The Juice, from Concentrate

Get it? Because concentrate comes in a can and OJ just got…forget it.

Back in 1994 when I was a wee lad in elementary school I watched the verdict from The Juice’s murder trial. This would finally put an end to the huge ordeal which pre-empted my favorite shows. The chase pre-empted the NBA Finals. The Finals! Ewing vs Olajuwon. What the hell NBC? I’ve been waiting my entire life for the Knicks to finally get by the Bulls and play in the finals and you pre-empt it with this?

That school day was better than any film strip day. My teacher turned down the lights, turned on the tv, and anxiously watched with us. I remember feeling happy, after the verdict, as though it made up for the Knicks losing the NBA finals the summer prior. I also remember numerous classmates displaying an emotion somewhere in the center of the Venn diagram of sadness, anger, and confusion. I’ll take it. I was satisfied. If only I could talk to OJ now…

Dear Juice,

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?” Leave well enough alone, man. You got off on a murder charge (note that I did not say get away with murder, big differentiation, here), do you know how lucky you were? Yeah, you lost the civil suit, which in turn stripped you of your wealth and earnings, but take it. Pare down your lifestyle, live a little more cheaply, and bide your time until you can make a semi-comeback in Naked Gun 17.

Here’s what you don’t do. You don’t break the law or making any negative news. That involves not stealing satellite, kidnapping, robbing, or publishing a book about how you “would have” committed a double murder. Yeah I know you’re broke, and pissed off every cent you make goes to the Browns and Goldmans, and even more pissed that someone else owns your sports heirlooms. I get it, Juice, you’re in a bad spot, but deal with it. Johnny Cochran’s dead. Who’s going to get you off this time? Kim Kardashian’s dad? Oh, wait, he’s also dead. You know it’s bad when the crux of your defense is “don’t judge my client on his previous trial.”

You know you were fucked, probably from the minute you pulled out the gun in the Vegas hotel. And now you’re going to jail for up to 33 years, where someone’s going to do to you what was done to Ving Rhames in Pulp Fiction. Hope you enjoy it, for at least the next nine years. Could the life you live in freedom be worse than prison?

Maybe it is, you’re broke. Maybe you’re looking forward to prison so you can get 3 squares a day. Or, like Jada says, be one of those cats who “go to jail just to get their teeth fixed.” In any case you better have some pearly whites when, or if, you ever get out.

You could’ve avoided all of this, OJ. See what happens when you marry a white girl?

Sincerely

-J

A couple of months ago CNN interviewed Nicole Brown’s father to get his reaction to the verdict. Mr. Brown took an almost perverse sense of pleasure in seeing the guilty verdict. Guess he can finally die a happy man. Wouldn’t it be ironic, though, if OJ somehow rebuilt his wealth (book deal, perhaps?) from prison, got out at the age of 94 and, for one day on his deathbed, got to be a free, rich man. Like things were before he became a household name. Maybe that’s his ultimate goal. To convince Mr. Brown that he’s ultimately vanquished his nemesis, only to return for one last day of glory.

That’d be one shitty plan.