Tim Rice v. Andrew Lerblance

Let’s cut right to the chase: a fender bender on an old stretch of Highway 69 in rural Oklahoma has somehow ballooned into a $75,000 lawsuit. That’s not a typo. Seventy-five thousand dollars. For a car crash on a road so forgotten, it probably has more potholes than pavement. We’re not talking about a head-on collision on the interstate or a high-speed chase gone wrong—this is McIntosh County, Checotah, population barely enough to fill a high school football stadium on a good Friday night. And yet, here we are, with lawyers sharpening their pencils and one man claiming his life was upended by another man’s allegedly bad driving on a backcountry highway that most GPS systems gave up on in 2007.

Meet Tim Rice, our plaintiff. He’s just a regular guy, as far as we can tell from the filing—no superhero origin story, no criminal record (that we know of), just a man who, on January 10, 2019, decided to drive down old Highway 69 like any other Tuesday. Maybe he was on his way to work. Maybe he was picking up a six-pack from the corner store. Maybe he was chasing the ghost of Route 66’s glory days. We don’t know. What we do know is that his day took a turn when he encountered Andrew Lerblance, the defendant, who—according to Rice—was operating a motor vehicle in a manner that fell short of “reasonable care.” That’s legalese for “you weren’t paying attention, buddy.” No dramatic allegations of drunk driving, no texting while driving, no wild swerving or road rage tantrums. Just a plain old “you messed up and hit me” kind of deal.

Now, picture this: it’s a quiet stretch of road, probably flanked by overgrown weeds, rusted guardrails, and the occasional cow that wandered too far from the pasture. The kind of place where the speed limit is 45 but everyone drives 55 because, honestly, who’s going to stop you? Tim Rice is minding his own business, cruising along, maybe humming along to classic country on the radio, when—BAM—suddenly, he’s not alone. There’s a collision. Two cars. One awkward insurance claim. And, eventually, one very determined attorney sending a strongly worded letter to the District Court of McIntosh County.

What exactly happened in that moment? Did Lerblance pull a U-turn like he was in a Dukes of Hazzard rerun? Did he misjudge the distance while trying to merge onto a highway that sees three cars an hour? Did he sneeze? We may never know. The petition doesn’t give us the juicy details—no dramatic reenactment, no eyewitness accounts, no dashcam footage mentioned. Just a simple, almost poetic accusation: You didn’t drive carefully. And now I’m hurt.

And oh, is he hurt. According to the filing, Rice didn’t just walk away with a dented bumper. No, sir. He’s claiming medical expenses, lost wages, physical pain, mental anguish, and property damage. That’s the full trifecta of post-accident grievances. We’re talking doctor visits, maybe physical therapy, maybe a few sleepless nights replaying the moment of impact in his head. Maybe he had to miss work to get his neck adjusted. Maybe his car had sentimental value—his late granddad’s pickup, now crumpled like a soda can. The petition doesn’t say. But it does say he’s been “damaged in an amount in excess of $75,000.” Which brings us to the real head-scratcher: is that a reasonable ask?

Let’s put this in perspective. Seventy-five thousand dollars could buy you a brand-new Ford F-150 Platinum. Or a down payment on a modest house in Checotah. Or, if you’re really fancy, a single season of Bachelor in Paradise. For a single car accident on an obscure rural road with no mention of life-threatening injuries or permanent disability, that number feels… ambitious. Like, “I stubbed my toe and now I want a settlement that funds my early retirement” ambitious. Now, before you accuse us of being heartless, we get it—medical bills in America can spiral out of control faster than a tumbleweed in a tornado. A single MRI can cost thousands. Physical therapy adds up. And if Rice missed weeks of work, that’s real money gone. But $75K? That’s not just covering the cost of a fender bender—it’s like suing for emotional distress and the fact that your favorite coffee mug broke in the glove compartment during impact.

The legal claim here is straightforward: negligence. In plain English, that means “you had a duty to drive safely, you didn’t, and someone got hurt because of it.” It’s the bread and butter of car accident lawsuits. No need for murder weapons or secret affairs—just one person failing to live up to the basic social contract of “don’t crash into other people.” And while the petition doesn’t spell out how Lerblance was negligent—no speeding, no distracted driving, no admission of fault—it doesn’t have to. In the world of civil court, you just need to tell a plausible story. And Rice’s team has done that: “He hit me. He wasn’t careful. I suffered. Pay up.”

Now, here’s the kicker: no jury trial is demanded. That means both sides might be angling for a quiet settlement, away from the circus lights of the courtroom. Which is smart, honestly. Because if this case did go to trial, we’d want front-row seats. Can you imagine the testimony? “Your Honor, I was driving at a reasonable speed for the conditions, which, given the deer population and lack of streetlights, I’d estimate at approximately 52 miles per hour…” Expert witnesses debating the aerodynamics of a 2012 Honda Civic versus a 2010 Ford Fusion. A forensic reconstruction of a collision on a road so unremarkable, it doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page.

So what’s our take? Look, we’re not here to mock anyone’s pain. If Tim Rice is genuinely suffering, then he deserves fair compensation. But let’s be real—this case reeks of the kind of inflated demand that makes insurance adjusters sigh and roll their eyes. It’s the legal equivalent of asking for $10,000 because your avocado toast was slightly under-salted. And the fact that it’s centered around old Highway 69—emphasis on old—adds a layer of absurdity. This isn’t the Autobahn. This isn’t even I-40. This is a road where the most exciting thing that usually happens is a flat tire from running over an old hubcap.

Still, we’re rooting for the truth to come out. Did Lerblance just misjudge a turn? Was Rice partially at fault? Did a rogue armadillo cause the whole thing? We may never know. But one thing’s for sure: in the grand tradition of petty civil disputes, this case is a perfect example of how a five-second mistake on a forgotten road can snowball into a years-long legal saga. And honestly? We’re here for it. Bring on the depositions. Dust off the accident diagrams. Someone get a drone to re-map old Highway 69.

Because in the end, this isn’t just about $75,000. It’s about accountability. It’s about who blinked first. And it’s about whether, in the quiet corners of rural Oklahoma, a car crash can become a courtroom epic.

(Disclaimer: We’re entertainers, not lawyers. This is based on a court filing. No armadillos were harmed in the making of this article. Probably.)