Somewhere in the United States is a village that's missing its idiot.
That vacancy exists because the lightning rod figure of a pariah that is O.J. Simpson is locked up in Las Vegas, awaiting sentencing on Dec. 5 after being convicted of kidnapping and robbing two sports memorabilia dealers at gunpoint in the hotel room of a casino.
While Simpson's lawyers are citing judicial errors and insufficient evidence as the basis for a new trial for the guy most of white America thinks brutally murdered his ex-wife and her friend (and much of black America believes was framed like a wedding picture), the former football star and B-list actor sits in jail.
In addition to Simpson besmirching the already debauched reputation of Sin City with his boneheaded decision to grab some of his armed buddies and play a perverted Robin Hood role, he has further cemented his legendary reputation as the luckiest man on earth -- a man who has the uncanny ability to repeatedly snatch defeat out of the jaws of one questionable victory after another.
One day, you're the king of divots, hacking up another golf course; happily dating outside of your race, because that's where you're most comfortable; carefully nurturing your relationship with your two children that is likely as dysfunctional as a watch is functional; and spending your lien-free monthly football pension to your heart's desire -- mostly by playing golf.
Speaking of which, I've seen your swing, O.J., and let's just say Tiger Woods has nothing to worry about.
O.J., you're free to do almost whatever you want, while keeping an eye open for some guy who can't fight the feeling to exact vigilante justice for you killing Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman, which includes making a lame and unsuccessful attempt to become an author. In your ingenuity, you decide to pen a book titled If I Did It, in which you offer a purportedly hypothetical description of the murders. However, as a part of the civil trial that you lost in August 2007, a bankruptcy court awarded the book rights to the Goldman family to help satisfy that outstanding civil judgment.
Given your short-lived crash-and-burn literary career, Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling is as safe as Tiger Woods.
You're free to do these things after having escaped murder convictions because of a perfect storm -- a storm that featured an ingenious lawyer who's now no longer with us (and whom I personally still think the world of) who convinced a jury that there wasn't enough evidence to convict you of murder back in the mid-90s; a storm that embarrassed and undermined a racist cop named Mark Fuhrman who had the temerity and myopia to even testify; and a jury that, in retrospect, probably was alternately mesmerized, intimidated and confused by the international spectacle that was your trial.
Despite that whirlwind of chaotic life, you're still alive, O.J. And alive with a lingering, significant amount of support from the very African American community you long since dissociated yourself from, a community that by and large saw your trial as an opportunity for a black man to receive "justice" on behalf of the thousands of African American men who have been wrongly accused and incarcerated, their lives shattered and families torn apart.
And you go play Mr. Bad Ass by seeking to get back your personal possessions with guys who, in some cases, it appears, you knew just a little better than I know them? I understand your reluctance to call the cops to intervene on your behalf.
Generally speaking, your relationship with the law enforcement community is nothing to be proud of, but instead highly cautious about.
That reality notwithstanding, on the strength of the comedy of errors that has become your life at your own hands, your boneheaded decision to barge into that hotel room barking orders like Gen. George Patton leads me to reinforce the irreversible conclusion I arrived at when you were first accused of two murders: O.J. Simpson is an idiot, a fool, a half-wit, an imbecile and a numskull. Take your pick.
If I'm Simpson attorney Yale Galanter, at this point (healthy retainer notwithstanding), I'm wondering why I represent The World's Biggest Loser. Irrespective of Galanter's commitment to his profession and belief that every American deserves the best representation that money can buy, Galanter might be wise to give some thought to expanding his practice to rural America.
There, he's likely to find more than a few respectable people in dire need of high-quality legal representation for a host of cases.
Consequently, Galanter can still feel good about himself and reduce his travel expenses, for at least the idiots in those villages were smart enough to screw up closer to home and not subject the rest of us to behavior that reminds us of the sub-moronic and indefensible actions that define O.J. Simpson's miserable life.