November 22, 2006
O.J., Rupert and abject assholery
I’m not saying I would have watched O.J. Simpson on the Fox Network next Monday and Wednesday night. I’m not saying I would have set my cable box to record his two-hour interview.
I’m not saying I would have sat down on my couch with a can of Pringles and a Miller High Life. I’m just saying that if I had done so, that’s how it would have gone. I’m also not saying that I did have my picture taken kneeling beside O.J. in 1977. I’m just saying that if I did, this is what it looked like.
I was only 11. Since then, I have met O.J. many times. The last time was nearly 20 years ago. I wouldn’t say we were friends. It’s not like we ever smacked a woman together or anything. I doubt he would remember me if he saw me again.
Still, I remember him, not only as a shameless womanizer but also as a football player. Sure, he killed his children’s mother and her companion in a gruesome mêlée, but boy howdy he was one heck of a running back. In 1973 he rushed for 2,003 yards in a 14-game season with the Buffalo Bills, who at the time fielded the feeblest roster in football with one notable exception. O.J. remains, in my mind, the best pure runner of football’s modern era—better than Jim Brown, better than Gayle Sayers, better even than Barry Sanders. He was so good that, as far as I’m concerned, he can butcher everyone in Beverly Hills and get away with it. I don’t like effete L.A. snots, anyway. Not unless they’re Heisman Trophy winners.
All right. I’m being sarcastic—not about the football part, but about the killing-people part. Of course I don’t actually believe that possessing rare athletic talent gives anyone the right to kill people, and of course even people in Los Angeles have a right to live (as long as they stay the hell out of San Diego). I actually feel a little bit guilty about still being a huge O.J. fan, but I can’t help it. I always have been. So were most of you right up until June 12, 1994. Until then you didn’t know he was capable of brutality. You didn’t know anything about him until he leapt upon two defenseless people in the dark and slew them. You don’t know a ladder has splinters until you slide down it. (I don’t know what that means, but former NFL coach Bum Phillips once said it and I’ve been dying to quote him for a long time.)
That was then; this is now. I know there are still a few people who believe that O.J. did not kill Nicole Brown and Ronald Goldman. They’re mostly the same people who believe that Wesley Snipes did not file fraudulent tax returns. The rest of us, however, know the truth, and a significant number of us are compelled by maudlin curiosity to hear that truth graphically spelled out, albeit hypothetically. Shame on us. I am no moral authority. I have no right to preach. Y’all can do whatever you like and I am in no position to criticize you, so you can ignore this next missive if you wish, but I’m going to write it anyway: If you had planned to spend an hour of your life on Nov. 27 and another hour on Nov. 29 watching O.J. Simpson talk about how he “would have” murdered his ex-wife and her boy toy, you’re an asshole.
If you are, don’t worry. You’re in plentiful company. There are gazillions of assholes who want to hear O.J. talk about that heinous night. They are the reason that O.J.’s publisher, Harper Collins, was so confident that the book about which Judith Regan planned to interview O.J. on Fox would fly off the shelves when it was released. They are also the reason that Rupert Murdoch and the smug, slimy scumbags who run his empire initially had no compunction whatsoever about airing two hours of programming to help a murdering narcissist promote himself during sweeps week. Had it happened, tens of millions of Americans would have watched O.J. and they would have gone to work and said things to one another like, “Oh my God! Can you believe that guy! He should be ashamed of himself!” They would not have reflected upon who should really be ashamed of whose self.
Since they can’t do so now, I’ll tease the assholes with a snippet from the If I Did It publisher’s release. In it O.J. writes, “I’m going to tell you a story you’ve never heard before, because no one knows this story the way I know it. I want you to forget everything you think you know about that night, because I know the facts better than anyone.”
I’m sure he’s right, but I know some facts myself. It’s a fact that the only reason I and the rest of you assholes (you know who you are) would have gotten the opportunity to avail ourselves of such an extraordinary opportunity for assholery is because Murdoch’s News Corporation, which owns both Fox and Harper Collins, was disgracefully willing to pander to the basest elements of our natures—that is, up until the hue and cry from those whose natures aren’t so base.
Here’s what Murdoch said about his change of course: “I and senior management agree with the American public that this was an ill-considered project. We are sorry for any pain that this has caused the families of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson.” Now I’m not saying that a man whose company would have published and aired such a travesty has no business claiming he didn’t know about it all along. I’m just saying that if that’s the case, he’s an asshole, an even bigger asshole than me.
O.J., Rupert and abject assholery
I’m not saying I would have watched O.J. Simpson on the Fox Network next Monday and Wednesday night. I’m not saying I would have set my cable box to record his two-hour interview.
I’m not saying I would have sat down on my couch with a can of Pringles and a Miller High Life. I’m just saying that if I had done so, that’s how it would have gone. I’m also not saying that I did have my picture taken kneeling beside O.J. in 1977. I’m just saying that if I did, this is what it looked like.I was only 11. Since then, I have met O.J. many times. The last time was nearly 20 years ago. I wouldn’t say we were friends. It’s not like we ever smacked a woman together or anything. I doubt he would remember me if he saw me again.
Still, I remember him, not only as a shameless womanizer but also as a football player. Sure, he killed his children’s mother and her companion in a gruesome mêlée, but boy howdy he was one heck of a running back. In 1973 he rushed for 2,003 yards in a 14-game season with the Buffalo Bills, who at the time fielded the feeblest roster in football with one notable exception. O.J. remains, in my mind, the best pure runner of football’s modern era—better than Jim Brown, better than Gayle Sayers, better even than Barry Sanders. He was so good that, as far as I’m concerned, he can butcher everyone in Beverly Hills and get away with it. I don’t like effete L.A. snots, anyway. Not unless they’re Heisman Trophy winners.
All right. I’m being sarcastic—not about the football part, but about the killing-people part. Of course I don’t actually believe that possessing rare athletic talent gives anyone the right to kill people, and of course even people in Los Angeles have a right to live (as long as they stay the hell out of San Diego). I actually feel a little bit guilty about still being a huge O.J. fan, but I can’t help it. I always have been. So were most of you right up until June 12, 1994. Until then you didn’t know he was capable of brutality. You didn’t know anything about him until he leapt upon two defenseless people in the dark and slew them. You don’t know a ladder has splinters until you slide down it. (I don’t know what that means, but former NFL coach Bum Phillips once said it and I’ve been dying to quote him for a long time.)
That was then; this is now. I know there are still a few people who believe that O.J. did not kill Nicole Brown and Ronald Goldman. They’re mostly the same people who believe that Wesley Snipes did not file fraudulent tax returns. The rest of us, however, know the truth, and a significant number of us are compelled by maudlin curiosity to hear that truth graphically spelled out, albeit hypothetically. Shame on us. I am no moral authority. I have no right to preach. Y’all can do whatever you like and I am in no position to criticize you, so you can ignore this next missive if you wish, but I’m going to write it anyway: If you had planned to spend an hour of your life on Nov. 27 and another hour on Nov. 29 watching O.J. Simpson talk about how he “would have” murdered his ex-wife and her boy toy, you’re an asshole.
If you are, don’t worry. You’re in plentiful company. There are gazillions of assholes who want to hear O.J. talk about that heinous night. They are the reason that O.J.’s publisher, Harper Collins, was so confident that the book about which Judith Regan planned to interview O.J. on Fox would fly off the shelves when it was released. They are also the reason that Rupert Murdoch and the smug, slimy scumbags who run his empire initially had no compunction whatsoever about airing two hours of programming to help a murdering narcissist promote himself during sweeps week. Had it happened, tens of millions of Americans would have watched O.J. and they would have gone to work and said things to one another like, “Oh my God! Can you believe that guy! He should be ashamed of himself!” They would not have reflected upon who should really be ashamed of whose self.
Since they can’t do so now, I’ll tease the assholes with a snippet from the If I Did It publisher’s release. In it O.J. writes, “I’m going to tell you a story you’ve never heard before, because no one knows this story the way I know it. I want you to forget everything you think you know about that night, because I know the facts better than anyone.”
I’m sure he’s right, but I know some facts myself. It’s a fact that the only reason I and the rest of you assholes (you know who you are) would have gotten the opportunity to avail ourselves of such an extraordinary opportunity for assholery is because Murdoch’s News Corporation, which owns both Fox and Harper Collins, was disgracefully willing to pander to the basest elements of our natures—that is, up until the hue and cry from those whose natures aren’t so base.
Here’s what Murdoch said about his change of course: “I and senior management agree with the American public that this was an ill-considered project. We are sorry for any pain that this has caused the families of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson.” Now I’m not saying that a man whose company would have published and aired such a travesty has no business claiming he didn’t know about it all along. I’m just saying that if that’s the case, he’s an asshole, an even bigger asshole than me.
1 comment:
Good post.
Post a Comment