I've got this to say to Michael Vick: Been there, but haven't done that.

Not that I haven't been tempted, mind you, to respond in kind -- or, more accurately, unkind -- to crude, lewd, stupid, and obscene shouts, yells, and catcalls that have been hurled my way at various venues over the years, most frequently at the old Foxboro Stadium and the arena formerly known as the Providence Civic Center.

But why sink to the lowly level of what certainly are ignorant, and arguably are questionable, so-called fans?

What Vick did Sunday in Atlanta, following the Falcons' frustrating loss to the Saints, was understandable, but indefensible.

Although Vick had ripped off several scintillating runs -- rushing for a stunning 166 yards on just 12 carries -- and had at least five, right-on-target passes dropped, he was subjected to a chorus of obscene vitriol from angry fans as he left the field.

Because he's a professional, Vick should have acted like one. He doesn't have to grin, but he does have to bear it. When people are being ignorant, it's best to ignore them.

Instead, Vick reacted like a Rhode Island driver who'd just been cut off on Route 95.

When the fans threw invective at him, he threw the finger at them. Two fingers, actually. One with each hand. First the right. Then, after taking another step or two, and more abuse, the left. The old 1-2, so to speak -- giving new meaning to what was a popular phrase in Atlanta when the Falcons were NFC champions a few years back: "Durty Bird."

At Foxboro, where decorum was in short supply and liquor flowed bountifully, it never was out of the realm of possibility that something more than words would be thrown my way.

In those days, unlike at Gillette Stadium now, writers were allowed on the field in the final minutes of play. The media would cluster along the retaining wall behind the north end zone, where they would watch the end of the game before following the Patriots up the ramp to the locker room.

I always made it a point to stand beside my good buddy, Ron Hobson, the personable and popular pro football writer for the Patriot-Ledger of Quincy. First of all, Hobson stands 6-foot-1 and weighed, depending upon which diet he was on that week, a minimum of 285 pounds. Being considerably shorter and thinner -- okay, perhaps not all that much thinner -- I could safely hide behind Hobson's burly physique.

Another benefit of standing in the concealing shadow of the man affectionately known throughout Greater Boston as "The Humble One," was that even the most incensed reader/fan was unlikely to throw anything at me because of fear of hitting Hobson, who was beloved by all.

That wasn't the case at the Civic Center, where, for several seasons, some Friars fans were not particularly amused by some satirical columns I wrote about Rick Barnes and his basketball team.

So concerned were PC officials for my safety -- or, perhaps, about a lawsuit -- that for at least a couple of years I had my own personal security guard who would accompany me from the press room to my courtside seat.

He handled the dangerous assignment with good humor, in part because he, as did I, thought it somewhat amusing, and more than a bit puzzling, that anyone found my occasional missives on the various academic and athletic shortcomings of Barnes' student-athletes (a term I use now, as I did then, loosely) so infuriating.

The affable guard risked life and limb to dutifully escort me on the perilous trip past the student section -- where some erudite PC undergrads used adjectives I'm hoping would shock their parents; although I always had the feeling the words they used at the game weren't all that much different from their dinner-table conversation at home -- to my seat on press row, running a verbal gauntlet past season-ticket holders, who should have known that I, like them, also yearned for the good old days of Friars basketball, when Ernie D., Marvin and Kevin played for Dave Gavitt, or when Billy D., "Pop," and Delray were firing up treys for Rick Pitino.

Unlike Vick, I bore substantial amounts of abuse stoically, never turning to look at whatever fool happened to be shouting obscene inanities. Consequently, I never had to apologize to those yahoos as Vick did yesterday in Atlanta. In a better world, the offensive fans also would apologize to him, but we know that'll never happen.

"It was just part of a situation where my emotions got the best of me," Vick said. "I apologize sincerely to all my fans, and to everybody who saw me make that gesture. People who know me know that's not what I'm about. I just got caught up in the moment.

"I was down. I was sad. I was upset, frustrated, and I just did one thing I've never done, throughout all the games I've lost, regardless of how frustrated I've been. People who know me know that's not my character. It won't happen again."

So, Michael, I say again: Been there, but haven't done that. But only because I couldn't afford to pay the fine.

jdonalds@projo.com / (401) 277-7340