O.J. and Me

    In recent weeks, I've had an overdose of O.J.  Two extended pieces on the murder of Nicole Brown Simpson and Andrew Goldman were recently shown on television, one as a dramatic reenactment, the other as documentary.  Both were excellent.
   It's hard to realize that this event and its aftermath took place over twenty years go.  It held an unpleasant mirror (up close and personal) to the faces of both black and white America.  I'm not sure either liked what was looking back at them across the racial divide.
  As a white man who came of age during the civil rights movement, I've always considered myself committed to equal justice for all.  Watching the two "O.J." series brought back images that I had either long suppressed, or simply just not thought about for a long time.  Chief among these memories was the absurdity of the Ford Bronco chase in which Simpson (supposedly armed and sucidal) and a friend traveled across the California countryside. The accompanying cortege included numerous police vehicles and  helicopters.  When the Bronco pulled off the highway, the streets were filled with enthusiastic onlookers cheering on the procession with shouts of "go Juice," and the like. To the casual (and even to the informed) onlooker, it seemed absurd that no order to intercept the Bronco had been given.  After all, hadn't the LAPD been faced with intercepting escaping felons before?  Hadn't the Rodney King beatings begun as a car chase and ended in an entire nation watching the apparently unprovoked clubbing and kicking of an unarmed and unresisting man?  When the all-white jury acquitted all the officers concerned in the beatings, it resulted in riots and lootings and black on white assaults including dragging people from their vehicles whose only offense was to be white.  When I say only, I realize that word belongs in italics.  For too many years, black people had become accustomed to two different forms of justice, a justice that was hardly blind, let alone color blind.
    What was ironic about the O.J. case, is the kid gloves (pun fully intended) with which Simpson was treated.   People being arrested on multiple murder charges are not usually allowed to turn themselves in the next day.  But then again, O.J. wasn't your ordinary citizen, black or white.  He was American royalty; a football icon, face of Hertz Rent-a-Car, movie actor.  As he himself said so well, "I'm not black, I'm O.J."  And indeed he was.  And so, the LAPD treated Simpson with the special respect it would accord any Hollywood superstar.  The trial was a tragedy of errors. Despite overwhelming forensic evidence, the prosecution found itself saddled with a lead witness, Detective Mark Furman, with a not-so-secret history of overt racism.  Once again, ironically, he had not only not acted improperly in handling and discovering evidence in the case, he had distinguished himself ion the scene and appeared on the stand as a handsome and articulate representative of LA's finest.  When asked, among other things, if he had ever used the word "nigger," his response was an unequivocal "no."  Sadly, this turned out to be not only a lie, but caused him to (presumably under lawyer's advice) to invoke his 5th Amendment privileges and refuse to answer all further questions, including one asking whether he had wanted evidence in this case.  o call this a prosecutor's worst nightmare is understating it in the extreme.
  When the defense team decided to play "the race card" (an expression made famous during that case), it was a carefully thought-out strategy.  O.J. hadn't been singled out for prosecution because he was black; he was acquitted because he was black, something a dispassionate observer would be hard-pressed to deny.   There's an old expression trial lawyers love to invoke when describing the necessary trial tactics:  "If you're weak on the facts, argue the law.  If you're weak on the law, argue the facts.  And if you're weak on both, say whatever you need to say."  The "Dream Team,"--and indeed it was--knew that adage all too well.  While the prosecution was taken to task for belatedly adding a black Assistant D.A. to its team, Robert Shapiro certainly knew what he was doing when he brought Johnnie Cochran on board.  Cochran, say what you will, was an extremely effective trial lawyer.  And while neither Shapiro nor friend, Robert Kardashian, were not known for their courtroom abilities, F. Lee Bailey and Alan Dershowitz were nothing less than household words, and an invaluable addition to any defense team.  Children, can you say "the best lawyers that money can buy?" I say that, by the way, not as criticism.  Simpson was, at the time, a very wealthy and prominent man.  Such people usually get the best defenses when on trial in capital cases.  If I could have afforded it in a similar situation, (which, fortunately, I have found myself in) I would have done the same.  Can any of us blame the defense team (whose job, after all, is to get their client off whether guilty or innocent) for putting the police on trial in such  case? Was it "nice?" No.  Fair? Probably not.  Legal?  You bet.  It was their only hope of acquittal.  What defense lawyers across the country know how to do is to plant seeds of doubt in the prosecution's case, and hope those seeds take root and become "reasonable."
   But let's get back to Mark Furman.  He had once acted as a consultant to someone making a movie about police practices.  Unfortunately for (a) him, (b) the prosecution, and (c) the cause of criminal justice, these conversations were taped by the screenwriter.  Whether he was telling the truth to the prospective screenwriter or simply playing a role he thought she might want to hear, Furman spiced his dialogue with more uses of the N-word than any gangsta-rapper ever has.  Even worse, he freely admitted to planting evidence and lying on the stand if that's what it took to get a conviction.  Once those tapes came into evidence, the case was effectively lost.  What juror couldn't justify having a "reasonable doubt" after hearing that (whether or not they actually doubted his guilt).  If a juror said to me, "how can I believe anything the police say after hearing that," dissuading such a juror would be an uphill battle that all the evidence to the contrary could (and didn't) dislodge.
   There's another old concept that has floated around the criminal courts for years, and that is "jury nullification."  You won't fond it in any casebook or court reports, but it is invoked whenever a jury doesn't want t convict.  They either don't like the law (think about marijuana prosecutions), the facts (think about a police department with a long and brutal history regarding minorities), or a defendant who symbolizes all their hopes and dreams being tried by a system that has wronged them for years (think O.J.).

Djokovic finally wins French Open via "Djoker" Slam

   There were two pretty significant things that happened this chilly Sunday afternoon in early June at the finals of the French Championships at Roland Garros.  Novak Djokovic not only became the eighth man in history to have won the so-called "career Grand Slam," (i.e. winning all four majors--Australia, French Open, Wimbledon and the U.S. Open) but did so in his fourth successive victory in a major. The last time that was done was 47 years ago by one of the sports's true legends--Rod Laver.  Indeed, only Laver (who did it twice) and Don Budge have ever done won four consecutive majors.  More remarkably, their achievements were done in a single calendar year.  Djokovic is halfway there in 2016, but--as we saw in last year's stunning upset of the great Serena Williams by journeyman player Roberta Vinci--the pressures to win a Grand Slam are enormous.  The last woman to do that was the equally great Steffi Graf.  Right now, only Steffi stands between Serena and the most majors won by a woman, but Serena (even at 34) seems to have plenty of tennis life left in her.
   If someone were to ask you what Jimmy Connors, Boris Becker, John McEnroe and Pete Sampras have in common, you would certainly be right in saying they are among the greatest players of the Open era, each of whom can lay claim to multiple victories in the Majors.  Interestingly, however, none of these court stalwarts ever won Roland Garros.  What soil erosion exists in the Red Clay of France that erodes the skills of such great champions?  To be sure, the French Open has probably hosted more champions that have only won there than at any other major.  To succeed at Roland Garros, a big serve and volley are unlikely to be nearly as determinative as they would be on the pristine grass of Wimbledon or the faster hard-court surfaces of Melbourne or Flushing Meadow.  In order to win the French Open, a player must be prepared to endure (and prevail in) endless rallies, as the red clay slows down the most powerful shots as it quickly makes new balls heavy with age.  While winners of the French Open have included many of the game's greatest players (Borg, Lendl, Federer and Nadal among others), many of its victors and finalists remain anonymous to all but the most devoted tennis aficionados. Remember when Andre Gimero beat Patrick Proisy, or when Martin Verkerk was a finalist?  Me neither.  The reason is simple.  The slow clay of Roland Garos appeals to players who concentrate on that surface.  This is why we see so many players from Spain (and elsewhere in Europe) do better there than anywhere else.  Obviously, an important exception is Rafael Nadal, who has won Major championships at all four venues (fourteen overall) including an astonishing nine at Roland Garros.  But Nadal, of course, is one of the all-time greats, second only to Roger Federer, whose seventeen major victories leads the pack.  But even the great Federer's record of seventeen--once threatened by Nadal's fourteen--is within reach of the elastic Novak Djokovic.
   As someone who has both played and rooted for tennis since I was a teen-ager, I can recall the great amateurs (and the then handful of touring professionals) who led the game in the 1950's.  I have been fortunate to have seen players like Laver, Pancho Gonzales, Tony Trabert, Ken Rosewall, Arthur Ashe and Lew Hoad.  With the advent of the Open Era in 1969, we have seen the men's game dominated by the people mentioned above.  On the women's side, we have such greats as Billie Jean King, Chris Evert, Martina Navratilova, Steffi Graf, Monica Seles and, of course, the Williams sisters.  Sadly, we will never know how great Seles might have become, had her rivalry with Graf not been truncated by her being stabbed by of a crazed Graf fan.
  But back to the amazing Djokovic, who is ever more clearly the dominant male player of the past several years.  Up until today, the French championship was the sole major to have eluded him. He was the odds-on favorite last year--especially after taking Nadal apart in the quarter-finals, only to run into a flawless Stan Wawrinka, who--after after playing in the shadow of his fellow Swiss, Roger Federer--overpowered Djokovic.  Given Djokovic's defensive skills, this is no mean feat.  Simply stated, Wawrinka played the match of his career, and well deserved his victory.  In the 2016 semifinals, Andy Murray did to Wawrinka what "Stan the Man" had done to Nole in last year's finals.      So the stage was set.  All that stood between Djokovic and history was Andy Murray, numbers one and two in the world.
   I have long believed that Murray is the single toughest opponent Djokovic can currently face.  In part, it is because their games are so similar, it can seem as if each is playing a mirror.  While Andy usually comes up short in best of five situations, that is hardly the case in two of three.  I attribute this to two things:  endurance and focus.  Djokovic is as fit as anyone who has ever picked up a racquet, and has the ability to rebound from his rare lapses in play.  Remember when he outlasted Nadal (who was then at the top of his game) at the longest final in the open era? The Australian Open finals of 2012  lasted close to six hours, with the Djoker the last man standing.  Actually, the two of them requested chairs for the trophy ceremony, as neither could remain on their feet.  Hopes of a Nadal-Djokovic semifinal this year were dashed when Rafa had to withdraw due to an injured left wrist.  With Federer already hors de combat due to an aching back,  Djokovic benefited from the weakened draw as well as challenges to his quest for history.  Unfortunately, for him. the weather did not cooperate, and he found himself having to play five matches in six days.  Fortunately, most of the matches were short, with only one going beyond three sets.  Of most interest to tennis fans was his semi-final against the up and coming Dominic Thiem, a 22 year-old slugger from Austria, who has an elegant one-handed backhand and a powerful forehand, both of which he hits with heavy topspin.  Along with Thiem's quarterfinal opponent David Goffin, the two are considered part of tennis's future.  Thiem, however, was not up to Djokovic's vast array of skills, and fell in straight sets.
  In the finals, Djokovic started like a house of fire, breaking Murray's serve at love.  But, from that point on, Murray dominated the first set, playing better and harder than the (somewhat) tentative Djokovic.  At one point, Murray had won 10 out of 11 points! But once the first set was over, Djokovic turned his game up a notch or two and gave up a total of three games over the next two sets, to take a 2-1 lead.  Djokovic continued his flawless play to go up two breaks in the fourth set, and smiled at the 5-2 cross-over.   And then, serving for the match,  Murray broke Djokovic, and went on to hold his serve. Again with victory at hand, (and no longer smiling) Djokovic successfully served for the match, the championship, and his place in history.
   And just what is that place?  If Djokovic retired tomorrow, he would already be part of the discussion as one of the game's greatest,a certain Hall-of-Famer.  As mentioned above, he becomes one of eight men to have won the career slam (along with Fred Perry, Don Budge, Laver, Roy Emerson, Federer, Nadal, and Agassi) and the first since Laver to have won all four in a row.  He's also won five out of the last six majors, and is second to Federer among active players in semi-finals and finals  reached.  He holds a winning edge over every player of any consequence including Federer and Nadal although--in fairness--Roger spots him over five important years in age.  Amazingly, however, he is far from retiring.   Indeed, he is in his prime--and at the top of his game.  And to anybody who hasn't been following tennis too closely, what a game it is.  In fact, nobody does it better.