You want to believe him. Of course you do. Roger Clemens is the greatest pitcher of his generation, and until his former trainer claimed to have injected him with steroids and human growth hormone, he ranked right up there among the most admired athletes in professional sports.
He threw hard and worked harder. He defied stereotypes about aging and withering effectiveness. He was an intense competitor, one of those extraordinary athletes who thrive with the back pages of New York tabloids incessantly on their tails.
But if Clemens was hoping for the kind of bump Barack Obama received in Iowa, he tossed a curve that cost him a title. His practiced responses and fidgety, smoldering demeanor – along with the playing of his recent conversation with accuser Brian McNamee – confused rather than clarified.
It was all too weird. And too familiar.
Clemens' attorney indeed may be representing an innocent man, but after his client began his public relations onslaught Sunday on "60 Minutes," Rusty Hardin's assertion that "anyone not persuaded by that interview is not a well person," leaves one wondering about the attorney's own grasp on reality. How many athletes and denials does this make anyway? Who isn't skeptical?
Two words and two major pieces of evidence immediately come to mind: Marion Jones.
No athlete could possibly profess their innocence more dramatically or convincingly than did Jones, the disgraced Olympic sprinter, who during the 2004 U.S. Olympic Track and Field Trials here at Sacramento State, sat in the press tent and screeched from the same script. As she lashed out against media reports detailing her alleged use of banned substances, her performance was compelling and impassioned, and for those who favor happy endings, utterly believable.
Ultimately, it was all an act, an "I fooled you" dirty scene. Her next stop should have been Hollywood. Instead it was a White Plains, N.Y., courtroom, where she pleaded guilty to charges in connection with steroid use.
If Clemens in fact is clean – and he insists that he was only injected with painkillers and vitamin B-12 – then his outrage is defensible and undeniably understandable. The lawsuit his attorney filed against McNamee, alleging libel and defamation, makes perfect sense. His decision to address Congress next week could present the seminal moment, the hour when the thickly built right-hander exposes himself to the pummeling that results in a public cleansing.
But if he is being deceitful (see Floyd Landis, Tim Montgomery, Rafael Palmeiro, yawn and on), there isn't enough sagebrush in Texas to hide his shame. All of which added an element of the bizarre to Monday's developments, to a news conference that was perplexing and potentially problematic for a number of reasons, most relating to the 17-minute taped conversation with McNamee.
First, Clemens failed to inform his former trainer that the call was being taped – an unseemly maneuver, its legality notwithstanding. Then, when McNamee repeatedly asks, "What do you want me to do? I want it to go away. I'm with you in your corner. But I also don't want to go to jail," Clemens implores his former trainer to "tell the truth," but never asks his former friend to accompany him to the news conference. Nor does a distraught McNamee ever admit lying to the Mitchell commission.
Then there is the tale of the lie detector test. Clemens, who on "60 Minutes" indicated that he would take an exam if asked, switched tactics Monday. Hardin moved to the microphone and quickly challenged the reliability of the tests. "My recommendation is that he not," said the lawyer. "I don't trust them."
Yet one prominent Sacramento defense attorney countered. "If it's a reputable and skilled technician using modern equipment, passing a polygraph speaks volumes," said Mark Reichel, who handled several high-profile cases during his 13 years with the federal defender's office. "The justice department utilizes them. We use it in intelligence. And I use it like a battle ax when I go speak with the prosecution about dismissing a case. I think that's what you will hear these days within the (legal) community."
Well, you won't be hearing about that from Clemens, though he will be speaking next week under oath, and for his sake, you hope this is more than the most important performance in his life. You hope for the truth, for a change.
Call The Bee's Ailene Voisin, (916) 321-1208.
