THE CHEAP SEATS with STEVE CAMERON: The side of O.J. we didn't know

I was fooled.

To be fair, I wasn’t alone.

O.J. Simpson fooled millions into believing he was a nice guy.

He was great company. His smile seemed real.

There was no question about his accomplishments as a running back — beyond Jim Brown, arguably the best of all time — or even that he was a fun entertainer and successful pitchman.

Anyone who watched TV in the 1980s saw O.J. running through airports, almost always late but sure to make that big meeting because of his Hertz rental car.

I had interviewed O.J. years earlier, when he was a superstar with the Bills.

We got along well.

After that, we became friends — in that sort of way people do who only see each other occasionally.

Several times, though, we would up covering the same NFL game when O.J. worked for NBC.

We always had plenty to talk about, because of our mutual roots in San Francisco.

In fact, I’d actually seen him play for City College there, scoring six touchdowns on a muddy field.

It was a cinch that he’d be a star at USC, and the Heisman was almost preordained.

O.J. made a move in the Rose Bowl against Ohio State that I watched endless times — mainly because I couldn’t believe someone running so fast could go sideways and reverse again, without maybe breaking some bones.

THE NEXT chapter remains a mystery to me, even now.

When Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman were found murdered, I remember being shocked.

Not because I believed O.J. could possibly be a suspect, since early information seemed to place him on a plane returning from Chicago when the crime was committed.

No, I was stunned because it had seemed that O.J. and Nicole were working out an admittedly stormy relationship and marriage.

And here was a tragedy to prevent a happy ending.

From the day the L.A. police said they wanted O.J., to the 20 mile-per-hour “chase” in the white Bronco, to the arrest and then the “trial of the century,” it all seems like a blur.

When O.J. was first arrested, I ran into broadcaster Bob Costas at a baseball playoff game.

We wound up sitting in a corner of the media hospitality area, having coffee and trying to understand what was happening.

We both felt we knew O.J. Simpson.

We both felt he was not capable of a gruesome double murder.

“That’s just not the person I know,” Costas said.

I agreed.

But Bob tossed out an option that I’ve considered to this day.

“We know O.J. in his superstar life,” Bob said, “and even now, it’s with a superstar persona.

“Maybe there’s actually another O.J., a man who’s always been a hero and reacts poorly when that’s been challenged.”

I asked Bob if he’d ever seen the hint of a potentially explosive O.J. Simpson.

“Not once,” he said. “I can’t believe he did this.”

“I can’t, either,” I said, “but maybe we’d better prepare for a shock.”

WE ALL know what happened after that.

The crazy thing is that if O.J. had lived out a quiet life after the trial, drawing his NFL pension, making occasional appearances related to football and selling some of his memorabilia, I’ve got to concede I’d likely still doubt that he was a murderer.

After all, his trial was a circus.

The police and prosecutors were caught in misbehavior that was tinged with racism, and I can recall watching portions of the testimony and thinking, “They planted that glove, and now they’re perjuring themselves.”

Of course, both things can be true.

The prosecution can be bungling a trial, and the defendant might still be guilty.

Eventually, I came around to believing that version of this long-running show.

The O.J. I knew couldn’t have killed those people.

Yet, the O.J. I didn’t know damn sure could.

The whole thing was incredibly sad, most for the victims and their families — but also for the country, which split along racial lines during the trial.

O.J.’s life, and further crimes after the murder trial weren’t exactly awful, but they were ugly.

The superstar that so many admired turned into a two-bit thug, and somehow it was appropriate that he finally went to jail for stealing his own memorabilia.

When I heard O.J. had died on Thursday, I didn’t feel a thing.

The O.J. Simpson I knew and liked died long ago.

Email: scameron@cdapress.com

Steve Cameron’s “Cheap Seats” columns appear in The Press four times each week, normally Tuesday through Friday unless, you know, stuff happens.

Steve suggests you take his opinions in the spirit of a Jimmy Buffett song: “Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On.”