How a sports hero became a monster
The murder trial of footballer O.J. Simpson turned true crime into must-see TV
In many ways, O.J. Simpson died the night he became a killer.
He died for real last week. Cancer ended his 76-year run on this planet, a rags-to-riches-to-infamy tale that spiralled its way through the NFL, Hollywood, Madison Avenue and then, horrifically, a 1994 double-homicide in a sleepy suburb of Los Angeles.
Simpson was acquitted in the stabbing deaths of his ex-wife, Nicole Brown, and her friend, Ron Goldman. Everyone knew that O.J. was guilty. But it didn’t take long for Simpson to give up the search for the “real killers” as he tried and failed to rehabilitate his image on a golf course or inside a themed restaurant.
A couple of years after the Trial of the Century, I asked legendary lawyer F. Lee Bailey if he regretted serving on Simpson’s Dream Team. He stared at me in silence for a bit.
His mouth finally said, “No.” His eyes screamed, “Yes.”
So how are we supposed to feel about the passing of Orenthal James Simpson? I extend my sympathies to his family, who flanked his bedside as he took his final breath this week. His family is blameless for his crimes.
We, however, will never escape the cultural consequences of Simpson’s actions.
On the night of June 12, 1994, Simpson set off a chain reaction that disfigured our sense of fame, entertainment and justice.
Five days after the murder, after an arrest warrant was issued, the White Bronco chase was a harbinger for how culture was hurtling down the wrong street in slo-mo. Over the next two hours, motorists pulled over on 91 Freeway. Impromptu gawkers lined the shoulders and overpasses with signs such as, “Go O.J.!” News choppers aired live footage of the pursuit.
An accused murderer morphed into a morbid curiosity.
More people watched the White Bronco chase than the Super Bowl that year.
It only got worse.
When the criminal trial started on Jan. 24, 1995, there were cameras in the courtroom. They beamed the daily proceedings via satellite to millions of viewers around the world as Judge Lance Ito presided without control.
A true crime was now must-see TV. It felt like fiction. Nearly three decades later, the cast — including Marcia Clark, Johnnie Cochran, Robert Shapiro, Mark Fuhrman, Robert Kardashian, Christopher Darden, Kato Kaelin — are characters forever trapped in our minds.
This wasn’t a trial so much as a flashbulb memory and spectacle for the ages.
The real mourning should be saved for the storm clouds Simpson’s actions placed over society. His trial was the first reality show.
But his relentless denial of reality is now a fixture, not a bug, for politicians and public figures.
Everything that is wrong today — an obsession with fame, the juxtaposition between money and justice, the reimagining of the legal system as entertainment, conspiracy theories — can be traced back to that bonkers trial.
So how are we supposed to feel about the passing of O.J. Simpson?
We should not feel sorry for him, not after what he did. The man had it all and fumbled it. In doing so, the Heisman Trophy became a glove that didn’t fit. The “Naked Gun” movies became a bloody knife. The once-celebrated cleats became Bruno Magli shoes. The commercials for Hertz became the White Bronco. The Hall of Fame became The Hall of Shame.
That is O.J.’s legacy: From hero to monster, from role model to cautionary tale.
O.J. Simpson never took responsibility for what he did in 1994, even after a civil lawsuit later found him responsible for the deaths of Nicole and Ron. I still can’t unsee some of the crime scene photos. The mother of his children was practically decapitated.
It is unbecoming to speak ill of the dead. But I make an exception today because the world is a better place without The Juice. Though he later served nine years in prison over unrelated charges of kidnapping and armed robbery involving sports memorabilia, he never served a day for killing two human beings. No amount of time can wash away this savage and repulsive crime.
Not even death can resuscitate his reputation.
Simpson was one of the best running backs in football. But he could never outrun his demons. He was a decent actor. But he could not find a script to explain his indecency. He was a gifted pitchman. But his powers of persuasion vanished when he killed. What an utter waste. What a tragedy of his own making. Farewell, Orenthal James Simpson. You will not be missed.