Tre Johnson returned to action on Sunday after serving a one-game suspension (plus a $50,000 fine) following an altercation in last year's playoff game against Detroit. Before deciding whether Johnson's punishment fit the crime, I wish someone at the NFL would define the word "fight."

Remember the now-infamous brawl last year between Stephen Davis and Michael Westbrook? I'm sure you've seen the tape. Davis, standing helmetless on the sideline at a Redskins practice, was viciously pummeled by his teammate in a chilling display of rage. Now that was a fight -- maybe enough to warrant Westbrook's $50,000 fine.

But Johnson's so-called fight consisted of several errant punches thrown in the general direction of Lions defensive tackle Robert Porcher. Real terrifying. Aside from the fact that one of Johnson's punches accidentally grazed the head of back judge Bill Leavy, this was hardly anything to get excited about. Porcher never even got hit. This was identical to just about every other football "fight." One player grabs another's face mask, then they grapple and cuss at one another for a few seconds before an official separates them. Heated dispute? Yeah, it happens. But a fight? Don't think so.

I know: off-the-field violence is a huge concern these days. It should be. But that doesn't change the nature of the game being played on Sunday afternoons. Football is violent. Players are encouraged to hate each other. And suddenly, after the whistle blows, bloodied guys in pads and helmets are supposed to be civil? Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't each play end with someone being thrown to the ground? Vince Lombardi, the legend himself, once said that "dancing is a contact sport, football is a hitting sport."

Last year, Cleveland tackle Orlando Brown was the target of the league's ire after he shoved the official who accidentally hit him in the eye with a penalty flag. He was fined $20,000 and suspended for a game. You may not agree with Brown's actions, but surely you can understand his rage. He was fired up and focused, something happened, and he reacted. Is it just me, or isn't that what you do in a football game? It ain't a perfect world, folks. Ask Brown, who will probably never play again.

How can commissioner Paul Tagliabue and Gene Washington, who levies the fines, justify punishing someone for throwing a few wild punches on a field where destruction is the very premise? After all, football requires a particular mindset that both men should appreciate. As a former player, Washington knows that anger can't be neatly packaged between snaps. Tagliabue is a former attorney, and no one is more vicious than a lawyer.