Benchwarmers

My definition of “celebrity” has changed drastically over the past two years.  Where I once clamored to follow the goings-on of the rich and famous, (you know the usual suspects: Brangelina, Paris Hilton, Pauly Shore) I now itch for a different type of scratch.

Judges. 

Any of them.  All of them.* 

Ontario Court of Justice?  Yup.  Ontario Court of Appeal?  Sure.  Constitutional Court of Belgium?  Why the heck not?

Yes, yes, I know, it seems odd.  But I contend that it actually makes a lot of sense.  See, throughout my life the people whom I have venerated have changed depending on what I was hip to at that time.

For instance, when I was 5 and thought I was going to grow up to be a private investigator, Magnum PI was THE guy.  Granted, he still is THE guy on account of that prize-winning duster.  I mean, come on, look at that thing.  I bet he feeds it steak.

Then, when I was 12, decked from head to toe in Nike gear (courtesy of the Birch Run Factory Outlet – who needs centred logos, correct stiching or fully-adhered soles?) and convincing myself, in spite of my father’s best efforts to the contrary, that I was a talented basketball “player”, Michael Jordan was the Alpha and The Omega.  So resolute was my admiration that I actually believed that when I grew up I would be able to dunk.  Oh, and that I’d be black.  That, too.

Fast-forward to my “I want to be a rock star phase” (c. 1996-the present).  You show me someone who plays music to a crowd of at least, I don’t know, 4 people, and you might as well be introducing me to the messiah.

So, here I am, a 27-year-old manchild at the sunrise of his legal career, still wondering how he fits into the grand machine.  But my interest in the bench is steadfast. 

For me, judges are the pinnacle.  Sure, you can make more money in private practice, but if you’re like me you see the pay cut for what it really is: the membership fee to use your own door in and out of the courtroom!  I mean, what’s back there?  An arrangement of butter-tarts?  The Sgt. Pepper’s Master Tapes?  A helipad?  It could be any of those things.  Or maybe even all of them!!!

Really, though, the allure, for me, of the Robed Elite, is that judges have reached a distinct, measurable place within the legal profession, and while a judge is just as human as you and I, he or she has taken a pretty big bite out of the proverbial Golden Apple (Ed. Note: I have, literally, no idea what a golden apple is, nor if there is mention of such in any proverb, anywhere.  It sounded good, I made a commitment to my intuition.  Deal with it.)

What I find most fascinating about Canada’s judges, especially those who sit or have sat on the Supreme Court, is that they wouldn’t be recognized on the street by the average Canadian.  Their decisions affect us in very real and meaningful ways and yet they could have been the person behind you in the Timmie’s line, or the poor sod who got a face-full of your middle finger during rush hour. 

Similarly, who are the people among us who will, in the future, take a position atop the mahogany edifice, ready to swing the gavel and decide the fate of our criminals, our corporations, our separatist provinces? (I’m not pointing at anyone, specifically)  Could the future Chief Justice of Canada be the person in front of you who constantly checks Facebook in class? (Well, likely not: our future Chief Justice no doubt understands that Facebook is circling the drain and that the future is going to be written in 140 characters or fewer)

It’s an intriguing thought, that today’s classmate might be tomorrow’s Beverley McLachlin (aka The Silver Fox).  Unfortunately, by then my reverence may be a muted one.  I will be too old, too grizzled to hold high the bench.  My worship will have moved on to something more situation appropriate, like the cast of Cocoon, or Wilford Brimley and his delicious, heart-healthy Quaker Oats. 

Or I may even come full circle and realize that the most intriguing, age-appropriate celebrity is, and always has been, Tom Selleck and that positively radiant soup strainer.

See you soon,

Chris

* Alright, almost all judges.  This post is not meant to give a pat on the back to the panel of “judges” that helm Canadian Idol.  They need encouragement like a Mogwai needs to be fed after midnight.

Posted by Chris Crighton on November 10, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)

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Comments

Great post...I really like your writing. I never thought that of the possibility that someone around me might possibly be a CJ...that's quite cool.

Posted by: Nga | Nov 10, 2009 12:30:11 PM

Hi Chris!
Great job with this post. I really enjoyed it!
I just have a silly suggestion: in the "Blog Author" section you start greeting with an "Ola"...did you mean "Hola"by chance? That means "Hi" in Spanish? If that is the case it has an "H" at the begining or else it means "wave", so the correct spelling is HOLA!

Good luck with your studies! Chao,
R.

Posted by: Rosy Lopez | Nov 26, 2009 10:25:01 PM

Sounds like you are really buying into all that legal eagle mumbo jumbo they teach you at school. These illusions will serve you well in the long run.

And, yes, it is "hola."

Cheers,

Nigel Tewksbury

Posted by: Nigel Tewksbury | Nov 28, 2009 1:14:54 PM