Leopold "Butters" Stotch: A PSA for Pro Athletes Re the Dangers of Poison Posse

"I told you, my name isn't Kenny. It's Butters."—Leopold "Butters" Stotch from South Park

If you ever need a reminder to choose your friends carefully, Butters is your man . Judging from the plague of stupidity befouling the professional sports landscape (and many of its talent crops), the animated reminder is falling on deaf ears.

Woe be to the man who surrounds himself with what he wants rather than with what he needs. But I'll get to that...

As much as I love professional sports, it would be insane to argue any one is without its considerable warts.

The National Football League is stubbornly staring at a labor dispute that's growing more ominous by the day. Major League Baseball observers continue to watch incredulously as Bud Selig, the MLB Players Association, and the owners battle common sense over the performance-enhancing drug issue.

And the National Basketball Association appears to be losing money faster than countries bordering the Mediterranean (thanks to our banks ).

But one grotesque they all share with increasing regularity is the high-profile act of obscene arrogance and selfishness.

We're talking antics heretofore reserved for 1980s Brat Pack film villains.

Furthermore, while the amusing and/or trivial lapse in judgment or obnoxious-but-legal tantrum is still the rule, the almost complete abandonment of common sense and integrity is becoming less and less exceptional.

Michael Vick's trials and tribulations have been well-documented. Plaxico Burress' incarceration got less ink, but you don't have to search the public record too hard to find it. Kobe Bryant's misadventures in Colorado qualify, as do Gilbert Arenas' now-infamous gun "joke " and subsequent fall-out.

In the Majors, Detroit Tiger and 2009 Most Valuable Player candidate Miguel Cabrera thought the final weekend of the regular season would be the perfect time to go get hammered. With the Tigers desperately trying to stave off a cataclysmic face-plant and make the playoffs.

Things didn't end well for the young slugger or his squad.

I'll just type the name since everyone on the globe can fill in the details by now: Tiger Woods.

Even the coaches want a reckless piece of the "Me Me Me Me" pie—Pete Carroll hit the eject button on the USC Trojan football program after a brutal 2009-10 campaign and with serious NCAA sanctions rumored to be in the pipe.

Of course, Hollywood's chair didn't even cool off before Lane Kiffin slithered his way onto the scene. That would be the same Lane Kiffin who boasted this and that, but delivered on squat during his first (and only) year at Tennessee. Oh, and the Volunteers are facing NCAA inquiries of their own.

This list could go on and on until the server at Google burst into flame.

More interesting than the volume, however, is the question—how?

How can these individuals—men who have some measure of focus from the public eye in addition to considerable means and all the perks that come with that status—engage in such utter stupidity and/or contemptible behavior?

How can they have so much to enjoy and still play it so loose/fast with the fire of public outrage?

I've decided the frequency with which it happens means either (A) they sincerely believe they aren't doing anything wrong, or (B) they sincerely believe they won't get caught.

In either event, I'd say the mentality is one beyond the individual brain and its powers of self-delusion.

The flawed attitude can't simply be the work of one mind because it is so clearly deranged. To believe the masses will abide by such boorish performances must take substantial and constant external reinforcement since he pages of social history are littered with stories of kings (and some queens) who became clowns almost overnight, courtesy of their own acts.

Shoot, the pages being written as I type are littered with those stories. One mortal intellect just couldn't withstand the bombardment without eventually bringing his conduct into more or less conformity with societal grace.

Which brings me back to good ol' Butters and the influence of those around you. The little guy is constantly humiliated because he listens to the wrong people.

In that way, our cartoon anti-hero must share a key characteristic with some of our real-life ones i.e. those in their innermost orbit exist to take advantage of the body at the center. Protection, augmentation, and/or assistance only enter the equation when there's a nice payday on the other side.

Adults are all responsible for our own actions so the star must take his lumps, but remove the enablers and I'd bet we'd see fewer infractions and more humility.

To err is human and to forgive divine because most of us learn from our mistakes. But only when we're surrounded by a minimum of voices reminding us that we are, in fact, responsible for the mistake.

Replace those voices with a team of chirping yes-men who'd rather blame a double-homicide and bloody glove on a nebulous police conspiracy than the prized prince and you become a recalcitrant offender.

You become an unapologetic, undisciplined man-child who believes normal rules don't apply.

You become Pacman Jones—a jackass who needs to count his chances on both hands before he starts to get the message.

Although I guess it could be worse.

You could give those in your posse fancy names and become a tax-dodging Congressman , a strong-arming governor , or a criminally corrupt Wall Street suit obtusely fighting regulation .

Destined to dance eternity away on YouTube...

**www.pva.org**