Closure in the sense that wall-to-wall media coverage has subsided. Closure in the sense that millions of Americans, who had no idea who Michael Vick was until the case broke open back in April, have condemned him in the court of public opinion. And closure in the sense that the activist groups who have reaped an unwarranted bonanza of publicity – not one had been conducting an active campaign against dog fighting – have asserted that the entire saga represents some final victory for animal rights far more meaningful than the ones Vick orchestrated on the football field.

But before we all move on, it’s important to take moment to deconstruct both Vick’s high-profile apology and the media misconceptions that have re-framed the dog-fighting discussion in ways that I believe are detrimental to the meat industry.

More about how that latter development might be addressed in a minute.

The hole in his apology game

For those who caught even snippets of Vick’s statement of guilt and his public apologies to teammates, fans and – of course – “the children,” there was an aura of apparent sincerity to it all. From a PR standpoint, he certainly outshined the politicians, CEOs and athletes who parade themselves in front of the cameras as a ploy to soften the legal recrimination headed their way as a result of whatever misdeeds they were caught performing.

Vick spoke for four minutes and 17 seconds without notes and without reading from a statement, a fact lionized by many in the media. As if that’s a remarkable accomplishment for a guy who’s spent the last decade of his life memorizing complicated football playbooks. But I’ll say this much: His performance sure beat the phony, weeping mea culpas scripted by some communications dream team with all their legally nuanced tap dancing around the truth to which we’re usually treated when celebrities go bad.

Vick cited his “immature acts” and admitted he “needs to grow up.” Given his background as a kid from the mean streets of inner city Norfolk, Va., that’s a pretty powerful psychological step forward. He said he takes full responsibility for his actions and that he wouldn’t try to blame anyone else for his actions.

Not to quibble, Mike, but when your posse’s already rolled on you and cut deals with prosecutors faster than you run the 40, I’m not sure shifting the blame was really an option.

Where Vick’s apology finally foundered, however, was in the shallow waters of culpability he attempted to navigate around. After announcing he was “turning his life over to God” (just once, could one of these Jesus-come-latelys find religion before committing their crimes?), he said, “I used bad judgment and made bad decisions. I made a mistake.”

No. “I made a mistake” is what you say when you drink too much at a party and you wreck your car and somebody gets hurt. It’s what you say after you decide, what the heck – where’s the harm in spending an evening at a strip club?

We now know that Vick bought the Virginia property that became the Bad Newz Kennels and started buying, breeding and training (if that word applies to the brutal conditions the animals endured) his dogs just weeks after he signed his initial $62 million contract with the Falcons in 2001. We now know he “bankrolled” (to use his description) the serious gambling that accompanies dog fighting at least since 2002. We now know that back in May he stood up in the same Richmond, Va., courthouse where he pled guilty this week and assured us all that “his good name will be cleared” (and later spun the same fallacious message for NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell and Falcons’ owner Arthur Blank).

None of that qualifies as “a mistake,” Mike.

Rights vs. obligations

Lost on Vick and his high-profile legal team, as well, is the horrible irony that for all the clamor about his being “singled out” because of racial bias, the entire dog-fighting spectacle reeks of the cruelly staged “boxing” matches back in the Jim Crow South, where a group of young black men were blindfolded, then herded into a ring to wale away on each other for the amusement of a leering audience who rationalized away the brutality by telling themselves the participants were “just a bunch of n-words.”

Not really people. More like fighting dogs.

(Look up a 1952 short story called “The Battle Royal” sometime. It was written by Ralph Ellison, author of the acclaimed novel “Invisible Man,” and it’s one of the most horrific accounts of a “sporting event” you’ll ever read).

Beyond dissecting all the PR-ese, though, there is a fundamentally mistaken assumption that clouds the whole sordid dog-fighting discussion: It’s barbaric because it violates animals’ rights.

Wrong.

It’s not about their rights. It’s about our obligations.

When activists attack dog fighters, they do so as if there was a violation of canine civil rights. But the proscriptions in place outlawing organized animal fighting are mandated on the basis of unwarranted cruelty, not on legally enforceable rights.

It’s about what’s ethical and humane, not what’s constitutionally required.

In the end, the disgust expressed upon learning the Bad Newz about Michael Vick’s plan to become the Don King of dog-fighting flows from our inherent recognition that even pit bull puppies are defenseless against organized cruelty. But the impetus to enforce humane standards of care comes from people, not from animals.

Dog fighting is repulsive because it’s an affront to our obligations as human beings to be good stewards to the animals who serve as companions, work animals and food animals.

The impetus to extinguish animal cruelty wherever it emerges doesn’t rest on legal grounds. It’s rooted in the ethical compact we humans assume with the animal kingdom.

And that is a message that ought to earn a lot more than four minutes and 17 seconds of air time.