O.J: MADE IN AMERICA — WHAT WOULD ALI, JIM BROWN AND BILL RUSSELL THINK?

Orenthal James Simpson isn’t Black.

He may not have seen himself as White, but sometime during his heyday at USC and immediately thereafter, he most certainly did not, would not or could not see himself as an African-American.

Bad for business.

Bad for life.

And not gonna be happenin’ for The Juice — his family, brethren and nay-sayers be damned.

“I’m O.J.

I’m O.J. Simpson.

I’m The Juice.”

That egomaniacal twisted thinking, in and of itself, should have been enough.

It wasn’t.

Michael Jordan was and is still entrepreneurial. He sold sneakers to Blacks and Whites. No problem there and Nike sighed, “whew, thank you. We won this one.”

LeBron and Nike have negotiated the biggest endorsement deals known to man. All good. After all, this is America.

But these gentlemen, not exactly mouthpieces of any sort trumpeting Black rights, at least know what they see when the mirror’s reflection shines back at them.

They see proud African- American men as well they should.

Not O.J.

That irreparably cracked mirror has brought him a lot more than 7 years of bad luck.

Where is it written that one must stand up for one’s own?

Some folks are naturally inclined toward this proclivity and some are simply not wired that way.

To many “family” — nuclear first and then encompassing tight circles of friends — occupies the second rung on the ladder, right after God or religion.

The foundation of this mind-set is mixed & poured during one’s upbringing, starting inside the home and reinforced outside, on the street as it were.

Somewhere along the line if not right from the get-go, there must be a demonstrable willingness to accept and then practice this philosophy.

Sure there can be a bit of uncertainty and wavering — that’s called thinking.

And thinking, examining & analyzing are always good provided that this is not overdone, leading to stagnation or apathy.

O.J. did plenty of thinking and then none at all.

He loved his mother but was likely shamed by his homosexual father.

When he recognized that he was a premier ball-carrier and could become one of the best ever, all bets were off.

[Editor’s Note: His pass-catching ability out of the backfield was a bit suspect — questionable hands — and his unnatural golf swing clearly provided fodder for unmerciful kidding among his rich, White exclusive country club golf-playing cronies, all of whom were corporate giants, titans of industry and legal mega-stars].

He threw off his perceived shackles with a vengeance.

The White world would be his for the taking. Money, fame, prestige and even idolatry. Nothing could stop him, just as though he was bouncing off would-be tacklers and racing down the sideline.

Because he is The Juice.

He’s O.J.

He isn’t Black — he is O.J.

O.J.’s self-perceptions buttressed immeasurably by his fame and fortune allowed him to get away with plenty.

Never mind the endless womanizing and cheating, the gratis this and comped that, the — perhaps incomprehensible to some — deep and unconditional support and reverence of the black community, the very people on whom he had turned his back.

He was a serial batterer moving along with barely a slap on the wrist or worse — not even a sideways glance — from law enforcement for a very long time.

For what surely seemed like an eternity to his prey.

An avalanche was building. Snowballs of abuse were becoming more frequent, larger and beginning to gain speed and force. He was behaving with impunity and it was intoxicating to him.

He must have thought that he could get away with murder.

After all, this is The Juice we’re talking about here.

He was right.

Muhammad Ali, born Cassius Marcellus Clay, was the greatest boxer who ever lived but what made him a global icon was his life outside the ring.

Between the ropes and away from the gym the world has never seen anything like him.

Jim Brown — Jimmy Brown to me no matter how old he gets — was a legend on the field and is legendary off it.

As a football player he was a supreme being — big, strong, fast and tough. Tireless too. He was the model, the prototype, the template.

But this was never enough for him. He walked away from the game while he was still in his prime. He valued his health but it wasn’t just that.

The world was bigger than football, bigger than a game.

Any game.

The real world was fraught with peril, plagued by deep human problems, so much so that humanity itself was constantly at risk.

People had to speak out and then vigorously back it up to effect change.

People had to act.

William Felton Russell, simply stated, was the most prodigious winner in the history of team sports. Ever. In the world.

And albeit perhaps less visibly he was a human rights activist on the order of Ali, Brown and Arthur Ashe…

“The guys during that era who were celebrities and used their celebrity to the greatest good to try to define equality among mankind. They were very much leaders in that,” Hall of Fame Basketball member Bob Lanier noted.

What is it that makes people so different?

Surely a far too complex question to cogently answer in these pages.

And my stance is simply mine.

Marcellus Wiley — named for the former Clay — a 1997 Columbia University graduate and veteran of 10 NFL seasons stated on an ESPN segment hosted by Cari Champion and featuring renowned community activist Danny Bakewell, that though O.J. was no Ali, Brown or Russell, “he moved the ball downfield” for the Black community.

My response to that assessment would be to ask how it is possible to advance a cause by turning one’s back.

After the famed White Bronco (“chase”) debacle — the best thing to happen to the Ford Motor Company since Henry Ford incidentally — the streets were lined at Rockingham with Blacks, Whites and Latinos chanting, “Free O.J.!!! Free O.J.!!!”

Remarkable to me still.

O.J.’s response while shoehorned between two burly agents of the law in the back seat of an unmarked vehicle slowly wending its way out of his estate?

“What are all these niggers doin’ in Brentwood?”

I’m not sure what Ali, Brown or Russell thought or think about The Juice.

But I bet each man would be relieved and forever grateful that he never thought like Orenthal James Simpson.

[Editor’s Note: This piece was written by Mr. Kaplan in June 2016.]