As I was sitting through the last four weeks of the murder trial, I kept wondering what I would say about it all in the end.

There were moments where both attorneys attacked with a quick and vicious firing of questions, slashing at the other’s witness as if wielding a switch blade. A few of the 50-plus witnesses called in the case succumbed to their cross-examined wounds before the jury, leaving a bloody trail of credibility behind them as they departed.

It doesn’t happen all that often, but watching a person fall apart on the stand can be exhilarating. It’s among those extraordinary moments where real life actually appears to overlap a Hollywood scene or crime series.

One Friday afternoon, an attendant who mistakenly thought the judge requested the jury began calling them upstairs. Broome County Judge Martin E. Smith, who was making little progress in a legal debate with the attorneys at the time, leaned far back into the bench, tossed his glasses on the desk like a bad poker player before lurching forward holding his head as if to keep it from exploding. “Oh my God, I’ve lost control,” he moaned in an exaggerated fashion, mocking the sudden and rare appearance of confusion in his court. The courtroom rolled in a burst of laughter from all sides. I even saw the defendant chuckle; we all did.