It’s irrelevant, he’s dead.

Oh, I could divine a lot of lessons from the conclusion, as to the liability of concert promoters and the greediness of heirs, but what we truly learned about the Michael Jackson trial is that which is not on television doesn’t really matter.

It’s the national sport. Forgetting how poor you are and watching the shenanigans of the screw-ups in court. Randy Phillips and Paul Gongaware would have become cultural icons, with longevity exceeding that of Kim Kardashian and the already faded Paris Hilton, if only…this trial were on television.

In a world where the movies are fake, our best entertainment comes from reality. The studios believe by adding more explosions and special effects they’re winning. But this is untrue, because it’s story that counts, heroes and villains. A great story can be shot in black and white. But instead the studios focus on the penumbra, because that’s all they know.

Come on, we don’t really care about whether the Jacksons get the money or not, and we already know Conrad Murray is guilty, we were most interested in the dirty laundry, the behind-the-scenes machinations, but only being able to read about them, filtered through the words of bored-to-death reporters unwilling to give us anything but the facts, not knowing it’s how you tell the story that’s most important, we shrug our shoulders and move on.

I mean come on, the verdict is AEG is guilty but it’s not? They hired the doctor but he’s not competent? If this makes sense to you, you pray to the god of nonsense. Because Conrad Murray appears anything but competent, isn’t that why he’s in jail? And AEG doesn’t hire doctors for every gig, they did it at Jackson’s insistence, somebody he wanted…huh?

Proving once again, you never want to go to a jury. Because juries are nuts, completely unpredictable.

Obviously they didn’t want to hold AEG monetarily liable. How they got there has us scratching our heads, but that’s the essence of juries, they vote from their hearts, logic goes out the window.

So now we move on, to the next faux spectacle. Especially in a world where we can’t handle the real thing, i.e. a bunch of lunatic Congressmen who believe after losing they can win, then again, they’ve got nothing to lose after redistricting, those areas are never going blue, they’re safe in their convictions, irrelevant of what Democrats believe.

That’s the world we live in. Run by corporations which control the government, the people are completely powerless. Living by their wits, they don’t like to see anyone get ahead undeservingly. I mean after hearing for decades that Michael Jackson was deprived of his childhood, are we really gonna compensate the family? As for the kids, how much money do you need, they’re already rolling in dough from the estate. And if money bought you love, Paris wouldn’t have attempted suicide and been placed in a mental hospital.

Still, we’re fascinated by the lives of others. It’s the only true entertainment we’ve got. Evaluating others’ choices, seeing how they behave when pressured. But in this case, we were deprived of all that, the only thing we truly care about.

So, so long Kevin Boyle. Without TV you never became as famous as Johnnie Cochran or Christopher Darden, most people still have no idea who you are.

And so long Marvin Putnam, tool of billionaire Philip Anschutz. Sure, you won, but we still don’t love you, we hate those on the side of money, even when they’re right. Our sense of fairness would not allow the Jacksons to get paid, but that doesn’t mean we’ve got any sympathy for you.

So long Paul Gongaware! May your memory no longer fail you!

So long Randy Phillips! Your name may occasionally appear in the press again, but at best you’re a footnote.

And so long Phil Anschutz, the only man with enough money to fight instead of settle. Of course you had insurance, but who can afford coverage like this other than someone like you? May you never get a football team and be subject to even more press, since anyone this rich and this private has something to hide.

And so long Michael Jackson.

This is the end. Your legacy will live on. Your records and your dancing. Your weirdness will fade into the background, just like that of your fellow deceased drug addict, Elvis Presley. If John Branca were smart, he’d turn Neverland into a west coast Graceland, that’s where the real money is.

And so long to newspapers. Which did such a lousy job of telling this story that it had no traction. As for TV, it’s all talking heads and no news. So, without actual footage to comment on, reports had no sass, no gravitas, no pull on the public, and fell flat.

And hello to a world that veers from one crisis to another, with very few lasting, but those that do being scripted as reality TV, where we all go for refuge from our dreary lives.

This crisis is done. Next!