"I told you. There were way too many ways for the defense to put doubt in the jury's thoughts not to have Casey Anthony acquitted," says the Colonel who is dressed in his customary white suit today.
"Was the prosecution and jury incompetent in that case?" I ask.
"I barely followed the case, but from what I understood the evidence was very circumstantial and there was no clear motive for Casey Anthony to murder her daughter. You can't pin that on the prosecution because they only had so much to work with," says the Colonel who then orders another beer. "As for the jury, in my experience on jury trials is that you can easily put doubt in their thoughts. OJ's defense put doubt in that jury's mind and the Casey Anthony defense did the same thing. And you cannot convict someone if there's a reasonable doubt. So basically a jury trial for the defense is making the jury doubt what happen, while the prosecution has to make sure there isn't doubt."
I'm listening to the Colonel's explanation but all I can think of is how hot it is inside the bar. I had forgotten that this is an old place with old swamp coolers cooling the place down instead of an AC. I'm drinking beer like it's water.
"I may not make as much money as you, but being a lawyer or prosecuter would terrify me," says the Bandit. "I'll stick to driving trucks."
"You need to be good at two things for being a lawyer,' says the Colonel. "First you need to know the law. Second, you need to be a good salesman. You basically have to sell your defense or case to the jury or judge."
"I'll stick to truck driving," says the Bandit with a smile.
The three of us laugh and order another round of beers and prepare to watch the Giants game.
Much to my surprise though All-Star Matt Cain dominates the Padres in the top of the first and it's the Giants who dink and dunk their way to a couple of runs in the first inning. The Giants are Padreing the Padres. It's a beautiful sight.
"Hahahahahaha, fuck you Padres," says the Bandit with a vindictive smile. To be fair to the Bandit, the entire bar is laughing manically at the Padres. It's about time the Giants give the Padres a taste of their own medicine.
Of course we would later look like fools as the Padres tied the game on a series of bloop and infield hits. Fuck I hate this team. I mean seriously, can't this team just roll over and die?
"I'm convinced the Padres only exist to make Giants fans miserable," says the Colonel with a depressed look.
"Here. Here. They definitely make me miserable," I say as sweat drips from my face. Have I mentioned how hot it is tonight?
"You know how this game is going to play out don't you?" asks the Colonel. "Neither team will score until the eighth inning. Then the Padres will bloop their way to the go-ahead run and fatso will come in and close out the Giants in the ninth. I will guarantee this will happen."
A sinking feeling in my stomach suddenly throbs because I know that is exactly what is going to happen.
"You just know that Padres are going to score on an the error, bloop hit, sac fly combo to tie the game. It's definitely coming," says the Bandit.
"Guaranteed!" says the Colonel.
And just like that the Padres take a two-run lead. At least they didn't bloop their way to the lead but it's painful nonetheless.
"I need another drink," says the Colonel.
"I'm going home to watch Deadliest Catch. We all know the Giants aren't winning this game," I say.
And just like that I'm done for the night. The Giants can't beat the Padres. Couldn't beat them last year, can't beat them this year. I know how these games will end before they even begin. Why torture myself by watching?
Of course the Giants didn't score the rest of the night and lost. As I said, I know how these games will end.
Cain hung those two pitches that were driven in for runs. Reminiscent of that Bumgarner start against Minnesota.
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