Enough! Our synapses have fused from the combined heat of outrage and overload. The O.J. Simpson trial is a howling Roman circus, with lawyers on both flanks as its ringmasters, clowns, elephants, acrobats and barkers. If this farce passes as responsible jurisprudence, the editors of this newspaper can pass as the Rockettes.
Morning after torturous morning, with our every forkful of breakfast, the legal rugbeaters are at it on television, flaying yet another sensationalistic mote out of this miserable affair. Now it's the glove. Somebody is accusing somebody else of having picked the bloody thing up here, moved it over there, and miscarried justice into the bargain.
Justice? At what tavern have these imposters been swilling such bootleg notions of justice? There was a time when members of the legal profession showed a passing interest in professional ethics — thought about it, wrote about it, and occasionally even practiced a little of it. A client's case was something to be researched in the law library, argued in the courtroom, and stuffed into a briefcase until the next day.
All relics now. A lawyer can't try a case these days without engaging a media consultant to arrange press conferences, a spin doctor to make lies sound like Sunday school lessons, and a script writer to make a not-guilty plea resonate like a blast from Pericles.
Well, now they are silenced, the whole boiling lot of them. We have turned off the television, unplugged it from the wall, locked it in a closet and dismantled the rooftop antenna. Beginning this morning, the Simpson circus is not permitted to come honking and thumping through our kitchen, rattling our composure and curdling our grits. Breakfast, we discover, goes down fine without O.J.