Outrage by Vincent Bugliosi

insipid remarks made by these talking heads (“The prosecution has no case without the domestic violence evidence” “Johnnie Cochran bringing out that the LAPD hadn’t found the murder weapon was just superb cross-examination” “O.J.’s elderly mother is sitting in the courtroom, and I doubt the prosecution’s evidence will be able to overcome that type of emotional pull with the jury toward O.J.” etc.). In fact, they seemed to have a sweet tooth for silliness.
    One story I would like to relate is of a conversation I had with one of the law professors near the start of the case. I was pointing out to the professor how Simpson’s having bled all over his car and home on the night of the murders made his guilt obvious. The professor, with the innocence of a child in its crib and without batting an eye, brushed my observation aside with these words: “Oh,” the professor said, “the defense has that covered. They’re going to say O.J. cut himself on his cellular phone.” To the professor, as long as the defense had
some
answer for the blood, that was all that was needed to solve the problem. Whether the story was believable or not (that Simpson innocently cut himself very badly around the very same time of the murders) apparently never entered the professor’s mind. Yet the professor, with this quality of thinking, was on radio and TV, and was quoted in the newspapers as much as or more than any other analyst during the entire Simpson trial.
    One of the amusing things about the talking heads as well as the print analysts (some talking heads did both) was that everything happening in court was “critical,” devastating,” “pivotal,” or “disastrous.” And they trotted out these adjectives (and continued to use them) from the very beginning of the trial. Listening to these people, if this had been a professional fight, both fighters would have been knocked out by the middle of the first round. I also found it amusing that although jurors for the most part sit wooden in the jury box during a trial, believing, like participants in a black-tie poker game, that they are never supposed to change their expressions, the talking heads were reading the jurors’ minds almost every night.
    Before we move on, let me present what I believe will prove the utter incompetence of the talking heads. As I’ve indicated, most were previously known only to their immediate families. Among those who were known, at least in the legal community, was a former prosecutor and U.S. attorney from back east who was on constantly and was quite passionate about his views. Near the beginning of the trial, when all we had seen of Cochran was his completely improper and inferior opening statement (see the Epilogue), as well as his nonexistent cross-examination skills, this lawyer was opining on what a superb lawyer Cochran was and about all the concerns he’d have over facing Cochran in court. What that instantly told me, of course, was this was a .200 hitter being impressed by a .250 hitter. Not that I needed one more speck of confirmation, but after the verdict, when the
L.A. Times
asked me and three other prosecutors, including this former prosecutor, to write a statement on how we would have handled the case differently, I set forth some of what I say in Chapters 4 and 5 of this book, where I point out the absolutely astounding, shocking, and incredible errors made by the prosecutors in this case. But this prosecutor wrote: “I don’t have an answer for that question.” He later added: “I think they did a damn good job under horrible circumstances.” In other words, as far as this former prosecutor was concerned, the prosecutors in the Simpson case were superb prosecutors who did all they could. I didn’t have to read what he wrote to convince me he was a .200 hitter. I already knew. Yes, to that former prosecutor, Cochran
was
a hell of a lawyer. And this particular talking head was one of the stars of the talking head