Think about the most stressful day you’ve ever had. Now multiply that by about a thousand. That’s roughly the energy inside a Boston courtroom back in April 2017. Most people remember Aaron Hernandez as the New England Patriots star who had it all and threw it away. But if you look closer at the specific window of time when he teamed up with high-stakes defense attorney Jose Baez, the story gets a lot weirder—and much more complicated than the headlines suggest.
By the time Aaron Hernandez hired Jose Baez, he was already a convicted murderer. He was serving life without parole for the 2013 death of Odin Lloyd. To the public, the second trial—for the 2012 double homicide of Daniel de Abreu and Safiro Furtado—seemed like a formality. A "slam dunk," as the pundits say. But Baez doesn't really do "formalities."
The "Three-Legged Pony" Strategy
Winning a murder trial when your client is already in a jumpsuit is a tall order. Baez knew he couldn't just play nice. He needed to dismantle the prosecution’s star witness, Alexander Bradley. Bradley was Hernandez’s former friend, the man who claimed Hernandez pulled the trigger over a spilled drink at a nightclub.
Honestly, the way Baez handled Bradley was a masterclass in courtroom theater. He didn't just call him a liar; he labeled him a "three-legged pony." To drive the point home to the jury, Baez actually galloped like a horse in the middle of the courtroom. It sounds ridiculous, right? But it worked. He highlighted every inconsistency in Bradley’s story until the "truth" looked more like a colander than a solid case.
Baez’s style is divisive. Prosecutors often find him unprofessional or overly aggressive. One former prosecutor, Jeff Ashton, even called him a "wonderful salesman" who doesn't care much for legal etiquette. But for Hernandez, Baez was the only person who seemed to believe there was still a future worth fighting for.
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What Really Happened Behind the Scenes?
The relationship between Aaron Hernandez and Jose Baez wasn't just attorney-client. It was deeper. In his book Unnecessary Roughness, Baez talks about the hours they spent together. Hernandez wasn't just a "thug" to him; he was a father and a fiancé who was terrified.
While the media was busy painting Hernandez as a monster, Baez was looking at the science. He was one of the first people to really push the idea that Hernandez’s brain was physically broken. We’re talking about Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE). At the time, it was a buzzword in football, but Baez saw it as a literal defense. He noticed Hernandez struggled with impulse control and paranoia—classic symptoms of the disease.
Why the 2017 Acquittal Was a Shock
When the clerk read "not guilty" on all counts except for a minor gun charge, the room went dead silent. The families of the victims sobbed. Hernandez wept. It was a massive victory for Baez, cementing his reputation as the "Johnnie Cochran of the 21st century."
But the victory was short-lived.
Five days later, Aaron Hernandez was found dead in his cell. He had hanged himself with a bedsheet. The timing was haunting. He had just won. He had hope. Baez had told him they were going to appeal the first conviction and that he had a real shot at going home.
The Aftermath and the Brain
The drama didn't end with the death. The day after Hernandez died, Jose Baez was back in the news, fighting the state medical examiner. Why? Because the state wouldn't release Hernandez’s brain. Baez knew that if they could prove Hernandez had severe CTE, it would change the entire narrative of his life.
He was right.
Researchers at Boston University later found that Hernandez had the most severe case of CTE ever seen in a 27-year-old. His brain had "gaping holes" in it. It didn't excuse the violence, but for many, it provided a tragic "why."
The Baez Legacy: Luck or Genius?
People still argue about Jose Baez. Did he get lucky with Casey Anthony and Aaron Hernandez, or is he actually that good?
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- He relates to the jury: Baez grew up poor in Miami. His mother was a maid. He tells jurors he treats the janitor with the same respect as the CEO. That resonates.
- He attacks the gaps: He doesn't necessarily try to prove his client is a "good person." He just proves that the prosecution’s story has holes.
- He’s a risk-taker: Most lawyers wouldn't gallop like a horse or suggest the victims were involved in drug deals without ironclad proof. Baez does it anyway.
Basically, Baez thrives in the chaos. He took a man the world had already written off and gave him a final moment of "innocence," at least in the eyes of the law.
Key Takeaways from the Hernandez-Baez Saga
If you're following high-profile legal cases or just curious about how the justice system actually functions when the cameras are on, here is what you should keep in mind:
- Reasonable doubt is a low bar, but hard to clear. You don't have to prove someone else did it; you just have to prove the star witness might be lying.
- CTE is a game-changer. The Hernandez case was a turning point for how we view the intersection of brain trauma and criminal behavior.
- The "Baez Method" works. Theatricality in the courtroom can be more effective than a dry, evidence-heavy presentation.
If you want to understand the full scope of this story, start by looking at the Boston University CTE report on Hernandez’s brain. It’s a sobering read that puts the courtroom antics of the 2017 trial into a much darker, more clinical perspective. From there, compare the cross-examination transcripts of Alexander Bradley to see exactly how a high-priced defense attorney can turn a "guilty" man into an "acquitted" one in less than a week.