I dipped my quill into poison ink this morning and closed my eyes as it hovered over a blank notebook page. After clearing my mind and taking a few deep breaths, I felt small spasm-like sensations in my writing hand. My subtle twitch slowly became more intense. My eyebrows furrowed. These uncontrolled motions were filled with purpose.

When I opened my eyes, my paper was torn and blotted with ink. I realized each possessed stroke formed a legible pattern. My writing hand scratched “Tiki” into the page, the next scribbled more furiously than the last. It was a sign.

Yesterday’s news that former New York Giants running back Tiki Barber planned to shred the retirement papers he prematurely filed more than four years ago was upsetting. I don’t even want to share his quotes about feeling stronger than ever and finding inspiration in his NFL-active twin brother, Tampa Bay Buccaneers cornerback Ronde Barber. It’s disgraceful.

Every single step Tiki has taken since rushing for a Giants-best 10,449 yards has guided him directly into a brick wall. This presumed return to NFL action should be what makes those walls start closing in.

Maybe Barber irresponsibly believes fans have forgotten that a respected leader and veteran announced his intentions to ditch his teammates for television studios midseason. He shouldn’t, though. After all, the G-Men Faithful did boo during his Ring of Honor induction last October in the New Meadowlands Stadium.

And fortunately, former Giants linebacker and teammate Antonio Pierce also remembers.

“From personal experience, he didn’t do anything to help the Giants [in] 2006 when he decided to retire in the middle of the season and then months later question our quarterback and our head coach,” Pierce said as an analyst on ESPN’s “NFL Live.”

Even Brett Favre would think coming out of retirement now is a dick move. Barber found another way to slap the organization where he made his career.

Look, I can throw sarcasm-laced jabs at a failed father, husband, NFL analyst, and daytime news anchor, but TMZ-style sports writing isn’t really my bag. (I won’t even make this SEO friendly.) And for whatever it’s worth now, I do have fond memories of watching Barber play when he was in his prime. It’s the logic behind Barber’s actions that lead to the scathing keystrokes.

Tiki’s post-football career failed not only because of his mediocrity as a television personality, but because such a role is contingent upon his likability in the target audience. No NFL fan was going to respect analysis from a player who walked away from the game abruptly. Having an affair with a 23-year-old intern while his wife was eight months pregnant with twins didn’t help matters, either.

Nearly a year removed from losing various revenue streams in endorsements and television gigs (triggered by said affair), followed by an inability to pay a divorce settlement to his ex-wife (ditto), and Tiki is grasping for an incentive-based, veteran-minimum contract.

That’s hard to respect, especially given the landscape of the NFL’s current labor negotiations. Pro football can’t be the backup plan. It’s a lack of respect for the game, and a slap in the face to younger players hoping for an opportunity.

There are a few coaches out there who dig old running backs (looking at you, Bill Belichick), but who’s really signing Barber for a full year if an 18-game season becomes a reality? There is no capacity where a nearly 36-year-old running back can be beneficial. Which passes will he be looking for out of the backfield that a 22-year-old back with more upside can’t catch?

With seemingly financially-driven motives, Barber missed an opportunity to step out of the villainous shadows where he currently resides. The comeback won’t work and Barber most likely won’t make it out of training camp (if there is football this year). That realization shouldn’t be lost on him.

But even if he missed the game, or just wanted to cash some more NFL paychecks, I’m sure there’s a program that would’ve welcomed him as a running backs coach somewhere — if he could find a head coach willing to ignore the blinding pattern of selfishness that’s defined the last five years of Barber’s life.