Last week I made fun of criminal defendants who blunder on the courthouse steps. Funny, funny criminal defendants. They keep tracking me down and calling me names. So to get myself out of trouble, maybe I should point out that reporters are pretty funny, too. We really are, you know. You just need to get to know us.

For no good reason, I was thinking about the criminal suspect who dropped his pants in front of the courthouse. Now there was a classic moment. Even funnier than the convict with the ridiculous baggy shorts were the reporters and camera crews who did not know what to do with themselves. I don’t care where you went to school to study journalism. That topic wasn’t taught.

You can’t blame the suspects who do ridiculous things before the news cameras. They sit all day inside tiny cells with no play time. And when they are walked to court, they face self-important reporters with perfect hair and gobs of makeup. The temptation to misbehave must be unreal.

There was the local bad boy who squeezed his face into a snarl, flexed his tattoos and jabbed up a middle finger at the gleaming camera lenses. The photos that resulted from the vulgar display are sheer beauty. If I were that guy, I’d order copies and send them out as Christmas cards.

The criminally accused are an unpredictable lot. Reporters are by and large absurd. Thrust them together, and the potential for comedy is great.

Back when 8th District Court was on Park Street, the walk of shame was always an event. Defendants were chained together and marched across the street to be peppered with brilliant journalistic questions.

Me, I’m a true professional. I compose my questions carefully the night before a court hearing, rehearse them into dawn, and then fling them toward the suspect the moment an opportunity arises.

“So,” I’ll say in a tone I’ve perfected just for this event. “Did you do it? Or what?”

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that this is an example of journalistic genius and you can’t believe I haven’t been swiped by a larger news organization. And you’re right. My question is better than those of the other bozos because it’s the very heart of the matter and it takes way less time to shout than: “Sir, can you tell us if you were abused as a child and if so how did that impact you when you committed the crime for which you are now charged, and do you intend on making that a part of your defense should your case go to trial instead of being pled out in a pre-arranged deal which is commonplace in the legal system? Sir? Sir!”

By the time you spit out that mouthful, the defendant has been tried, served prison time, married, had kids and is now running for office. And good for him!

I have never been outside a court where a suspect admits to guilt because he has been so bedazzled by a question from a reporter. I’m sure it’s happened, it was probably a beautiful thing, but I have not been blessed with the experience.

It’s all about the images, anyway. The television weasels want ominous footage of the suspect that they can show while a reporter drones on in the background. If the story is really big, the television weasels might slow down the footage for the sake of drama.

I don’t care who you are or what you do. If someone shows a video of you walking in slow motion, you will look guilty of something. “Hey, look everybody! It takes that guy 10 seconds just to blink! To the gallows with him!”

For me, delivering the astoundingly devious question, “Did you do it, or what?” is just a means of getting the accused to glance in the direction of me and my photographer. Hopefully, the hulking, snarling prisoner will be so stunned by my perfectly formed question, he will turn with a mesmerized look and boom! There’s your front-page photo.

The outright carnage on the courthouse steps is often more interesting than anything happening inside the halls of justice. Reporters pretending to like and respect one another are nonetheless maneuvering to get something fresh, something the other person doesn’t have. Check it out someday. It is every bit as fascinating as gazing into an ant farm.

A random stranger strides down the sidewalk and a lone reporter strikes up a conversation. Fearful that they are missing something, the other reporters wander over. But they do it in a manner that suggests they were going to approach the random stranger, anyway. They don’t want to be perceived as leeches, after all.

Before you know it, every reporter at the courthouse is surrounding this random guy, who turns out to be a vending machine repairman with absolutely no connection to the criminal case. He’s freaked out because he is suddenly surrounded by reporters who are just now realizing the mistake. The decent thing would be for these buzzing journalists to spend a few moments asking this man about his life before moving on.

But we don’t. We just scurry away and glom onto an elderly woman descending the courthouse stairs.

“Ma’am, how long have you known the defendant? Did you know he was a killer? Did he tell you about it? Why didn’t you notify the authorities?”

Turns out the elderly woman was in court because she wanted to visit the historical society upstairs. And now the bad, bad reporters have made her cry. And while that was happening, the accused was acquitted and walked right out the door unheeded and the big sound bite was lost.

Which serves us right. Because if we had just stayed focused and asked the only question that really matters (“Did you do it? Or what?”) none of this ugliness would have happened.

But the others can’t ask that question because I’ve had it copyrighted. It’s mine and you can’t have it.

Mark LaFlamme is the Sun Journal crime reporter. He copyrights e-mails to his wife and mother.