On Dec. 10, 2007, Michael Vick walked into a federal courthouse in Richmond, Virginia, chomping gum and rocking bright-white Nike Air Force 1 Mids, which happened to match the stripes on his jailhouse garb.

He was there to be sentenced for his role in a brutal dog-fighting ring, which had cost him his $100 million NFL contract, his record-breaking Nike deal and, most importantly, his freedom. He came across with at least a measure of defiance — if not disbelief — when he should have been, at least for practical purposes, trying to project remorse and responsibility.

Federal prosecutors would soon lay out not just Vick’s crimes in running Bad Newz Kennels, but a list of mindless violations even after he had pleaded guilty and knew all eyes were on him.

While awaiting sentencing, the government argued to Judge Henry E. Hudson, Vick had failed to fully admit to some of his actions, engaged in deceptive practices to cover up others and even smoked marijuana just one night before a scheduled test assuredly would, and did, bust him.

Even his own friends and family in attendance, who saw any incarceration as unnecessary, could only shake their heads. Disappointment hung in the air. This was self-inflicted stuff. All that potential was about to be hailed away to Leavenworth.

Vick had arrived that day facing a sentence of 12-18 months, with speculation he’d get the minimum due to his lack of prior record. If so, he could have been out in a little over 10 months, back in the NFL soon after. Instead, his actions and attitude caused the sentencing guideline to jump to 18-24 months.

Vick wound up getting 23, more than any of his co-defendants, many of whom did have priors. Officers soon led him out, cuffed, en route to being caged. His family simply wept. This, they swore, wasn’t him, it wasn’t Mike.

“I’m willing to say that should Michael Vick get another chance either in society or the NFL,” his attorney, Billy Martin, said that day, “he will take full advantage of it.”

Seventeen Decembers later, in the same Virginia where he had grown up, where he electrified ball fields from Newport News to Blacksburg and where he was sentenced, Michael Vick lived up to his lawyer’s promise with a new title.

Coach.

Norfolk State has reportedly hired Vick, now 44, to run its football program, which is located just a half-hour drive from his hometown.

It is the latest chapter of a powerful redemption story that had already seen Vick come to terms with his actions, serve his debt to society, triumphantly return to the NFL and carry himself as a powerful spokesman for animal rights. He went from vilified villain to role model and leader.

And it isn’t done.

The Vick who stood in that courtroom, who seemingly thought he was as untouchable off the field as the quarterback who weaved through Green Bay Packers on a cold playoff night in Lambeau, is long gone. The new man is here to prove himself once again.

Will Michael Vick win a lot of games as a college football coach? No one knows.

What seems certain is that his players will benefit from the lessons he can impart from a roller coaster of an American football life. The good. The bad. The ugly. From ascent to scandal to a slow, hard-fought return.

There is no denying the cruelty Vick displayed to his dogs. Nor is there discounting the shock of someone in the prime of a brilliant career throwing it way for such a sad and twisted pursuit.

What Vick has proven though is that no one, at least in all but the most reprehensible of cases, should be fully defined by their worst moment. They can actually have the most to give.

His seven-season, post-incarceration return to the NFL — including five as a starter for the Philadelphia Eagles — was heartening enough.

Athletes tend to get those shots though. If you can play, someone will always excuse you.

What Vick did with that chance was something more. It wasn’t just his return to form — or something close enough to his Atlanta days.

It was his professionalism, his work ethic and his humility that won over locker rooms and coaches alike — including Andy Reid and Mike Tomlin. Teammates didn’t just see someone who could get touchdowns, but someone who could be trusted.

He’d been to the brink. He’d made it back.

That’s the Vick who dedicated himself to charity after his career ended in 2015; a constant, especially, at his old Newport News Boys and Girls Club. He worked as a broadcaster for Fox Sports, but craved doing more because he believed he could offer more.

So now he’s a coach, following Deion Sanders (Jackson State) and Eddie George (Tennessee State) as an NFL great leading an HBCU.

All those years after one of American sports’ most stunning falls from grace hit rock-bottom, Michael Vick has continued one of its greatest comebacks, a life of atonement for all to see.

Coach Vick, at Norfolk State, right where he needs to be.