OJ's prison routine | Chris Ayers: They got Capone in the end, OJ

FOR a moment it seemed that it had never gone away, and that America’s most notorious criminal trial had emerged from a time warp to confound and divide the country once again. OJ Simpson was back, and with him came a numbingly familiar circus of publicity-grabbing lawyers, pneumatic blonde girlfriends and slavering media pursuers. There was even a car chase of sorts, mimicking Simpson’s celebrated flight in a white Ford Bronco along the freeways of Los Angeles as police sought to arrest him for double murder in 1994.

This time Simpson, now 60, was in a grey Dodge Avenger and the television helicopters were pursuing him away from jail, not towards it. His release from custody in Las Vegas after an armed confrontation in a casino hotel room has not only stirred a media and internet frenzy; it is forcing Americans to relive one of their most painful and divisive legal fiascos.

Twelve years after a majority black Los Angeles jury dumb-founded much of white America by clearing Simpson of charges that he murdered Nicole Brown, his ex-wife, and Ron Goldman, her friend, the former American football star is once again facing serious charges including kidnapping, conspiracy and robbery with the use of a deadly weapon.

Yet those who hope justice may at last catch up with the record-breaking sprinter known as “the Juice” may be disappointed. As details emerged last week of the criminal backgrounds of several of those linked to the casino assault, defence lawyers warned that Simpson had plenty of “wiggle room” for another spectacular courtroom escape.

The latest chapter in America’s tortured relationship with one of its foremost black athletes opened conventionally enough 10 days ago. Simpson arrived in Las Vegas with Christine Prody, his girlfriend, to attend the wedding of a golfing friend from Miami, where he has lived since a Californian civil court found him responsible for Goldman’s death and awarded the victim’s family $33.5m in damages.

Tipped off by another friend that some of his sporting memorabilia and other items – including ties he wore at his murder trial – were being held by a pair of dealers staying at the Palace Station casino hotel, Simpson declared the goods to have been stolen from him. He is alleged to have rounded up a posse of friends and staged an armed raid on the dealers’ room after posing as a collector.

A transcript of an obscenity-laced audiotape of the encounter quotes Simpson as announcing after he barges into the room: “Don’t let nobody out of here. Motherf******, you think you can steal my s***?”

Even without Johnnie Cochran, the late black lawyer who masterminded Simpson’s defence in the 1995 murder trial, OJ appears to have plenty of weapons to defend himself. The two dealers, Bruce Fromong and Alfred Beardsley, have given conflicting accounts of the alleged assault. Beardsley turned out to be wanted in California for parole violation after a stalking conviction; a lawyer connected with that case described him as a “bottom-dweller”. Fromong was hospitalised last week after a heart attack.

There are also questions about the motives of Tom Riccio, a Simpson friend who set up the meeting with the visiting “collector”. Riccio, who also has a criminal record, accompanied Simpson to the meeting and taped the encounter.

“We believe it is an extremely defensible case based on conflicting witness statements, flip-flop-ping by witnesses and witnesses making deals with the government to flip,” said Yale Galanter, Simpson’s Florida-based lawyer.

Yet the details seemed almost irrelevant as Americans wallowed in a curious mix of nostalgia for half-forgotten celebrities and horror that they may be subjected to another long trial followed by a Simpson acquittal.

At one point last week it was possible to find Marcia Clark, Simpson’s old prosecutor, pontificating on cable television.

By the time Simpson had returned to his comfortable suburban Miami home, OJ-mania was in full flow. Although his name has rarely been far from the headlines – notably when he tried to publish a book entitled If I Did It, purporting to provide a fictional account of how he might have murdered his ex-wife – most Americans have been unaware of how Simpson has been making ends meet with such a large civil damages award hanging over him.

All that changed as details of Simpson’s gilded lifestyle were plastered across the country. Shielded by Florida laws protecting pensions and housing from seizure in civil suits, Simpson has put his two children through the private school attended by the offspring of the former governor Jeb Bush, President George W Bush’s brother. He is currently funding their education at leading universities.

Lawyers for the Goldman family said Simpson benefits from five pensions worth about $400,000 (£200,000) a year. Fromong was also heard complaining on Riccio’s tape that he had set up offshore accounts for Simpson, presumably to conceal profits from memorabilia sales.

For the Goldman and Brown families, still seeking justice, last week’s fiasco proved a double-edged sword. The Goldmans control rights to If I Did It, which rocketed up bestseller lists. They also seized Simpson’s Rolex watch, reportedly worth $6,800.

Yet they face a long wait for the next Simpson trial, which is not expected to begin until late next year. For now they must endure daily newspaper and television reports disclosing that Simpson likes to cruise around Miami in his luxury black sport utility vehicle, that he gets free drinks at the Cafe Tu Tu Tango and that he likes to take his latest and buxom girlfriend to a restaurant named Hooters.

Read the transcript of OJ Simpson's tirade

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