Thursday, September 20, 2007

And Now, the No Fear Player of the Year…

Orenthal James Simpson

You cannot argue this. There is no discussion allowed, no argument you could introduce, no alternative you could suggest. OJ simply has the biggest testicles on this, our dear Planet Earth. President Dingus has the decade wrapped up, I’ll concede that. And Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan have put up some big numbers in recent months. But I am talking sheer audacity, folks. Bill Simmons writes about an athlete’s “I’m Keith Hernandez” moment. This will have to change. Because Keith Hernandez is a wallflower, an awkward 12-year old hiding behind bleachers and taller classmates as the last slow song plays at the big dance, compared to Mr. Simpson.

From now on, all gutsy, outlandish, “who does that guy think he is?” moves must all be compared – and found wanting next to – to OJ’s robbery.

His logic, though, is impeccable. Unbreakable, even.

You’re OJ Simpson. Hall-of-fame running back, 2,000-yard season. Great nickname – the Juice. Strong supporting role in hilarious Naked Gun movies, strong enough to get his own catch phrase (“Where’s Nordberg?”). Commentator on national television.

Killer, in cold blood, of his ex-wife and her boyfriend.

Focus of the Trial of the Century, with the legal Dream Team. On TV every day for months. We all know the story. White Bronco. Kato. Bloody glove. The Chewbacca defense. Mark Fuhrman. Acquittal.

A man gets off scot-free on a murder rap that, had it been anyone else, anywhere else, would have led to life in prison, and a new boyfriend name Snake. And here he is, walking out of the court room. Sure, there are some who turn up their noses. He definitely can’t get a job, although it’s not like he needs one.

He lays low for a few years. Loses the civil suit, but who pays attention? Everyone knew he was guilty, so the verdict is no surprise.

Fast forward to 2007. OJ gets a book deal to write, if you can handle it, “If I Did It.” The biggest fuck you to a victim’s family that has ever been committed to paper. “I’m not saying it happened. I’m just saying, give me my money.” Universal outrage, lawsuits. Common sense wins out, and the book is not only pulled, but the rights are awarded to the Goldman family. Strike one, OJ swings mightily, and misses. Still, those are some sizable nuts you’ve got there, guy.

Last week, OJ is arrested again in Nevada for criminal conspiracy, kidnapping, assault, robbery, and using a deadly weapon during the theft of some sports memorabilia he claims he owned. He walked into a casino hotel room (did you know there are cameras all over casinos? Amazing!) with some friends, all armed, and according to OJ, were there only to “perform [their] own sting operation.” Fan. Tastic. Instead they walked off with $80,000 worth of OJ memorabilia.

Was he wearing a mask? How dare you suggest cloaking the majestic glory that is the visage of Orenthal James!

Did he wait until the guy was out of his room? Skulking around is for vagabonds and hoboes! I am the Juice, conqueror of vast lands, executioner of innocents! I must walk with my thighs spread wide to accommodate the two Honda Civic-sized globes residing in my scrotum!

We are all in awe, sir.

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