There is not a snowballs chance in hell of a full acquittal for his crime.
There is a chance if the prosecution appeal. Defence can then also appeal on basis of a mistrial. According to David Dadic. Hence prosecution only likely to appea if he doesn't get a custodial sentence
What a brilliant find! Well done!
He definitely says, 'She was everything'.
I heard that too, then listened again and heard she wasn't breathing. She was everything is out of context anyway, she wasn't breathing fits the situation, not the former.
I heard that too, then listened again and heard she wasn't breathing. She was everything is out of context anyway, she wasn't breathing fits the situation, not the former.
After I entered the toilet I erm knelt down over Reeva she was sitting, err…with her weight err on top of the toilet bowel. I checked to see if she was breathing she wasn’t and I err, put my arms underneath her shoulders and I pulled her weight onto me and I sat there crying for some time. Err, I had her head on my left shoulder and I could feel the blood was running down on me. (Pause) Erm at err at a point she, I heard her breathing....
Yes and that was a brilliant the gloves don't fit, because they shrunk from the dried blood, or the defendant didn't take his arthritis medicine, moment.
A brilliant defense tactic does not make it true though. Sam Taylor heard him scream.
Unfortunately it reminds me of a Lucille Ball show rerun in which Lucy is trying to convince Desi of something incredulous.
Oscar: An Accident Waiting to Happen is the inside story of ex-girlfriend Samantha Taylor’s tumultuous romantic relationship with the athlete that turned into every mother’s nightmare. Told through the eyes of Sam’s mother, Patricia Taylor, it tells of the time that Pistorius became part of the Taylor family’s close circle.
By Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor
By the time the Olympics began on July 27, it felt like Oscar was on the phone to me and my family 24/7. He wept constantly, saying how he didn’t want to be there.
In fact even before he got to London, while he was still training in Gemona, Italy, he was distraught about the upcoming Games.
There was so much pressure on him to perform, I don’t think even we, who were aware of a lot, knew how much it was.
On the day he had to fly to London he phoned me from his hotel, sobbing, saying he didn’t want to go. I begged him to call his manager, Peet, or coach, Ampie, or his siblings, Carl and Aimee, but he wouldn’t speak to any of them.
Eventually it turned out that I stayed on the phone with him as he left the hotel, speaking to him as he wept.
Finally he got into a taxi and checked in at the airport, crying all the way.
It broke my heart to hear him so sad and desperate and alone.
I tried to coax him on and encourage him. All the while, I prayed that he would just get on the damn plane. The stress was unbelievable.
Then we all waited in the lounge in Somerset West, eyes glued to the television, with bated breath, watching Sky… CNN… switching channels, desperate to see if he had actually flown in and arrived.
Of course there were many reasons why Oscar was feeling so distraught – having to compete with all the able-bodied athletes after all the effort he had made to be accepted by the World Athletics body, the weight of huge sponsorship deals, his deep insecurity about whether he had what it took to compete against some of the fastest athletes in the world, like Usain Bolt, and simple homesickness.
But I think what was underpinning everything at this stage was the heartbreak he was feeling over the breakup with Sam. Sometimes stubborn to a fault, she seemed adamant about her decision to move on. So I became the unwilling mediator.
A flood of desperate and emotional e-mails, SMSes and phone calls from Oscar were now a daily occurrence.
Things got really intense when Sam tried to tell him that she had met Quinton and that she was planning to go to Dubai with him.
Oscar began phoning and BBMing me and the rest of our family even more obsessively.
By then he had realised that it was over with Sam and there was another man in the picture.
One thing he kept repeating was that Sam was leaving him for Quinton because he, Oscar, was not rich enough.
“It’s because I’m too poor,” he kept on saying. How ridiculous was that, coming from someone who was rumoured to be earning R2 million ($200 000) a month at the height of his career!
At this stage he couldn’t see that it was because of his betrayals and inconsistent and thoughtless behaviour that Sam had decided to call it quits.
Of all of us, I don’t think anyone was more affected by Oscar’s torment than Sam. She cared for him deeply and knowing he was struggling tore her apart, but she also felt really angry and manipulated by him. And as always when Sammy felt under pressure, she simply withdrew. This only seemed to make Oscar more intent on trying harder to win back Sammy’s affections.
As days went by, the endless phone calls, SMSes and weeping got more intense.
Sam, who was trying to put up boundaries and move on, did not always answer his calls. When he couldn’t get hold of her, there’d be endless ones to me and to our other kids, Kerri-Lee, Ty and Greg. He just wouldn’t or couldn’t stop calling, BBMing, SMSing and e-mailing.
Now, in a complete turnaround, after being obdurate about not allowing Sam to join him at the Games in March and April, he begged her to join him in London, offering tickets, anything to have her back at his side.
In Oscar’s camp, it must have become obvious that things were going haywire and their star was suffering from a serious meltdown.
When Oscar’s pleas to Sam did not work, people like his brother, Carl, and his manager, Peet, began to contact Sam, asking her to join Oscar.
But Sam had decided that she was not going under any circumstances. Between crying and phoning, sometimes hourly, and having Oscar himself and people in his camp phone us daily, it seemed as if Oscar was completely consuming every waking (and sleeping) hour of our lives.
Knowing that the world’s eyes were on him, we felt almost compelled to be at his beck and call. It was as if South Africa’s national pride and joy had become our responsibility, as if we held Oscar’s entire mental well-being in our hands.
The insanity of our situation hit me one night while I was cooking supper, after a particularly harrowing session with Oscar, and I thought: if only the world knew what was really going on behind the applause and glorious victory laps.
South Africa’s richest and most famous athlete was calling us almost constantly on both his phones, weeping and sobbing, driving all of us crazy.
As my eyes focused on the television in the background, it felt like I had become part of some lunatic soap opera: on one channel was Quinton on Clifton Shores and on the other was Oscar Pistorius, competing in the Olympics… It was nothing short of bizarre.
When Ke’s boyfriend at the time asked me to listen to him on a radio interview the next day, I jokingly said to him: “That’s it! I never have to leave home again because I can watch our whole lives being played out in the media without having to leave the room!”
As July ended and August began, Oscar’s heart-wrenching calls and mood swings were not letting up and were taking a toll on our whole family, especially on Sam. Even though she didn’t always show it, I knew she felt in some way responsible for his pain.
I felt exhausted and consumed by it all. My life seemed to be going from one Oscar problem to the next… I worried about him constantly. Was he going to be functional enough to make it through the Olympics?
Would he buckle under the pressure? Walk out on the Games as he kept on threatening to do? Do something to Sammy when he came home? Carry out some crazy threat against Quinton? Harm himself? My primary concern was for our family’s safety, especially Sammy’s.
One minute Oscar would be sobbing, saying he didn’t want to be in London, then he would end the call and I would be left feeling responsible for his safety, racking my brain on how I could help him.
A day later I would send him an encouraging SMS, a little line of inspiration, a good-luck wish for his race, and I would get a very rude response saying: “Please don’t ever contact me again. You disturb my mental preparations.”
Then, hurt by his brutal reply, I would withdraw.
The next thing he would be calling me, sobbing and crying. It was like I was on a constant see-saw with him; at times it felt like I was going mad.
As much as I tried to be loving, supportive and kind, in the back of my mind lurked the memory of the Russian model, the final straw in Sam’s breakup with Oscar. I was still really angry about it.
Suddenly everything else that had happened in the past year flooded back, all at once, and I saw how much mayhem, chaos and damage one person was capable of causing. In a flash, all that buried anger and suppressed emotion came flooding out.
On July 18 I sent Oscar a message referring to their breakup and all the times he had hurt Sammy, stood her up, ignored her and treated her badly… the hurt and chaos he had brought on our family; the lies and betrayal.
I just let him have it, although all the way through I still tried to remain loving and supportive of him, knowing the insane pressure he was under.
*This is an extract from Oscar, An Accident Waiting to Happen, by Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor, published by MF Books at a recommended retail price of R195.
There is a chance if the prosecution appeal. Defence can then also appeal on basis of a mistrial. According to David Dadic. Hence prosecution only likely to appea if he doesn't get a custodial sentence
I accept that both sides have the option to appeal but an acquittal I think is out of the question . I think both sides will wait and see what the sentence is then consider what could reasonably be expected from an appeal.
(Reading this I seriously doubt Oscar was ever going to buy anything for Reeva on Valentine's Day)
The next day was the actual day of Greg’s 16th birthday. I got up early and asked everyone to sign the card. I must say I did find it quite odd that he hadn’t bought Greg a present, not even a token gift or a card or anything. I had begun noticing this side of Oscar.
Despite being incredibly well off – he was earning millions a year at this stage – he found it very hard to give. He seemed to hold on to everything. He was always saying how much richer everyone else was than he was.
The day before, for instance, while we were driving to the wine tasting, Oscar had begun talking about all the Nike shoes he had – he used to get in the region of R100 000 ($10 000) worth of free sponsored Nike goods every month – whatever he wanted, he could get.
So as he was driving he jokingly said that he wanted to ask Nike to give him a pair of shoes in every age from baby size to adult, so that when he had kids one day, he would have a pair for each milestone. We all laughed and enjoyed the story, but there was an awkwardness left hanging in the air after he finished.
He always used to say to Sam that she should choose a pair of Nikes, and he would get them for her, but in all the time they were together he never produced them… I found it strange that he didn’t seem to have any recollection of his promise as he told us the story of Nikes and his future children. Sam, who was studying for her marketing degree and working part time for me, wasn’t earning much money, but always gave him presents – beautiful Christmas and birthday presents – whereas he almost never gave her anything, not even a Christmas card. It was very strange that he couldn’t even give a token of his good wishes.
It’s not that Sam expected it, but she was over the moon when he did give her a bunch of flowers on Valentine’s Day.
He would often say things like: “I’m shopping for your Christmas present” or “I am going to get you this or that”. There were always promises, but then nothing would come of them.
I was often amazed that he would come visit or stay at our house and never bring a thing, not a slab of chocolate, or a bottle of wine, as most people would, when visiting. It just never seemed to enter his head.
He didn’t seem able to think beyond his own needs. But once, when we were all out with friends of his and I took out my purse to pay, his friend stopped me, saying Oscar would never allow me to pay, as he always took care of the bill.
I noticed then that whenever there were friends of his out with us, he always paid the bill graciously.
I must say he was generous to his brother and sister – he bought Aimee a car, he often gave to charity and he gave freely to people like car guards and the homeless.
But over time I got to witness something in Oscar that just couldn’t or wouldn’t allow himself to give, and I don’t only mean material things, I mean giving from the heart, from a space within. It seemed to stem from a much broader, much deeper, much sadder place…
I think it had a lot to do with him feeling isolated, like a poor neglected little boy who had no real family. It was as though he felt deprived on a very core level and as a result it felt to me like he couldn’t relate to the emotional needs of those around him. In fact, when he was around our family, among people who found it easy to give and take, I think sometimes it brought out the worst in him.
There were times that he appeared to me to almost regress into a dark and semi-infantile space after spending time with us, like during that weekend of Greg’s 16th birthday.
Greg had also invited Ashley, a good friend, who flew in from Johannesburg for the celebrations, and Greg had made a plan to go ten-pin bowling. We Googled places and found what sounded like a cool alley at Canal Walk in Cape Town.
As usual, my older son Ty, like a typical varsity student, had a Sunday-morning hangover and was running late, so things started a bit slowly. Oscar began to get antsy. Gone was his laid-back, relaxed vibe from the previous day. He seemed anxious and kept saying we needed to get moving.
When Oscar was in a good mood, he was great, but as soon as he got into a foul one, it was hard not to be affected by it. I always felt very uncomfortable when his moods switched from good to bad.
We were still getting ready when Oscar started to become restless, pacing, getting up, looking for things in his bags, then sitting down again. Eventually I couldn’t take the tension and told Sam, Oscar and Alex to go ahead to Canal Walk and we would meet them there once Ty arrived. They went ahead and once my oldest son got to the house, we were ready to join Sam, Oscar and Alex, who were having breakfast at Mugg & Bean.
They had just finished breakfast when we arrived. We sat down to order and, as we did, Oscar immediately wanted to get up and do something else. I kept quiet, trying not to get tense, since it was Greg’s birthday.
Oscar, Alex and Sam decided to go and see what the ten-pin bowling looked like. Off they went while we finished our breakfast and waited for Greg’s friend Ashley to join us.
As we were finishing, Sam phoned and said, “Mom, the tenpin bowling here isn’t nice, I don’t think we should play.”
Well, that really infuriated me, since the ten-pin bowling was Greg’s special request; it had nothing to do with whether Oscar liked it or not. But Sammy kept insisting that the ten-pin bowling really wasn’t “very nice”. I assumed she was being prompted by Oscar in the background.
So we paid the bill and joined them. Even though we had come all the way into town because Greg had wanted to play, eventually they convinced all of us that the ten-pin bowling was a bad idea. So we returned to our cars, still unsure of what we should do next.
I could see my birthday son was disappointed.
It was becoming obvious that this day was no longer about Greg, it was becoming all about Oscar.
Now, with our plans in pieces, everyone got on their phones, trying to decide what to do. Oscar suddenly said he wanted to go back home, with the usual “I can’t handle being seen in public” line. Then Sammy and Oscar convinced everyone to go to Caprice in Camps Bay for cocktails. It was lunch time by now, that’s how much time we had wasted, just milling around doing nothing.
The weather wasn’t great, it was overcast and windy, perfect ten-pin bowling weather, but not really suitable for Camps Bay cocktails. We all arrived at Caprice and everyone ordered drinks.
I felt very uncomfortable – it was my 16-year-old son’s birthday, so going for cocktails was not actually appropriate. Here he had his young friend with him, and they were wanting to have fun, go bowling, not spend hours sipping on adult cocktails.
At that point, Oscar got on his two phones, SMSing, instant messaging, bbming and intently texting. He definitely seemed agitated, angry about something. It felt like something was up.
But he wasn’t divulging anything. I was acutely aware of how all of this was ruining what should have been Greg’s special day, and was very distressed.
With each text it seemed his mood was growing fouler. It was clear there was something amiss.
Later, I wondered who on earth he could have been having such intense communication with. I couldn’t help but feel suspicious. What was he hiding?
As the afternoon progressed, from initially being irritable and anxious, he now grew incredibly quiet and sullen. The atmosphere at the table was heavy from his mood.
I kept trying to keep the fun element going, for my son; I was all too aware that this day was being entirely spoiled by Oscar’s strange behaviour. What really struck me was how unaware he was of the uncomfortable atmosphere he was creating, of how inappropriate his behaviour was. What should have been a joyous occasion was now ruined.
Finally I asked him what was wrong.
* Oscar: An Accident Waiting to Happen, by Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor, is published by MF Books at a recommended retail price of R195.
I doubt it ;-) listen again with the expectation of hearing she was everything and that's what you'll hear. Then listen expecting to hear she wasn't breathing and lo and behold, that's what you will hear........I did anyway :cool:
Oscar: An Accident Waiting to Happen is the inside story of ex-girlfriend Samantha Taylor’s tumultuous romantic relationship with the athlete that turned into every mother’s nightmare. Told through the eyes of Sam’s mother, Patricia Taylor, it tells of the time that Pistorius became part of the Taylor family’s close circle.
By Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor
By the time the Olympics began on July 27, it felt like Oscar was on the phone to me and my family 24/7. He wept constantly, saying how he didn’t want to be there.
In fact even before he got to London, while he was still training in Gemona, Italy, he was distraught about the upcoming Games.
There was so much pressure on him to perform, I don’t think even we, who were aware of a lot, knew how much it was.
On the day he had to fly to London he phoned me from his hotel, sobbing, saying he didn’t want to go. I begged him to call his manager, Peet, or coach, Ampie, or his siblings, Carl and Aimee, but he wouldn’t speak to any of them.
Eventually it turned out that I stayed on the phone with him as he left the hotel, speaking to him as he wept.
Finally he got into a taxi and checked in at the airport, crying all the way.
It broke my heart to hear him so sad and desperate and alone.
I tried to coax him on and encourage him. All the while, I prayed that he would just get on the damn plane. The stress was unbelievable.
Then we all waited in the lounge in Somerset West, eyes glued to the television, with bated breath, watching Sky… CNN… switching channels, desperate to see if he had actually flown in and arrived.
Of course there were many reasons why Oscar was feeling so distraught – having to compete with all the able-bodied athletes after all the effort he had made to be accepted by the World Athletics body, the weight of huge sponsorship deals, his deep insecurity about whether he had what it took to compete against some of the fastest athletes in the world, like Usain Bolt, and simple homesickness.
But I think what was underpinning everything at this stage was the heartbreak he was feeling over the breakup with Sam. Sometimes stubborn to a fault, she seemed adamant about her decision to move on. So I became the unwilling mediator.
A flood of desperate and emotional e-mails, SMSes and phone calls from Oscar were now a daily occurrence.
Things got really intense when Sam tried to tell him that she had met Quinton and that she was planning to go to Dubai with him.
Oscar began phoning and BBMing me and the rest of our family even more obsessively.
By then he had realised that it was over with Sam and there was another man in the picture.
One thing he kept repeating was that Sam was leaving him for Quinton because he, Oscar, was not rich enough.
“It’s because I’m too poor,” he kept on saying. How ridiculous was that, coming from someone who was rumoured to be earning R2 million ($200 000) a month at the height of his career!
At this stage he couldn’t see that it was because of his betrayals and inconsistent and thoughtless behaviour that Sam had decided to call it quits.
Of all of us, I don’t think anyone was more affected by Oscar’s torment than Sam. She cared for him deeply and knowing he was struggling tore her apart, but she also felt really angry and manipulated by him. And as always when Sammy felt under pressure, she simply withdrew. This only seemed to make Oscar more intent on trying harder to win back Sammy’s affections.
As days went by, the endless phone calls, SMSes and weeping got more intense.
Sam, who was trying to put up boundaries and move on, did not always answer his calls. When he couldn’t get hold of her, there’d be endless ones to me and to our other kids, Kerri-Lee, Ty and Greg. He just wouldn’t or couldn’t stop calling, BBMing, SMSing and e-mailing.
Now, in a complete turnaround, after being obdurate about not allowing Sam to join him at the Games in March and April, he begged her to join him in London, offering tickets, anything to have her back at his side.
In Oscar’s camp, it must have become obvious that things were going haywire and their star was suffering from a serious meltdown.
When Oscar’s pleas to Sam did not work, people like his brother, Carl, and his manager, Peet, began to contact Sam, asking her to join Oscar.
But Sam had decided that she was not going under any circumstances. Between crying and phoning, sometimes hourly, and having Oscar himself and people in his camp phone us daily, it seemed as if Oscar was completely consuming every waking (and sleeping) hour of our lives.
Knowing that the world’s eyes were on him, we felt almost compelled to be at his beck and call. It was as if South Africa’s national pride and joy had become our responsibility, as if we held Oscar’s entire mental well-being in our hands.
The insanity of our situation hit me one night while I was cooking supper, after a particularly harrowing session with Oscar, and I thought: if only the world knew what was really going on behind the applause and glorious victory laps.
South Africa’s richest and most famous athlete was calling us almost constantly on both his phones, weeping and sobbing, driving all of us crazy.
As my eyes focused on the television in the background, it felt like I had become part of some lunatic soap opera: on one channel was Quinton on Clifton Shores and on the other was Oscar Pistorius, competing in the Olympics… It was nothing short of bizarre.
When Ke’s boyfriend at the time asked me to listen to him on a radio interview the next day, I jokingly said to him: “That’s it! I never have to leave home again because I can watch our whole lives being played out in the media without having to leave the room!”
As July ended and August began, Oscar’s heart-wrenching calls and mood swings were not letting up and were taking a toll on our whole family, especially on Sam. Even though she didn’t always show it, I knew she felt in some way responsible for his pain.
I felt exhausted and consumed by it all. My life seemed to be going from one Oscar problem to the next… I worried about him constantly. Was he going to be functional enough to make it through the Olympics?
Would he buckle under the pressure? Walk out on the Games as he kept on threatening to do? Do something to Sammy when he came home? Carry out some crazy threat against Quinton? Harm himself? My primary concern was for our family’s safety, especially Sammy’s.
One minute Oscar would be sobbing, saying he didn’t want to be in London, then he would end the call and I would be left feeling responsible for his safety, racking my brain on how I could help him.
A day later I would send him an encouraging SMS, a little line of inspiration, a good-luck wish for his race, and I would get a very rude response saying: “Please don’t ever contact me again. You disturb my mental preparations.”
Then, hurt by his brutal reply, I would withdraw.
The next thing he would be calling me, sobbing and crying. It was like I was on a constant see-saw with him; at times it felt like I was going mad.
As much as I tried to be loving, supportive and kind, in the back of my mind lurked the memory of the Russian model, the final straw in Sam’s breakup with Oscar. I was still really angry about it.
Suddenly everything else that had happened in the past year flooded back, all at once, and I saw how much mayhem, chaos and damage one person was capable of causing. In a flash, all that buried anger and suppressed emotion came flooding out.
On July 18 I sent Oscar a message referring to their breakup and all the times he had hurt Sammy, stood her up, ignored her and treated her badly… the hurt and chaos he had brought on our family; the lies and betrayal.
I just let him have it, although all the way through I still tried to remain loving and supportive of him, knowing the insane pressure he was under.
*This is an extract from Oscar, An Accident Waiting to Happen, by Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor, published by MF Books at a recommended retail price of R195.
why does none of this surprise me? He sounds seriously disturbed.
I doubt it ;-) listen again with the expectation of hearing she was everything and that's what you'll hear. Then listen expecting to hear she wasn't breathing and lo and behold, that's what you will hear........I did anyway :cool:
I accept that both sides have the option to appeal but an acquittal I think is out of the question . I think both sides will wait and see what the sentence is then consider what could reasonably be expected from an appeal.
I mean if the prosecution appeal and get the decision changed, there is a chance the defence can appeal that decision based on a mistrial. Of which acquittal would be the result if the appeal was overturned.
Oscar: An Accident Waiting to Happen is the inside story of ex-girlfriend Samantha Taylor’s tumultuous romantic relationship with the athlete that turned into every mother’s nightmare. Told through the eyes of Sam’s mother, Patricia Taylor, it tells of the time that Pistorius became part of the Taylor family’s close circle.
By Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor
By the time the Olympics began on July 27, it felt like Oscar was on the phone to me and my family 24/7. He wept constantly, saying how he didn’t want to be there.
In fact even before he got to London, while he was still training in Gemona, Italy, he was distraught about the upcoming Games.
There was so much pressure on him to perform, I don’t think even we, who were aware of a lot, knew how much it was.
On the day he had to fly to London he phoned me from his hotel, sobbing, saying he didn’t want to go. I begged him to call his manager, Peet, or coach, Ampie, or his siblings, Carl and Aimee, but he wouldn’t speak to any of them.
Eventually it turned out that I stayed on the phone with him as he left the hotel, speaking to him as he wept.
Finally he got into a taxi and checked in at the airport, crying all the way.
It broke my heart to hear him so sad and desperate and alone.
I tried to coax him on and encourage him. All the while, I prayed that he would just get on the damn plane. The stress was unbelievable.
Then we all waited in the lounge in Somerset West, eyes glued to the television, with bated breath, watching Sky… CNN… switching channels, desperate to see if he had actually flown in and arrived.
Of course there were many reasons why Oscar was feeling so distraught – having to compete with all the able-bodied athletes after all the effort he had made to be accepted by the World Athletics body, the weight of huge sponsorship deals, his deep insecurity about whether he had what it took to compete against some of the fastest athletes in the world, like Usain Bolt, and simple homesickness.
But I think what was underpinning everything at this stage was the heartbreak he was feeling over the breakup with Sam. Sometimes stubborn to a fault, she seemed adamant about her decision to move on. So I became the unwilling mediator.
A flood of desperate and emotional e-mails, SMSes and phone calls from Oscar were now a daily occurrence.
Things got really intense when Sam tried to tell him that she had met Quinton and that she was planning to go to Dubai with him.
Oscar began phoning and BBMing me and the rest of our family even more obsessively.
By then he had realised that it was over with Sam and there was another man in the picture.
One thing he kept repeating was that Sam was leaving him for Quinton because he, Oscar, was not rich enough.
“It’s because I’m too poor,” he kept on saying. How ridiculous was that, coming from someone who was rumoured to be earning R2 million ($200 000) a month at the height of his career!
At this stage he couldn’t see that it was because of his betrayals and inconsistent and thoughtless behaviour that Sam had decided to call it quits.
Of all of us, I don’t think anyone was more affected by Oscar’s torment than Sam. She cared for him deeply and knowing he was struggling tore her apart, but she also felt really angry and manipulated by him. And as always when Sammy felt under pressure, she simply withdrew. This only seemed to make Oscar more intent on trying harder to win back Sammy’s affections.
As days went by, the endless phone calls, SMSes and weeping got more intense.
Sam, who was trying to put up boundaries and move on, did not always answer his calls. When he couldn’t get hold of her, there’d be endless ones to me and to our other kids, Kerri-Lee, Ty and Greg. He just wouldn’t or couldn’t stop calling, BBMing, SMSing and e-mailing.
Now, in a complete turnaround, after being obdurate about not allowing Sam to join him at the Games in March and April, he begged her to join him in London, offering tickets, anything to have her back at his side.
In Oscar’s camp, it must have become obvious that things were going haywire and their star was suffering from a serious meltdown.
When Oscar’s pleas to Sam did not work, people like his brother, Carl, and his manager, Peet, began to contact Sam, asking her to join Oscar.
But Sam had decided that she was not going under any circumstances. Between crying and phoning, sometimes hourly, and having Oscar himself and people in his camp phone us daily, it seemed as if Oscar was completely consuming every waking (and sleeping) hour of our lives.
Knowing that the world’s eyes were on him, we felt almost compelled to be at his beck and call. It was as if South Africa’s national pride and joy had become our responsibility, as if we held Oscar’s entire mental well-being in our hands.
The insanity of our situation hit me one night while I was cooking supper, after a particularly harrowing session with Oscar, and I thought: if only the world knew what was really going on behind the applause and glorious victory laps.
South Africa’s richest and most famous athlete was calling us almost constantly on both his phones, weeping and sobbing, driving all of us crazy.
As my eyes focused on the television in the background, it felt like I had become part of some lunatic soap opera: on one channel was Quinton on Clifton Shores and on the other was Oscar Pistorius, competing in the Olympics… It was nothing short of bizarre.
When Ke’s boyfriend at the time asked me to listen to him on a radio interview the next day, I jokingly said to him: “That’s it! I never have to leave home again because I can watch our whole lives being played out in the media without having to leave the room!”
As July ended and August began, Oscar’s heart-wrenching calls and mood swings were not letting up and were taking a toll on our whole family, especially on Sam. Even though she didn’t always show it, I knew she felt in some way responsible for his pain.
I felt exhausted and consumed by it all. My life seemed to be going from one Oscar problem to the next… I worried about him constantly. Was he going to be functional enough to make it through the Olympics?
Would he buckle under the pressure? Walk out on the Games as he kept on threatening to do? Do something to Sammy when he came home? Carry out some crazy threat against Quinton? Harm himself? My primary concern was for our family’s safety, especially Sammy’s.
One minute Oscar would be sobbing, saying he didn’t want to be in London, then he would end the call and I would be left feeling responsible for his safety, racking my brain on how I could help him.
A day later I would send him an encouraging SMS, a little line of inspiration, a good-luck wish for his race, and I would get a very rude response saying: “Please don’t ever contact me again. You disturb my mental preparations.”
Then, hurt by his brutal reply, I would withdraw.
The next thing he would be calling me, sobbing and crying. It was like I was on a constant see-saw with him; at times it felt like I was going mad.
As much as I tried to be loving, supportive and kind, in the back of my mind lurked the memory of the Russian model, the final straw in Sam’s breakup with Oscar. I was still really angry about it.
Suddenly everything else that had happened in the past year flooded back, all at once, and I saw how much mayhem, chaos and damage one person was capable of causing. In a flash, all that buried anger and suppressed emotion came flooding out.
On July 18 I sent Oscar a message referring to their breakup and all the times he had hurt Sammy, stood her up, ignored her and treated her badly… the hurt and chaos he had brought on our family; the lies and betrayal.
I just let him have it, although all the way through I still tried to remain loving and supportive of him, knowing the insane pressure he was under.
*This is an extract from Oscar, An Accident Waiting to Happen, by Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor, published by MF Books at a recommended retail price of R195.
There's no way OP would have had to race against Usain Bolt. He only did the 400 metres in the Olympics, for which he didn't actually make the qualifying time but was selected anyway. Special treatment again.
I understood that shooting at an (unknown) intruder in a way that would be likely to kill him was in itself a crime. However, I was wondering if it had actually been on the charge sheet, and if it hadn't, then could OP have slipped through the net once the murdering RS charge had failed.
They were Oscar who was screaming because he just accidentally shot Reeva. Would you not be that distraught if you had accidentally killed someone that close to you?
It is not an experiment it is what actually happened. And when it actually happened EVDM heard the screams and thought they were a woman too. But her husband identified them as Oscar's! He knew Oscar, none of the other's did.
He was crying and screaming for some very odd reason, not that he had killed Reeva, he stopped then and 'held her' for ages, and then did some shouting, so he says
"The fundamental rule in considering circumstantial evidence is
that in order to justify an inference of guilt, a court must be sure that
inculpatory facts are incompatible [indistinct] the innocence of the
accused and incapable of explanation on any other reasonable
hypotheses."
and
"What is interesting is that Mr Johnson too made his first call at
03:16. This call was made to Strubenkop security. This time is closer to
the time mentioned by the Stipps as the time Dr Stipp made a call to
security. Johnson made the call soon after he and his wife, Ms Burger,
had heard what they described as a woman screaming. They also heard
a man shout ‘help’ three times. It was only after this that they heard
what they described as gunshots. It is clear from the rest of the
evidence that these were actually sounds of a cricket bat striking
against the toilet door. "
Masipa clearly failed in her duty to apply the test to both sets of sounds. Particularly since the later ones were what Johnson and Burger heard.
Hasn't she just. What a fudge. Those bat shots were heard from so far away and woke everyone up an' all, and the dogs. Much more likely it was a bat rather than gun shots, that's the only reasonable explanation. Or as a wit upthread said - who bloody wielded the bat THOR?
There's no way OP would have had to race against Usain Bolt. He only did the 400 metres in the Olympics, for which he didn't actually make the qualifying time but was selected anyway. Special treatment again.
There was talk at one time that Bolt might run in the 4x400m relay (he actually said he wanted to prior to the Games), in which case potentially Pistorius could have raced against him.
I mean if the prosecution appeal and get the decision changed, there is a chance the defence can appeal that decision based on a mistrial. Of which acquittal would be the result if the appeal was overturned.
There is only ever one appeal (can be both state and defence at the same time) to the Supreme Court of Appeal. This is the highest court of appeal in SA so if makes a decision in favour of the state then the defence can’t appeal it. Otherwise it would be asking the SCA to appeal its own decision.
Appeals in this case have to go straight to the SCA as Masipa sat with two assessors
However, the defence could try petitioning the President
I mentioned this over in The Trench but I think they were all dozing so I'll ask in here.
Sorry if it has already been talked about but I am way out of date with this thread these days!
The recent nightclub incident, was it OP who said he was friends with Zuma? Or was it the other bloke he had the kerfuffle with?
I was just wondering if Zuma was a moominballomin he may have 'spoken' to Masipa if you get my drift?
I'm wondering if M'lady is a member of the Zuma faction in the justice system and has an antipathy to Nel as a leading member of the Zille faction? Zuma is in a lot of legal trouble at the moment and Nel is linked with going after corrupt politicians. Look at the way he was arrested and intimidated when going after Jackie Selebi. The Pistorii definitely have the money and connections to buy influence.
There was talk at one time that Bolt might run in the 4x400m relay (he actually said he wanted to prior to the Games), in which case potentially Pistorius could have raced against him.
Comments
There is a chance if the prosecution appeal. Defence can then also appeal on basis of a mistrial. According to David Dadic. Hence prosecution only likely to appea if he doesn't get a custodial sentence
I heard that too, then listened again and heard she wasn't breathing. She was everything is out of context anyway, she wasn't breathing fits the situation, not the former.
Porky can explain it all better than I can!
He did say it the first thing the next day....
Yes and that was a brilliant the gloves don't fit, because they shrunk from the dried blood, or the defendant didn't take his arthritis medicine, moment.
A brilliant defense tactic does not make it true though. Sam Taylor heard him scream.
Unfortunately it reminds me of a Lucille Ball show rerun in which Lucy is trying to convince Desi of something incredulous.
By Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor
By the time the Olympics began on July 27, it felt like Oscar was on the phone to me and my family 24/7. He wept constantly, saying how he didn’t want to be there.
In fact even before he got to London, while he was still training in Gemona, Italy, he was distraught about the upcoming Games.
There was so much pressure on him to perform, I don’t think even we, who were aware of a lot, knew how much it was.
On the day he had to fly to London he phoned me from his hotel, sobbing, saying he didn’t want to go. I begged him to call his manager, Peet, or coach, Ampie, or his siblings, Carl and Aimee, but he wouldn’t speak to any of them.
Eventually it turned out that I stayed on the phone with him as he left the hotel, speaking to him as he wept.
Finally he got into a taxi and checked in at the airport, crying all the way.
It broke my heart to hear him so sad and desperate and alone.
I tried to coax him on and encourage him. All the while, I prayed that he would just get on the damn plane. The stress was unbelievable.
Then we all waited in the lounge in Somerset West, eyes glued to the television, with bated breath, watching Sky… CNN… switching channels, desperate to see if he had actually flown in and arrived.
Of course there were many reasons why Oscar was feeling so distraught – having to compete with all the able-bodied athletes after all the effort he had made to be accepted by the World Athletics body, the weight of huge sponsorship deals, his deep insecurity about whether he had what it took to compete against some of the fastest athletes in the world, like Usain Bolt, and simple homesickness.
But I think what was underpinning everything at this stage was the heartbreak he was feeling over the breakup with Sam. Sometimes stubborn to a fault, she seemed adamant about her decision to move on. So I became the unwilling mediator.
A flood of desperate and emotional e-mails, SMSes and phone calls from Oscar were now a daily occurrence.
Things got really intense when Sam tried to tell him that she had met Quinton and that she was planning to go to Dubai with him.
Oscar began phoning and BBMing me and the rest of our family even more obsessively.
By then he had realised that it was over with Sam and there was another man in the picture.
One thing he kept repeating was that Sam was leaving him for Quinton because he, Oscar, was not rich enough.
“It’s because I’m too poor,” he kept on saying. How ridiculous was that, coming from someone who was rumoured to be earning R2 million ($200 000) a month at the height of his career!
At this stage he couldn’t see that it was because of his betrayals and inconsistent and thoughtless behaviour that Sam had decided to call it quits.
Of all of us, I don’t think anyone was more affected by Oscar’s torment than Sam. She cared for him deeply and knowing he was struggling tore her apart, but she also felt really angry and manipulated by him. And as always when Sammy felt under pressure, she simply withdrew. This only seemed to make Oscar more intent on trying harder to win back Sammy’s affections.
As days went by, the endless phone calls, SMSes and weeping got more intense.
Sam, who was trying to put up boundaries and move on, did not always answer his calls. When he couldn’t get hold of her, there’d be endless ones to me and to our other kids, Kerri-Lee, Ty and Greg. He just wouldn’t or couldn’t stop calling, BBMing, SMSing and e-mailing.
Now, in a complete turnaround, after being obdurate about not allowing Sam to join him at the Games in March and April, he begged her to join him in London, offering tickets, anything to have her back at his side.
In Oscar’s camp, it must have become obvious that things were going haywire and their star was suffering from a serious meltdown.
When Oscar’s pleas to Sam did not work, people like his brother, Carl, and his manager, Peet, began to contact Sam, asking her to join Oscar.
But Sam had decided that she was not going under any circumstances. Between crying and phoning, sometimes hourly, and having Oscar himself and people in his camp phone us daily, it seemed as if Oscar was completely consuming every waking (and sleeping) hour of our lives.
Knowing that the world’s eyes were on him, we felt almost compelled to be at his beck and call. It was as if South Africa’s national pride and joy had become our responsibility, as if we held Oscar’s entire mental well-being in our hands.
The insanity of our situation hit me one night while I was cooking supper, after a particularly harrowing session with Oscar, and I thought: if only the world knew what was really going on behind the applause and glorious victory laps.
South Africa’s richest and most famous athlete was calling us almost constantly on both his phones, weeping and sobbing, driving all of us crazy.
As my eyes focused on the television in the background, it felt like I had become part of some lunatic soap opera: on one channel was Quinton on Clifton Shores and on the other was Oscar Pistorius, competing in the Olympics… It was nothing short of bizarre.
When Ke’s boyfriend at the time asked me to listen to him on a radio interview the next day, I jokingly said to him: “That’s it! I never have to leave home again because I can watch our whole lives being played out in the media without having to leave the room!”
As July ended and August began, Oscar’s heart-wrenching calls and mood swings were not letting up and were taking a toll on our whole family, especially on Sam. Even though she didn’t always show it, I knew she felt in some way responsible for his pain.
I felt exhausted and consumed by it all. My life seemed to be going from one Oscar problem to the next… I worried about him constantly. Was he going to be functional enough to make it through the Olympics?
Would he buckle under the pressure? Walk out on the Games as he kept on threatening to do? Do something to Sammy when he came home? Carry out some crazy threat against Quinton? Harm himself? My primary concern was for our family’s safety, especially Sammy’s.
One minute Oscar would be sobbing, saying he didn’t want to be in London, then he would end the call and I would be left feeling responsible for his safety, racking my brain on how I could help him.
A day later I would send him an encouraging SMS, a little line of inspiration, a good-luck wish for his race, and I would get a very rude response saying: “Please don’t ever contact me again. You disturb my mental preparations.”
Then, hurt by his brutal reply, I would withdraw.
The next thing he would be calling me, sobbing and crying. It was like I was on a constant see-saw with him; at times it felt like I was going mad.
As much as I tried to be loving, supportive and kind, in the back of my mind lurked the memory of the Russian model, the final straw in Sam’s breakup with Oscar. I was still really angry about it.
Suddenly everything else that had happened in the past year flooded back, all at once, and I saw how much mayhem, chaos and damage one person was capable of causing. In a flash, all that buried anger and suppressed emotion came flooding out.
On July 18 I sent Oscar a message referring to their breakup and all the times he had hurt Sammy, stood her up, ignored her and treated her badly… the hurt and chaos he had brought on our family; the lies and betrayal.
I just let him have it, although all the way through I still tried to remain loving and supportive of him, knowing the insane pressure he was under.
*This is an extract from Oscar, An Accident Waiting to Happen, by Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor, published by MF Books at a recommended retail price of R195.
I accept that both sides have the option to appeal but an acquittal I think is out of the question . I think both sides will wait and see what the sentence is then consider what could reasonably be expected from an appeal.
The next day was the actual day of Greg’s 16th birthday. I got up early and asked everyone to sign the card. I must say I did find it quite odd that he hadn’t bought Greg a present, not even a token gift or a card or anything. I had begun noticing this side of Oscar.
Despite being incredibly well off – he was earning millions a year at this stage – he found it very hard to give. He seemed to hold on to everything. He was always saying how much richer everyone else was than he was.
The day before, for instance, while we were driving to the wine tasting, Oscar had begun talking about all the Nike shoes he had – he used to get in the region of R100 000 ($10 000) worth of free sponsored Nike goods every month – whatever he wanted, he could get.
So as he was driving he jokingly said that he wanted to ask Nike to give him a pair of shoes in every age from baby size to adult, so that when he had kids one day, he would have a pair for each milestone. We all laughed and enjoyed the story, but there was an awkwardness left hanging in the air after he finished.
He always used to say to Sam that she should choose a pair of Nikes, and he would get them for her, but in all the time they were together he never produced them… I found it strange that he didn’t seem to have any recollection of his promise as he told us the story of Nikes and his future children. Sam, who was studying for her marketing degree and working part time for me, wasn’t earning much money, but always gave him presents – beautiful Christmas and birthday presents – whereas he almost never gave her anything, not even a Christmas card. It was very strange that he couldn’t even give a token of his good wishes.
It’s not that Sam expected it, but she was over the moon when he did give her a bunch of flowers on Valentine’s Day.
He would often say things like: “I’m shopping for your Christmas present” or “I am going to get you this or that”. There were always promises, but then nothing would come of them.
I was often amazed that he would come visit or stay at our house and never bring a thing, not a slab of chocolate, or a bottle of wine, as most people would, when visiting. It just never seemed to enter his head.
He didn’t seem able to think beyond his own needs. But once, when we were all out with friends of his and I took out my purse to pay, his friend stopped me, saying Oscar would never allow me to pay, as he always took care of the bill.
I noticed then that whenever there were friends of his out with us, he always paid the bill graciously.
I must say he was generous to his brother and sister – he bought Aimee a car, he often gave to charity and he gave freely to people like car guards and the homeless.
But over time I got to witness something in Oscar that just couldn’t or wouldn’t allow himself to give, and I don’t only mean material things, I mean giving from the heart, from a space within. It seemed to stem from a much broader, much deeper, much sadder place…
I think it had a lot to do with him feeling isolated, like a poor neglected little boy who had no real family. It was as though he felt deprived on a very core level and as a result it felt to me like he couldn’t relate to the emotional needs of those around him. In fact, when he was around our family, among people who found it easy to give and take, I think sometimes it brought out the worst in him.
There were times that he appeared to me to almost regress into a dark and semi-infantile space after spending time with us, like during that weekend of Greg’s 16th birthday.
Greg had also invited Ashley, a good friend, who flew in from Johannesburg for the celebrations, and Greg had made a plan to go ten-pin bowling. We Googled places and found what sounded like a cool alley at Canal Walk in Cape Town.
As usual, my older son Ty, like a typical varsity student, had a Sunday-morning hangover and was running late, so things started a bit slowly. Oscar began to get antsy. Gone was his laid-back, relaxed vibe from the previous day. He seemed anxious and kept saying we needed to get moving.
When Oscar was in a good mood, he was great, but as soon as he got into a foul one, it was hard not to be affected by it. I always felt very uncomfortable when his moods switched from good to bad.
We were still getting ready when Oscar started to become restless, pacing, getting up, looking for things in his bags, then sitting down again. Eventually I couldn’t take the tension and told Sam, Oscar and Alex to go ahead to Canal Walk and we would meet them there once Ty arrived. They went ahead and once my oldest son got to the house, we were ready to join Sam, Oscar and Alex, who were having breakfast at Mugg & Bean.
They had just finished breakfast when we arrived. We sat down to order and, as we did, Oscar immediately wanted to get up and do something else. I kept quiet, trying not to get tense, since it was Greg’s birthday.
Oscar, Alex and Sam decided to go and see what the ten-pin bowling looked like. Off they went while we finished our breakfast and waited for Greg’s friend Ashley to join us.
As we were finishing, Sam phoned and said, “Mom, the tenpin bowling here isn’t nice, I don’t think we should play.”
Well, that really infuriated me, since the ten-pin bowling was Greg’s special request; it had nothing to do with whether Oscar liked it or not. But Sammy kept insisting that the ten-pin bowling really wasn’t “very nice”. I assumed she was being prompted by Oscar in the background.
So we paid the bill and joined them. Even though we had come all the way into town because Greg had wanted to play, eventually they convinced all of us that the ten-pin bowling was a bad idea. So we returned to our cars, still unsure of what we should do next.
I could see my birthday son was disappointed.
It was becoming obvious that this day was no longer about Greg, it was becoming all about Oscar.
Now, with our plans in pieces, everyone got on their phones, trying to decide what to do. Oscar suddenly said he wanted to go back home, with the usual “I can’t handle being seen in public” line. Then Sammy and Oscar convinced everyone to go to Caprice in Camps Bay for cocktails. It was lunch time by now, that’s how much time we had wasted, just milling around doing nothing.
The weather wasn’t great, it was overcast and windy, perfect ten-pin bowling weather, but not really suitable for Camps Bay cocktails. We all arrived at Caprice and everyone ordered drinks.
I felt very uncomfortable – it was my 16-year-old son’s birthday, so going for cocktails was not actually appropriate. Here he had his young friend with him, and they were wanting to have fun, go bowling, not spend hours sipping on adult cocktails.
At that point, Oscar got on his two phones, SMSing, instant messaging, bbming and intently texting. He definitely seemed agitated, angry about something. It felt like something was up.
But he wasn’t divulging anything. I was acutely aware of how all of this was ruining what should have been Greg’s special day, and was very distressed.
With each text it seemed his mood was growing fouler. It was clear there was something amiss.
Later, I wondered who on earth he could have been having such intense communication with. I couldn’t help but feel suspicious. What was he hiding?
As the afternoon progressed, from initially being irritable and anxious, he now grew incredibly quiet and sullen. The atmosphere at the table was heavy from his mood.
I kept trying to keep the fun element going, for my son; I was all too aware that this day was being entirely spoiled by Oscar’s strange behaviour. What really struck me was how unaware he was of the uncomfortable atmosphere he was creating, of how inappropriate his behaviour was. What should have been a joyous occasion was now ruined.
Finally I asked him what was wrong.
* Oscar: An Accident Waiting to Happen, by Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor, is published by MF Books at a recommended retail price of R195.
I doubt it ;-) listen again with the expectation of hearing she was everything and that's what you'll hear. Then listen expecting to hear she wasn't breathing and lo and behold, that's what you will hear........I did anyway :cool:
Yes, I did phrase it badly, but I was trying to make it clear what I meant.
Thanks for clarifying that.
why does none of this surprise me? He sounds seriously disturbed.
That's exactly what Porky said!
I mean if the prosecution appeal and get the decision changed, there is a chance the defence can appeal that decision based on a mistrial. Of which acquittal would be the result if the appeal was overturned.
There's no way OP would have had to race against Usain Bolt. He only did the 400 metres in the Olympics, for which he didn't actually make the qualifying time but was selected anyway. Special treatment again.
Thanks for that.
I understood that shooting at an (unknown) intruder in a way that would be likely to kill him was in itself a crime. However, I was wondering if it had actually been on the charge sheet, and if it hadn't, then could OP have slipped through the net once the murdering RS charge had failed.
He was crying and screaming for some very odd reason, not that he had killed Reeva, he stopped then and 'held her' for ages, and then did some shouting, so he says
Hasn't she just. What a fudge. Those bat shots were heard from so far away and woke everyone up an' all, and the dogs. Much more likely it was a bat rather than gun shots, that's the only reasonable explanation. Or as a wit upthread said - who bloody wielded the bat THOR?
There was talk at one time that Bolt might run in the 4x400m relay (he actually said he wanted to prior to the Games), in which case potentially Pistorius could have raced against him.
There is only ever one appeal (can be both state and defence at the same time) to the Supreme Court of Appeal. This is the highest court of appeal in SA so if makes a decision in favour of the state then the defence can’t appeal it. Otherwise it would be asking the SCA to appeal its own decision.
Appeals in this case have to go straight to the SCA as Masipa sat with two assessors
However, the defence could try petitioning the President
I'm wondering if M'lady is a member of the Zuma faction in the justice system and has an antipathy to Nel as a leading member of the Zille faction? Zuma is in a lot of legal trouble at the moment and Nel is linked with going after corrupt politicians. Look at the way he was arrested and intimidated when going after Jackie Selebi. The Pistorii definitely have the money and connections to buy influence.
And is a verdict of murder also still possible on appeal?
If so we're more or less back where it started a year and a half ago
I don't know if I can take it.
I'm going to try.
Sorry. I didn't know that!
Indeed, and we can but hope
No - it's only nerdy athletics geeks like me that interest themselves in such trivia....:D:blush: