and next year he could be playing somewhere else.

Less ink and less time has been spent this week on a subject that hasn’t changed much in any of our lifetimes, and has become as famous a Philadelphia tradition as water ice and mustard pretzels – police brutality.

The videotaped beating of West Philly’s Askia Sabur, 29, outside a takeout restaurant on Lansdowne Avenue last week sparked community outrage and protest, as well it should have.

Given the circumstances and the extent of his injuries, there is plenty of evidence the arresting officers were unduly aggressive in Sabur’s apprehension, and in their treatment of the gathering crowd – including one woman who alleges she was roughed up for shooting the incident with her camera phone.

But that level of aggression is not uncommon, and has been popular since the days when Frank Rizzo ruled the city with an iron fist and a baton in his cummerbund. The police baton was then, and is now, the preferred method of dealing with community members who make the mistake of giving an officer a little too much lip on the wrong day. As just as in the 1970’s, that beatdown might come at the hands of a black officer as quickly as a white one. The only modern difference is that thanks to cheap technology, today thousands of people get to watch it on YouTube.

Not to get all biblical on you, but our sidetracked attentions this week remind me of that verse in Matthew 23 about straining out the gnat while we gulp down the camel.

How’s that camel taste, by the way? Mine is a little tough.