We are caught up in the hustle and flow of Simpson’s boundless arrogance

O.J. Simpson couldn't help himself.

Sure, he'd been cuffed and stuffed by Metro as a robbery and kidnapping suspect and was on his way to jail, but that was no reason not to smile for the cameras.

And there are always a lot of cameras on the Juice.

The smirk was unmistakable. Every deadbeat dad and boozy, aging frat boy has it down pat. It's a grin that says, "I'm a consummate screw-up, baby, but I've still got it and you still love me."

At 60, a time most folks have settled down, or at the very least, stopped using a sycophant posse to do their bidding, Simpson acts like a delusional former child star. His sense of entitlement is boundless. But this star has bloodstains that won't wash off.

That's what makes the irony of his Las Vegas legal quagmire so irresistible. After beating the rap for a grisly double murder, he could actually take a felony fall for actions related to pimping his celebrity in the memorabilia racket. I can almost hear his fellow inmates now: "Hey, Juice, will you sign my orange jumpsuit?"

Capone was nabbed for taxes. Why not trip up the Juice on a slapstick robbery-kidnap beef? It might not be American justice, but it is the poetic kind.

This case figures to generate more rats than a Pfizer lab. Surely the boneheads who accompanied Simpson on his frat boy foray won't be willing to do jail time for the Juice. Metro sources confirm some defendants are already cooperating.

Simpson is a cross between a broken-down jock and the devil incarnate. Those seeking a definition of a sociopath need look no further for an example.

And we have ourselves to blame for helping to make him what he is today. Top athletes have enjoyed immeasurable privilege since ancient times, and the fact Simpson got away with murder can be linked not to bloody gloves that didn't fit, but to America's celebrity obsession.

For years, Simpson was one of white America's few acceptable black guys. He was the handsome, well-spoken superstar, the wealthy television pitchman, the working actor. Country clubs that shunned black patrons welcomed O.J. like a favorite son with a Florida tan.

When he fell from grace, he was easy to cast as a black devil. Simpson was Jack Johnson with better lawyers.

Because celebrity devils are big news, Simpson's idiotic, strong-arm attempt to reclaim his property has inflated into an international story that temporarily replaced the Iraq war and record home foreclosure rates as the top story of the day. This side of a jail cell, O.J. must love every minute of it.

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Outside the Regional Justice Center after Wednesday morning's bail hearing, Simpson defense attorneys Yale Galanter and Gabriel Grasso ate up the spotlight. In a courthouse brimming with real human tragedy, with baby killers and drug dealers on trial, the national press scrambled for the slightest scrap of the Simpson saga. A nonevent bail hearing was given more coverage than the latest death toll in Baghdad.

On the crowded sidewalk, local attorney John Foley paused long enough during his morning stroll to peer from under his straw hat and shake his head. At 80, the gentleman lawyer is one of the senior members of the Nevada bar. He hasn't seen commotion like this since the Binion trial.

"Now, the whole system will be bogged down for not-that-significant of a crime," Foley said. "It's very bad. There are all these other things we should be doing."

Back in the press gathering, Galanter was flanked by a carnival rube with a grin full of cavities and a cap that read "I (heart) Famous People." The fellow was downright giddy.

There were plenty of freaks to go around: the character in the chicken suit, the Jimi Hendrix knockoff, the cavemen, the lobbyist for Jesus, the folks hawking juice, the anti-Simpson T-shirt wearers, the guy touting Sophia Maria's new recording "Twisted Game," and the sign-toting Internet entrepreneurs. But Mr. "I (heart) Famous People" was my favorite.

We're more like him than we want to admit. To lesser and greater extents, most of us are fascinated by a rotten guy with a wicked smile.

After all these years, O.J. Simpson, America's smirking sociopath, just can't help himself.

Unfortunately, neither can we.

John L. Smith's column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0295.