Carmageddon: Day of the Four-OJ-Five
"For the love of all that is holy, just keep going...."
When O.J. Simpson tore off his public mask and let his shadow run wild, he threw his coming-out party on the 405, riding its back in a white Ford Bronco with slow savor, an antihero atop a twisting multilane serpent.
O.J. had come to ride the serpent, not to slay it.
As he took his surreal televised victory lap on June 17, 1994, numerous onlookers felt the call of his shadow to their own. They found themselves drawn to the 405, to stand on bridges above it and call their support down to the anti-Siegfried, the anti-St. George, the anti-Thor below:
Go O.J., go.
As the grim tour approached the section of 405 that nearly licks the northeast corner of Manhattan Beach, local reporters huddled around the newsroom television set and realized with a thrill of horror that the shadow caravan of O.J. and his police attendants could pull off the freeway and stop here.
The reporters held their breath and willed the parade not to stop. It wasn’t just that it was Friday and it was cocktail hour, it was the realization that some things shouldn’t happen here. The reporters muttered a prayer that echoed those of O.J.’s supporters:
Go O.J., go.
For the love of all that is holy, just keep going. ER