Wednesday, April 11, 2012

1919 BLACK SOX SCANDAL TRIAL OF 2012

"So, Mr. Rothstein, on the night in question, what did you do?"

"I am part of my neighborhood watch.  Every Tuesday nights, once a week, midnight to 5 am.  It is okay by me, since I do not have Nine to Five employment."

"And what happened?" asks the Defense.

"He comes up behind me, his arms get around my neck and pushes me off my feet.  Look, right then I am afraid for my life.  So, I pulls out my  9 mil... Roscoe... I am sorry, my hand gun, and blast him.  I am shooting, you know, for my life.  I aim for his leg, so he will stop.  I  do not want to kill him, but the bullet instead goes straight through his head."

"So, you shot him in self defense?"

"Yes, sir."

"No further questions."

"Your turn, Mr. Prosecutor." says the Judge.

"Thank you, your honor.  Now, Mr. Rothstein, had you ever met Mr. McMullin, the man whom you claim attacked you?  Did you know him?"

"Objection, your honor.  Irrelevant." says the Defense.  "Makes no difference if he knew his attacker or not.  He was afraid for his life, so he fought back.  Could have been his twin brother, he was still fighting for his life."

"Your honor," say the Prosecutor.  "This goes to Mr. Rothstein's state of mind.  If he knew Mr. McMullen, there would be more to this than simply an attack from a stranger."

"I'll allow it, but I want to see the relevance here.  Please, Mr. Rothstein, you can answer the question."

"Never set eyes on the guy before in my life.  He just jumps me, on my back, so I do what has to be done."

"Are you absolutely sure about that, Mr. Rothstein.  Remember, you're under oath."

"Objection.  Asked and answered, your honor.  And the insulation that Mr. Rothstein is not truthful, is very rude."

"Rude?" says the Judge.  "It is rude, but I'll allow it.  Sustained.  Mr. Rothstein knows he's under oath.  Okay, continue Mr Prosecutor."

"Thank you, your honor.  Now, the prosecution offers into evidence, Exhibit A."  He  waves a photograph in the air.  "This picture is of Mr. Rothstein sitting in the second row of a college basket ball game."  He hands a copy to both The Judge  and The Defense.

Mr. Rothstein stares at the picture.

"Do you remember now, Mr Rothstein." asks the Prosecution.

"I am not remembering this.  I look so young."  His hands shake.

"It comes from a photograph in the Valley Post Picayune, August 31, 1990.  You're at a basketball game, Mountain Junior College.  And who is this?"   He points to a player in the foreground.

Mr Rothstein's lips twitch.  "I am not sure.  This picture.  This is a long time ago."

Two very large men in suits push through the doors, and sit in the back row.  They stare without blinking at Mr Rothstein.
 
"The player is the deceased, Mr Rothstein.  The person you say attacked you without provocation.  The person you said you never met."

"Okay," he says.  "I might have met this player, but that was at least twenty years ago."

"What if I said we contacted all the players on that team.  They seem to remember you."

Mr Rothstein looks out again at the two men in the back row.  One slowly opens his coat.  He shows a large gun in a holster.

"Objection, your honor," says the defense. "Where is all this going.  A twenty year old picture.  Some college basketball game. Your honor, come on."

"Overruled.  Please continue.  Mr. Rothstein, do you remember when you had your picture taken?"

"Now that I am thinking about it, Judge..."

"Subpoenas are going out this afternoon to those players.  Can you guess how they will testify?"

"Okay, I knew him.  Okay?  He played basketball back then.  Is that a crime?"

"You were a Las Vegas gambler, and isn't it true you were working with players on this team."

"Objection.  You Honor.  So, Mr. Rothstein knew his attacker.  He was still attacked.  I still don't see the relevance."

"You honor, if you will, a little rope here?"

"Move it along, Mr Prosecutor.  Short leash.  This better be good."

"And Mr. Rothstein, isn't it a fact you not only knew these players, one of whom was the person you killed, but you were paying them to shave points.  Isn't that true?  Their games were fixed."

A pin drops.

Mr. Rothstein moves in the chair, and stares again at the two large men in the back row.  The men  fold their arms.  Without smiles, their faces are red. They flex their fingers.

"Oh, my Gawd,"  he says.  "I am as good as dead.  How can this be happening?"  He drops his head.

"Excuse me, Mr Rothstein?  I think we know what happened back then, don't we."

The two men in the back stand up, move slowly toward the doors, then quickly leave.

Mr Rothstein breathes deeply. "I planned everything.  It was a money machine, let me tell you.  It will all come out anyway."

"What will come out?" asks the Prosecution.

"I'm from Las Vegas.  I brought back the Black Sox Scandal of 1919, but in 1990.  Who knew?  And it's been a secret ever since.  I made bets against Mountain Valley College, games when the team had no chance, which back then was most of the time.  All they had to do was to lose by more than the spread, and I win big.  I paid them plenty, do not get me wrong."

"So you did know the deceased?"

"Yes, so what?  I knew him."

"And he was there that night, why?  Did he want more money, maybe to keep quiet about the fix?  We know his blood alcohol was three times the legal limit."

"Objection.  Blood alcohol limit, is not in evidence, nor is it relevant.  Mr. Rothstein was attacked from behind..."
 
"No." says Mr Rothstein.  He raises his hand.  "Here's what happened. Somebody is going to rat, anyway.   McMullen has loose lips.  We cannot take the chance of him telling the world.  And, you are right,  he wants more money to keep quiet. Since I already am a neighborhood watch person, I tell him to come over, we need to talk.  Just scare him, that's all, but he jumps me.  I had to shoot him, to save myself."

"Three times over the legal limit? Could he even stand up?"

"Well, yes, I guess.  He just would not listen."

"But you should know the Statutes of Limitations have long past on something like fixing  Junior College games?"

"Criminal Prosecution maybe, but those players are some powerful people today.  What we did cannot be made public.  They were just college kids then, looking for money for books and well, we just went with it, it works so well.  They made plenty, enough to pay for graduate school, law school.  One started his own software company."

The Judge hammers his gavel.  "Bailiff, take Mr Rothstein into custody.  And the others on that team need to be questioned, ASAP."

"It made us all rich back then, and it will work today, easy.  But you get one rat, and the whole thing is a bust.  Rats are rats whether they are humans or rats."  He looks up at The Judge.  "You know Judge.  How do you protect yourself from rats?"

"Couldn't tell you, Mr. Rothstein.  Seems to be the only flaw in your system.  Oh, and shooting the rat.  That too is a major flaw."

The aftermath for the five major players:

Congressman,  George "Buck" Weaver , Center, resigns and gives a long farewell speech thanking everybody he ever knew, says he is so ashamed, he's a family man, will help humanity, etc., etc., etc.

Jaguar, Land Rover, Bentley Dealer,  Claude "Lefty" Williams,  Small Forward, sells his dealership, and is now traveling.  Producers are anxious in a part travel, part Jerry Springer type reality TV show.  Lefty has personality.

Goldman Sachs Stock Broker, Oscar "Happy" Felsch,  Power Forward,  increases his client list five fold.   Clients think when it comes to making money, Happy is not afraid to think and operate way outside the box.  He will not be afraid to use insider information.

And their Point Guard, Shoeless Joe Jackson, is found to have nothing to do with the killing, or the fixing of any game, and even though he averaged 22 points per game, he only averaged 6 points in the fixed games.
   
None of the players saw trial. The prosecutor thought he would never convict anyone on the word of a Las Vegas gambler slash game fixer.  While the D.A. considered prosecution, Mr. Rothstein's attorney signed him into WITSEC, Federal witness relocation.
 
So, he could be that nice older gentleman who just moved in next door. Except, Mr. Rothstein on his last day of captivity, played in a Hold 'em poker game, lost big, then claimed the game was fixed and refused to pay up.  He had three bullets in his chest within an hour.
..............................

Help comes from:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Sox_Scandal
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arnold_Rothstein,
point-spreads.com,
criminaldefense.homestead.com/Cross.html,
thesaurus.com/

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