Sitting bedside as OJ Simpson took his final breath was one of the most surreal moments of my storied career. Of course, I, like most, had cheered on “The Juice” as he shook his tight Black ass 100 yards for a Buffalo Bills touchdown, but meeting him on the set of Leslie Nelson’s masterpiece The Naked Gun: 33⅓ was when OJ Simpson and me, CJ Byner, became the best of friends.
It’s hard to know if anyone is truly your friend in Tinsel Town and weren’t we the unlikeliest duo. OJ, a strapping Black buck bedding everyone who looked at him, and me, a short balding wannabe paparazzi with a penchant for fine wines, foreign films, and sifting through Mickey Rourke’s dumpster.
People often said that OJ and I should write a movie about our friendship. I admit there is still a treatment of our buddy cop film Black Stallion/White Donkey: The Story of OJ and CJ still floating around Adam Sandler’s production studio.
If the Glove Doesn’t Fit!
But I digress. After almost 40 years of great laughs, golfing, Playboy mansion grotto soaks, and, of course, one little murder trial, my life with OJ wasn’t one of your typical “let’s do lunch” fake Hollywood bromances.
That’s why when OJ called me a week ago from an undisclosed location on the Las Vegas strip, I knew he wasn’t inviting me to a hot tub party with a dozen blonde waitresses from Hooters.
I’d known that OJ’s health had taken a turn for the worst after getting a Covid-19 booster shot in February, but honestly who’s health hasn’t deteriorated? I felt almost as guilty about not warning him about turbo cancer as he felt about … well, never mind—an NDA is an NDA.
Sunday Drive on the 405 Is Murder
Despite my inner turmoil over the issues of race and the built in prejudice of the police and courts—and the disgusting nature of fame in America, I wondered, “Is this perhaps justice making God’s legal final down on OJ’s balls?”
I grabbed my leather driving gloves, and rented a nostalgic white Ford Bronco from Hertz, and sped down the 405. I spent three days and nights with The Juice, frequently awoken in the middle of a deep slumber to the sound of OJ’s delusional fever dream confessions about jailhouse love affairs and other things that presumably also fall under the aforementioned NDA.
The Naked Truth Is No Laughing Matter
On the final day as Detective Nordberg and I talked about Football, Hollywood, sports memorabilia, and exes, OJ turned to me, laughed and said “If I did it?” He took out my notepad and spilled the juice on all the questions I and millions of other enquiring minds wanted to know. What did OJ Simpson know about that night on June 12, 1994 or September 11, 2001? As well as many other of life’s greatest mysteries.
When OJ laid to rest his pen, just before closing his eyes for the final time, he whispered, “CJ, tell the world my story!”
And now, released from my best friend’s NDA, I can. Read OJ Simpson’s first-hand exclusive tell-all only on GWU! OJ Simpson: If I did it. Conspiracy Confessional for a taste of final justice with a glass of juice.
