Reality is overrated. No, this isn't some drug piece. Actually, it is a drug piece. Sort of. But nothing of the psychedelic variety. Sitting on a pew (halls of justice, house of worship, whatever) at the Douglas County Justice Center, I watched the closing arguments in Bronco linebacker Bill Romanowski's pharmaceutical trial. It occurred to me the proceedings and cast of characters might as well have been on a TV show. "Law and Order," "Perry Mason," "Ally McBeal" and the videotape of this spectacle taken by Channel Four; the lines between reality and Hollywood blurred. Blurred, like Robert Downey Jr. 's outlook before firing up Breakfast of Champions blurred.

Speaking of unhealthy diets, most of the trial revolved around the appetite suppressant Phentermine. Among other things, Romanowski stood accused of obtaining the pep pills by fraud and deceit through friends and family. It might seem that Romo converted his Wheaties to Turbo Total on game days. Prosecutor Michael Spear, who looks every bit the clean-cut, crusading Boy Scout (think Matlock's dewy-eyed protege) called Romanowski's conduct "a classic case of a conspiracy."

"So what's the crime?" implored defense attorney Harvey Steinberg, who talks slicker than his silk ties, which are very slick. I wish I had ties like that. Charlie Sheen would be pleased as Evercleared punch to have Steinberg as his attorney, onscreen or off. And this counselor has the acting chops for standing in front of a camera; 35mm film or live-feed video.

Reel life or real life ... which take is this anyway?

I also wish I had banter like Steinberg's, who seems like he could hear about a four-of-a-kind felony count indictment and, looking perplexed, ask, "So what's the problem?" Oh wait, he did. Citing weaknesses in the prosecution's case, the defense team had asked Judge Thomas Curry earlier in the trial to acquit before the jury even deliberated. Golden tongues and brass balls. Savvy juries love that winning combination.

Including this jury in Castle Rock, which acquitted Number 53 on all charges.

"The victim is the community, ladies and gentlemen," said Spear during his closing arguments. I'm not so sure. After all, even if Romanowski was scarfing diet pills like a good little girl, it would have been about performance enhancement. For an NFL linebacker, that means bashing the shit out of the different bulging jerseys better than the other snarling genetic freaks on your own team. The mob wants gridiron carnage; gaping compound fractures, Grade 3 concussions and internal bleeding that sloshes in the belly, all washed down with Coors Light, tapped from the Rockies with a catheter. If we've got indentured tax servitude for the next couple decades, I say we might as well enjoy the bloody spectacle. That's why I give Romo a hearty thumbs up.

Furthermore, I don't understand the rationale behind the NFL frowning (and winking) at the intake of performance-enhancing drugs. The primary drawbacks of steroid abuse are simply irrelevant to these stinky, strapping jocks. Long-term damage to bone density and liver tissue are hardly concerns for men so battered when they retire at 33 they can't bend over to tie their own signature sneakers. Rabid aggression, brainwashed into these players since their Pee-Wee days, compounded by head injuries-- a significant element of violent behavior-- could render 'roid rage nothing more than blue upon a black host of other factors. Shrinking testicles and sperm counts? I ask you: Does anyone savor the marrow of irony these days? Besides, while I'm okay with these Neanderthals passing the ball into the end zone, I'm much more ambivalent about their spewing DNA into an already murky future.

Take this notion to the point of absurdity, which often turns into cozy nostalgia two generations later, which is just about the time when Invesco Field will be paid off and obsolete.

"Welcome back to Monday Night Football! I'm Dan Key Bank Patrick III."

"And I'm John Goodyear Because-so-much-is-riding-on-your-tires Madden Junior."

"If you're just joining us, Oracle running back Hank Obershaw continues to lay motionless on the field, except for rapid spurts of twitching from his right foot."

"I'd say it's more of an involuntary flapping, Dan."

"Truly a heartstopping event. I can't imagine what his wife Melanie is feeling right now."

"Probably more than Hank is feeling below his C4 vertebrae."

"Don't go there, John!" "This 'Don't go there! ' was brought to you by Sara Lee. Try Sara Lee's new single- serve Berry Crumbles tonight!"

"Let's watch that instant replay again." "Now you see how Thurlow Springfield, who had those new servos implanted in his legs last week, snags Obershaw just before the Seahawk 20 yard line."

"And Springfield was coming at a decent clip. The Reebok Radar clocked him at 63 miles per hour."

"We're getting word now that Obershaw's spinal cord has spontaneously regenerated. Let's go down now to the Intel Pentium DII processor clamped to the base of Obershaw's skull."

"Thanks, Dan. I'd just like to thank the god Nike and my girl Melanie for all their persistence in helping me to persist in persevering during this tribulation. I'd also like to extend my appreciation to the scientists at the Deer Creek clinic for all the injections, without which every modified cell in my body would implode. Back to you, John and Dan."

Sound like material for James Cameron's follow up to "Dark Angel"? Maybe. I can't tell anymore. All I have are the errant thoughts that carom about the interior of my skull like a nickel in an upright vacuum cleaner. So, to all my readers who play professional football, think of me during your next loading phase. Don't slap your tight end's ass for a play well executed, jab his ass with a dozen cc's of Dianabol. Finally, to the good citizens who comprise the Douglas County jury pool, I think we're on the right track.

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