If the trial happened in 2004 instead of 1995, Simpson and his gravity-defying noggin probably would be rotting away in prison right now. He couldn't have survived the overwhelming DNA evidence. The science is the same, but thanks to the startling popularity of "CSI" and "CSI: Miami," forensics doesn't seem nearly as complicated today as it did in the mid-'90s, when scientists wasted entire days of the trial simply explaining the basics of DNA evidence to the jurors. Of course, those efforts were completely wasted, as evidenced by the words of one juror after the trial:

"I didn't understand the DNA stuff at all. To me, it was just a waste of time. It was way out there and carried no weight with me."

Keep in mind: Blood was found at the crime scene, dripping on the left side of the footprints leaving the area (and yes, O.J. had an unexplained cut on his left hand). There was a 1-in-57 billion chance that the blood did not belong to O.J. There was blood in the Bronco, blood on the rear gate, blood on O.J.'s socks (found in his bedroom at home), blood on the gloves (one left at the crime scene, the other dropped behind Kato's guest house at the Rockingham estate). In each case, the odds were in the millions and billions that the aforementioned blood didn't belong to Simpson, his ex-wife or Ron Goldman. This would have been the most boring episode of "CSI" ever; Gil Grissom might have sent O.J. packing in 10 minutes.

But this was 10 years ago. Only educated people understood the ramifications of the DNA evidence ... and educated people have a way of being bounced off juries. Faced with overwhelming evidence against their client, Simpson's defense team embarked on a two-pronged strategy, setting out to prove that the incompetent LAPD mishandled much of the blood evidence -- which it had, to some extent -- because they were so consumed with trying to frame Simpson with the murders, because they hated African-Americans.

Think about that for a second.

On the one hand, the defense argued the LAPD was completely incompetent, so you couldn't possibly trust the DNA evidence. On the other hand, they played the race card, arguing the LAPD was calculating enough to arrive at a crime scene and, within about 10 minutes of digesting what had happened, hatch a convoluted plan to frame Simpson because he was African-American ... even though they didn't have any idea if he had an alibi or was even in the country at the time.

Does that make any sense? Of course not. But it worked. Because Mark Furhman lied on the stand about using racial slurs, apparently that meant he planted the second glove at O.J.'s house. Poor Dennis Fung, the hapless doctor who handled the blood evidence after the murders, was demolished for nine consecutive days by maniacal defense attorney Barry Scheck, then suffered the further ignominy of having the defense team hug him and shake his hand after his testimony ended. Sorry we called you a liar and insinuated that you framed our client ... we're just doing our jobs, no hard feelings.

That's how ridiculous this trial was. The defense had no case -- if anything, they just sat back like Bernard Hopkins, waited for the prosecution to screw up and pounced on every mistake. They presented no alibis, no other suspects, no semblance of a defense that related to O.J. as a person. And when all else failed, they brought out the race card and smashed it over everyone's heads. Consequences be damned.

Fortunately for the defense, the LAPD started mangling this case from the moment they arrived in Brentwood.

[...]

When Simpson was found responsible for the murders in the civil trial -- ordered to pay $33.5 million to the Brown and Goldman families -- some believed this made up for the criminal trial. I don't see it. He's still walking the streets. Still playing golf. Still giving interviews. Still living a lie. And even though he has to turn all income over to the families, he still lives a decent lifestyle off his NFL pension. Most of his friends deserted him, and he's somewhat of a social pariah, but anything's better than prison.

More importantly, nothing could erase the damage of his criminal trial, the wounds that opened across the nation. Again, you had to be there. Had to be standing in a group of people, hearing the verdict delivered, seeing O.J.'s face light up, feeling the life sink from your body. You had to glance around the room, seeing your friends or co-workers staring blankly at the television in disbelief. This was Generation X's defining "I remember exactly where I was when it happened" moment, our version of JFK's assassination. You couldn't think of something to say that could match the moment, so you didn't even try. There were no words.

Minutes after the verdict was announced, we learned something disheartening: The chasm between whites and blacks in this country was more pronounced than anyone imagined. As TV stations started showing various reactions to the verdict around the country, those images confirmed everything we refused to believe for 15 months. The defense was right. This trial wasn't about a double-murder, it was about a distressing racial divide, a legacy of mistrust between blacks and whites.


The O.J. trial taught us one thing, we are still a racially divided nation.
At the time, many African-Americans had trouble trusting police, lawyers, the legal process as a whole ... too many of their own people had been railroaded or mistreated over the years, personified by the revolting images from the Rodney King beating and the subsequent acquittal of the policemen involved. These scars affected every facet of Simpson's defense: the jury selection, the defense, even the verdict. When the system acquitted a clearly culpable man, some of these same African-Americans rejoiced upon hearing the news. One of their own had finally beaten the system. Didn't matter how.

And yes, some blacks believed O.J. was guilty, just like some whites believed he was innocent. But those weren't the images that television chose to show us. And that remains the legacy of the trial, that astonishing moment when the verdict was announced -- My God, he's going to walk -- followed by many blacks celebrating like they won the Super Bowl, many whites recoiling in horror, O.J. and his team rejoicing, and saddest of all, Kim Goldman and her father sobbing uncontrollably. Ten years later, that image of the Goldmans endures over everything else, a sobering reminder of two brutal murders, of the mounds of evidence pointing to one man, of a trial that evolved into something else.

Ten years later, we're still picking up the pieces.

[Thanks to Ves for the link]