As he awaits sentencing following his guilty plea (and ominous judicial teaser), Michael Vick must wish he'd hooked up with R. Kelly's publicist. Of course, even if you've got a bona fide cultural event ready for release in conjunction with your trial, some indictments better lend themselves to cross-marketing (and humanizing self-parody) than others. And though some of the obligatory high-horse hand-wringing has me wondering how many of the wringers are the good vegetarians you'd hope, the cases just aren't comparable--statutory water sports kind of pale beside animal torture and execution. I guess my wandering mind just likes the jackass idea of a hypothetical Vick-version Trapped in the Closet; like Kelly, he could play everyone, including, say, certain mullet-wigged detractors, climaxing Actaeon-like in his releasing the hounds upon himself. See? Everybody wins!