I was on my law school’s mock trial team. There was no NIL money. The only way to be a big man on campus by boasting about team membership was if you were at least 6’4. I am not. Still, team members are obligated to tell everyone at every opportunity, much like vegans and Harvard grads. Fortunately for the people around me, the opportunity doesn’t present itself often. This week it did.

A local law school hosted a regional mock trial competition and the Bar was called on to serve as judges. Recognizing this as my only chance to get on the bench, I volunteered.

I enjoyed my time on the trial team. It was my second year of law school and one of the few things I enjoyed that year. My 1L, 2L, 3L days in law school were old style- Scare ‘em to death, work them to death, bore them to death. In that order.

My team worked long hours, sometimes until 2 a.m. We drilled on the case we would try in competition along with courtroom basics like laying foundations, examining witnesses, and staying awake after long hours of preparation. I got hooked on coffee during those days. I would likely have considered illegal stimulants if they were available which thankfully they weren’t.

I was scheduled to try a case the week following this competition but I agreed to be a judge anyway. More volunteers showed up than needed, and I was proud of the local lawyers and judges who answered the call. I got on the standby list and almost escaped without serving. I was suited up and ready to go, but like jury duty, I wouldn’t have minded getting a pass for the night. The only thing better than doing one’s duty is being excused from it.

 My first error happened hours before when I got dressed for the day. A friend saw me and passed her judging slot to me, saying, “He wore a bowtie for this, he didn’t come to play. Give him my spot.” Some strive to be judges. Judgeship was thrust upon me.

Each round had three judges, one to preside over the proceedings and two to watch from the jury box. A friend and I had been randomly selected to be presiding judge in the same division. We played “rock, scissors, paper” to choose which of us would preside. I am not sure if I won or lost, but I sat in the big chair.

It is a much different feeling to rule on objections instead of making them. I treated judging like a baseball umpire. I was there to call balls and strikes, not tell a pitcher he should kick his leg higher or a batter how to hit a curveball. I am proud to say I kept my advice and most of my grumpy old man mutterings to myself.

Not so proudly, I muffed a few calls. If the goal of trial competitions is to give the litigants a taste of what real trial law work is like, I unintentionally offered ample opportunity to respond to questionable rulings. I fully expect to be taken up on appeal at an upcoming moot court competition.

It’s hard for a student to recognize all the potential objections and decide which ones should be made and which ones to pass. In practice, recognition is second nature but the go/don’t go decision remains hard.

These students were well prepared. What they lacked in experience they more than overcame with enthusiasm. I remember once feeling as earnest as they were. Vaguely. All I felt at the end of this day was tired.

I still felt tired the next morning as I drove to my pre-trial conference. Due to a scheduling snafu, our conference cancelled. As trial lawyers know, schedules are aspirational. I took the windfall day.

 If trial competitions aim to replicate life, they should be cancelled and rescheduled at least once and last minute at that. Witnesses should flake out and judges should be encouraged to rule incorrectly at random. Phone and email messages should accumulate in the meantime.

On second thought, that is a horrible idea. Motion overruled.

©2024 With All Due Respect. Spencer Farris is the founding partner of The S.E. Farris Law Firm in St Louis, Missouri. He is more suited to a park bench than a judicial one. Comments or criticisms about this column may be sent c/o this publication or directly to him via email at farris@farrislaw.net.