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As entertainment, it was wonderful. I give it a hearty thumbs up. Let me know when the DVD is released.
As reality TV, it was terrific. It was funnier than Ozzy, smarter than Anna Nicole. Turn it into a series, I say.
As courtroom drama, however, the trial of Adrian McPherson, or to be accurate, the mistrail, left a lot to be desired.
A verdict, for one thing.
Substance, for another.
Oh, don't get me wrong. I loved watching the case of McPherson, the former FSU quarterback who, thanks to his years of athletic training and focus, actually managed to stay awake while attorneys played volleyball with his legacy.
It was funny. It was loud. And it was a rare chance to spend hours, literally hours, watching journalists seated behind McPherson dig into their ears with their pens. A treat for the entire family, I call it.
On the other hand, it was empty.
The problem with what we heard last week was, well, what we didn't hear. No one asked any of the real questions. No one provided any of the real answers. No one, especially the commentators, seemed to get the point.
Here's what we want to know about Adrian McPherson:
Did he throw the North Carolina State game?
What did FSU know, what did it want to know, and when?
What are the odds McPherson knows Rick Neuheisel?
This case wasn't about any of that. It was about whether McPherson participated in Internet gambling.
That's troubling, of course, and if I had been a juror, I would have been convinced. (Five of the six jurors were. The other guy must be the dentist who doesn't recommend Trident.) Still, this was not quite a stroll through the sordid underbelly of college athletics.
It must have been this way watching Al Capone on trial for tax evasion. All anyone wanted to know was the juicy stuff, and the prosecution kept pointing out how he missed filing by the deadline.
Still, it was a hoot. It was one of those trials in which you are sure you could have done a better job than everyone involved, especially the jury, and you'd probably be right.
Take, for instance, Court TV anchor Nancy Grace (think Brent Musberger), a very serious woman with hair two sizes too big for her head. Grace kept grimly intoning about "the star quarterback." Star quarterback? The kid started four games. His body of work, somehow, failed to move Heisman voters.
Then, there was the opposite approach. It was Rikki Kleiman (think Pat Haden) who wondered what the big deal was if McPherson had wagered on his team. "Isn't that like investing in your own company?" she wondered.
What's the big deal? You tell us, Rikki. You're the ones who have it on television.
As far as the question about betting on your team, it's very different from investing in your company. When it's third and 11, a team needs to know that a quarterback is thinking of his playmaker, not his bookmaker.
What Court TV's commentators failed to realize is that, in athletics, gambling is one of the deadly sins. No sport can survive if its fans question the outcome. Gambling raises doubts.
In a society in which many people play the lottery, where many wager lunch on a game, is it that big a deal? Answer: Yes, it is. And athletes know it.
Oh, and one more thing. It's Bowden. Not Bo-den. Just thought you'd like to know.
Ah, what fun this was. As trials go, it was a lot less O.J. Simpson than it was Homer.
You had a coach, FSU's Bobby Bowden, who was clearly annoyed to be there. Maybe Bowden was concerned someone would ask him to point out McPherson, and McPherson wasn't wearing his jersey, so who knew?
You had a prosecutor, Georgia Cappleman, literally fawning over Bowden. Poor Georgia. She looked like she was unsure whether to ask a question or ask for an autograph.
You had a defender, the beautifully bombastic Grady Irvin, objecting to oxygen. You couldn't help but feel sorry for the witnesses once Irvin started yelling at them.
"Have you ever used McPherson's cell phone?"
"No? Are YOU telling ME that you have NEVER used McPherson's cell phone? Not ONCE? Not in your entire LIFE?"
"Yes. Maybe. I don't know."
"WHEN did you use it? Who DID you CALL? Can you PROVE it? What's the CAPITAL of Syria? WHO let the DOGS out? Why do FOOLS fall in LOVE?"
Ah, Grady. He kept defending his client of charges, such as throwing the N.C. State game, that weren't even made. At any minute, I expected the manager of Payless to testify that McPherson wore shoes and, therefore, had nothing in common with Shoeless Joe Jackson.
Wouldn't it have been interesting to hear an NCAA rep talk about gambling? To hear a Vegas bookie testify if anything was funny with the betting lines during McPherson starts? To hear from former Northwestern running back Dennis Lundy, who fumbled for money, talk about where gambling can lead? To hear former Florida athletes Kyle Morris, Shane Matthews and Teddy DuPay talk about the proliferation of bookies on campus?
Also, wouldn't it have been great if Cubs star Sammy Sosa had to testify? No, he doesn't have anything to do with the case. But wouldn't you like for Irvin to yell at him for a while?
Oh, well. Maybe next time.
I hear former Alabama coach Mike Price might sue.
Set your VCRs now.