Johnnie went marching home

It happened while I was out of town, so I'm late to the party (or funeral, if that seems more apropos), but Johnnie Cochran died the other day.

Now if I ever get into some serious legal wrangle one of these days, I won't know who to call. Certainly not Mark Geragos, Scott Peterson's attorney. I'll want someone who actually wins cases.

Love him or leave him, you had to hand it to Johnnie. You'd never see Perry Mason regaling a jury while wearing a thousand-dollar suit and a crumpled black ski cap on his head. You'd never hear Ben Matlock rhyming in open court: "If it doesn't fit, you must acquit." You'd never find Denny Crane and Alan Shore making their murder suspect client try to don leather gloves soaked with the blood of his dead wife while the world looked on. (Okay, maybe you would. But that's not important right now.) The point is that it worked.

If I'd been O.J. and I had any idea my lawyer would be pulling these stunts, I'd have been shopping for alternate counsel. As it turned out, it's a good thing the Juice stuck with Johnnie. Otherwise, he wouldn't be out there hunting for the real killers at every country club and ski resort in America today.

I hope Johnnie's casket fit. Because if it doesn't...well, you know what that means.