Alfonzo Dennard

Sean Taylor was murdered on November 27, 2007. To give you some perspective on that date, just consider the following. In 2007, Above the Law was a free insert that ran in every other issue of Soldier of Fortune magazine. There, amongst the gun reviews and true tales of heroism, was David Lat’s humble legal gossip circular. In 2007, I was finishing my first semester of my second year of law school. I was taking Complex Lit or Fed Jur or Antitrust. Gearing up for all the abstract federal antitrust work I currently handle at Garbage Jobs ‘R Us, I guess? In 2007, an ounce of gold was worth two-and-a-half cents and two-and-a-half cents down could get you a house. With a pool. Or a pond. Pond would be good for you.

In 2007, Barack Obama was a Senator and David Souter was a judge. In 2007, I pissed in my bed two nights in a row. The first time was jarring, but ultimately surmountable. The second time was much more frightening as I discovered that a bed only comes with two sides that can be reasonably slept on. In 2007, the number one song was Rihanna’s “Umbrella.” It would not be until 2008 that I truly listened to this song. In 2008, my friends really hated me.

In 2007, the Indianapolis Colts beat the Chicago Bears in the Super Bowl. I was at a house party where I attacked the keg viciously and without mercy upon my arrival. Shortly after Devin Hester ran the opening kickoff back for a touchdown, I threw up in my friend’s toilet and passed out in someone’s bed. I awoke after halftime to discover that everyone hated me. This would turn out to be good training for 2008.

In 2007, Sean Taylor was murdered. This week, the trial date for his alleged murderers was set for this October.

Let’s talk sports…

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This world is absolutely crawling with DUI attorneys. You wouldn’t know it to look at this website, but it’s fairly clear out here in Amurrica that DUI attorneys outnumber other attorneys by at least a seventeen or eighteen-to-one margin. If you don’t believe me, perhaps you’ll believe Google? A search for “DUI attorney” returns over 27 million hits. Whereas a search for “clown gingivitis” only returns 638,000. So yeah, there are a ton of DUI attorneys in this world.

If you’re wondering why I’m wasting your time and mine on hilarious Google searches, it’s because this is the week that sports figures decided to get all sorts of liquored-up and go on joyrides. Well, this is the week I decided to write about sports figures getting all sorts of liquored-up and going on joyrides. Because, truthfully, athletes and those who employ them have a long history of drunk driving. I refer you to my first paragraph. Those lawyers didn’t multiply like wet Gremlins because work was hard to come by. Indeed, drunk driving is a crime that is enjoyed by a wide swath of Americans, from a young me to a slightly older me to those who aren’t even me. Now, this is not to downplay the seriousness of the crime. It’s a terribly reckless thing to do and it should be punished harshly.

Let’s talk boozin’ and cruisin’…

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Son, my turn. I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes now lookin’ over this… rap sheet of yours. I just can’t believe it. June ’93, Assault. September ’93, Assault. Grand theft auto, February ’94. Where apparently you defended yourself and had the case thrown out by citing Free Property Rights of Horse and Carriage from 1798. January ’95, impersonating an officer. Mayhem. Theft. Resisting. All overturned. I’m also aware that you’ve been through several foster homes. The state removed you from three because of serious physical abuse. You know, another judge might care, but you hit a cop. You’re going in. Motion to dismiss is denied. Fifty thousand dollar bail.

But you hit a cop. In perhaps the most riveting courtroom scene ever committed to celluloid, the judge with the push broom mustache threatens to derail Will Hunting’s promising career as a midget boxer with those five words. Luckily — and, I don’t think I have to remind any of you — Professor Gerald Lambeau (yes, the Gerald Lambeau) sees promise in the young bobby boxer and gets him out of jail.

Another Boston-area legend saw similar promise in a troubled youth who hit a cop. The legend’s name is Bill Belichick and the troubled youth’s name is Alfonzo Dennard. Just this week, Dennard was found guilty of hitting a cop. Unfortunately, there is no evidence that he has any idea how to solve advanced Fourier Systems.

Instead of continuing this strained Good Will Hunting analogy, let’s talk sports….

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I’m trying to figure out whether Lance Armstrong is relieved that Manti Te’o upstaged him this week. On one hand, all of the mean, finger-wagging columns on Lance’s lying, like this typically flatulent effort by Rick Reilly, have been pushed to the second page of the Internet by Te’o's (I’m not entirely sure I’m using the apostrophe correctly here) fake dead girlfriend. Although the internet defies all attempts to ascribe a finite supply of oxygen to any news story, there is a finite amount of attention that can be paid. And even though every news organization has dutifully assigned a writer (or moron) to cover the Lance debacle, no one much cares about it anymore. What happens to a scandal deferred? Does it dry up, like a craisin in this pun?

I think the overshadowing of the Lance Armstrong saga probably doesn’t help Armstrong at all. The vast majority of people who will have opinions about him have already formed them and those who may be swayed by a teary confession in front of Oprah now may not even be paying attention. But that’s all public opinion, which is the least of Lance’s worries at this point. And yet, public opinion is almost exclusively Manti Te’o's (seriously, these apostrophes are bothering me) worry at this point. Almost.

Let’s talk fake dead Samoan girlfriends….

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