You know those poor sports memorabilia dealers (talk about a scummy group, they've ruined baseball card collecting and other harmless activities of that ilk that should be reserved for kids) could have been saved from from all this if Marcia Clark had just done her job. We all knew that Mr Simpson had committed the heinous crime he was accused of...and Clark couldn't close the deal. Her voire dire skills were lacking, and I think she might have spent a little too much time concentrating on her associate Chris Darden. "The glove didn't fit, and I don't give a shit" should have been in here closing statement. But, hey, it took thirteen years and the tragic figure will probably die in the can. Bummer. Ron Goldman's Dad (OJ's wife's co-victim) had the best quote from this trial, "I hope his cell window has a view of a golf course." As one of the Sports Reporters" (ESPN) mentioned Sunday morning, this does have all the trappings of a Greek tragedy. Supplemental justice is always one of the best of ironies. You heard that here first, but it is what happened. The prosecutors in Nevada came up with a tremendous list of charges to keep loophole circumvention at a minimum. They did well in jury selection too, lots of white women. The race card was way down in the deck in Nevada, and they couldn't find a crooked dealer to move it into to play. Another thought. OJ's post exoneration demeanor (looking for the killers on various golf courses, road rage, mistreatment of his DEAD wife's look-a-like girlfriends; they all had 911 on speed dial) has always lead me to believe that his subconscious wanted to get his criminal ass behind bars where it belonged. In my mind Simpson was the second best running back I've ever seen, nobody can touch Jim Brown. He (Simpson) was a stud at USC, and manged to run for over two thousand yards in a season at the NFL's Ice Station Zebra, Buffalo. Plus, nobody has ever run through an airport with such elan. Who knew Hertz would would lead to such hurt. (Did I just write that?) I'll admit to OJ trial addiction in '95, but it taught me a valuable lesson: Don't watch that shit.
Remember the slow chase? The white Bronco and Al Cowlings? I watched it in a bar on Bimini. I have an old friend who sails anywhere at the drop of a hat, and we decided to hop over to Bimini in his twenty-seven foot sloop from Coconut Grove. In those days I indulged a little more than I should have. You know booze, combustibles and the occasional dabbling from the huge drug smorgasbord that was readily attainable in south Florida where I lived. (Full disclosure; I was BAD, for many years, but I am approaching four years out of the bottle...it's a drag, but it works.) Anyway we set out from Dinner Key for the tiny island just forty-eight miles from Miami. We had a cooler of beer and some mind altering/stimulating substances...and matches. No wind, so at sunset we're motoring with the smallest outboard imaginable. Just as the sun went down, the light that illuminates the compass went out. So, to follow the heading we have to light the compass with matches. If you haven't done it, you can't imagine the degree of difficulty of that dive! Then the wind never came up. Dead air. We're motoring to Bimini, heads full of the aforementioned brain candy through the Gulf Stream, in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. Not a problem. There was one, we ran our of beer just before dawn. We always managed to have the little sloop on the compass heading (lots of burnt fingers), and we'd see the lights of other boats just to know we were still out there on the right road. Oh yeah, the radio was dead too. Well, it wasn't dead, nobody would answer us. As the sun was coming up I saw lights that must have been heading into Bimini. Short story; those lights were Bimini! Hungover like a beer league softball team that just won the town championship, we made the tough maneuver through the channel into Bimini's picture perfect harbor. All we had to do was clear customs and hit the sack at the Compleat Angler (Hemmingway's favorite hotel on the tiny island). My goal was to be at the corner of the bar when the Knicks playoff game came on that night at eight. Customs was a breeze, though my pal had a bag of weed in his pocket as we we went through the small customs house. That's the way it is in the islands. I slept most of the day, and was ready for the Knicks game that night. I was seated under the TV with a plate of sumptuous conch fritters and a frosty Red Stripe...perfecty situated in paradise to watch my beloved Knicks. Life was good. Then that god-damned slow pace chase came on and I was tidal waved off my bar stool as the locals cheered on OJ like he was breaking a seventy-yarder against Notre Dame. I was out of the bar, and out of luck. There were three other places on the island, I opted for the End of the World Bar down the street a bit. Nice spot, dirt floor and an almost working television. The bartender and I shared a spliff and I watched the Knicks through a slight snow storm. The islanders at that joint appreciated the Bahamian Patrick Ewing. On his list of his crimes, making me change bars is way, way down on OJ's list.
McCain pulling out of Michigan is a white flag if I ever saw one. Oh Yeah, Suzanne visited this weekend and guaranteed an Obama victory. She was told by a legit medium. And, get this, said medium predicted a medical problem in Biden's life...that makes her one-for-one.
I'm sure Earl will be watching, the USA plays Cuba with Joey Altidore and Freddy Adu this weekend, as World Cup qualification continues.
Sorry about the Rice pick...but they did (with Tulsa) cover the ridiculously high over... 79! Ninety-one points is more than just a few college basketball games will see. I will have a winner for you this weekend. FRod looks like he has about four innings left...in his career. He looks like a wind-up toy on acid, but he's real a treat to watch. With major league pitchers approaching NBA small forward size, it's nice to see guys like Lincecum, Kazmir and most of the kids from the DR. Somebody is going to give him a ton of scheckels...and the payoff will be somewhere between Carl Pavano and Tom Glavine (Met contract).
All right, I'm headed for knee surgery in a couple of hours. Don't know if I can concentrate for a day or two...but hey, read the comments from the post prior to this one, some good stuff.
Later, biff
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment