Clemens should try to misremember this day

Unless I'm misremembering, the greatest pitcher of this era sat before Congress and all of America on Wednesday and answered questions about a "palpable mass" on his buttock.

Undeniably, Roger Clemens has had more dignified days.

The Rocket, supposedly a great baseball phenomenon, approached the fight of his life the only way he knows. He competed like crazy, hurled his nastiest stuff, attacked, attacked, attacked, all the way to the end, when a congressman banged his gavel to hush him.

"Excuse me, but this is not your time to argue with me," said Rep. Henry Waxman, D-Calif., the chairman of the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, scolding Clemens for talking during closing remarks.

And then the man with 354 career wins relented and, finally worn down after all these years, was defeated.

The confidence that made Clemens an extreme competitor had failed him again. It hasn't benefited him throughout this debacle, and no matter how hard he fights, or how loud he talks, he can't diminish the damage this steroids scandal has done to his reputation.

Revealing the greatest truth of a bizarre day, Clemens said in his opening statement, "No matter what we discuss here today, I am never going to have my name restored."

Never. The doubt is embedded. This situation can't be better for Clemens, only worse. His vehement defense may eventually put him in jail on perjury charges.

Brian McNamee, the reprehensible trainer who claims to have helped Clemens cheat, came across as more believable than Clemens. The Rocket, who's more charismatic and likable than McNamee, fidgeted and stammered through the hearing.

Clemens often failed to answer questions, choosing instead to veer into rehearsed diatribes that sounded like campaign speeches. When he did provide answers, many of them sounded illogical, especially when the interrogation alluded to his buddy Andy Pettitte's lethal statements. Pettitte had previously told the committee that Clemens admitted using human growth hormone in a private conversation.

Clemens' response: Pettitte "misremembers" their conversation. That's actually in the dictionary, misremember. But so is "Googled," and neither are words you want to say when trying to make an impression. It's better than cursing, I suppose, which was probably Clemens' preferred rebuttal.

For 4 hours and 41 minutes, the Rocket competed. By the end, however, it became clear he was cornered.

It was no longer just Clemens vs. McNamee. Pettitte, his friend, made McNamee's accusations more credible. Pettitte's wife, Laura, had also given damaging sworn testimony before this hearing. So did his ex-nanny, and once more, we're reminded how hard it is to find good help.

Clemens also read a statement from his wife, Debbie, who admits McNamee injected her with HGH but says her husband didn't know about it until later.

It's impossible to believe Clemens lived in this environment of drug use and never had some funny stuff jabbed into him.

That's his claim, however, and under oath, Clemens emphatically stated, "I have never used steroids, human growth hormone, or any other type of illegal, performance-enhancing drugs."

If Clemens is proven a liar, he'll lose more than his reputation. He'll lose his freedom.

Somebody was fibbing Wednesday, and the evidence points to Clemens. Although McNamee is a recurring liar, you cannot deny this much: He's ratted on three players, and two of them, Pettitte and Chuck Knoblauch, are indeed guilty.

"When Mr. McNamee gave his testimony about Knoblauch and Pettitte, those allegations turned out to be true," Rep. Elijah Cummings, D-Md., said while questioning Clemens. "But for some reason when it comes to you, it's a whole 'nother thing. How do you explain this?"

Clemens couldn't.

"It's hard to believe your story," Cummings replied. "I hate to say that. You're one of my heroes. But it's hard to believe you."

We'd get into congressmen practicing hero worship, but Wednesday had enough irrelevant rambling. This is what happens when you let too many glory-seeking politicians get time on national television: One prematurely admitted Clemens to the Hall of Fame, another to heaven. Another asked Clemens if he were vegan, and in yet another astonishing exhibition of his vocabulary, Clemens said he didn't know what the word meant.

But the worst, and most embarrassing, line of questioning involved the "palpable mass" that McNamee claims once appeared on Clemens' behind after an injection. A couple of Congressmen fixated on it, changing these proceedings from unusual to uncouth.

Yep, sadly, Clemens' butt was on the line this day. He competed, but he failed. He was spirited, but he was unconvincing.

For certain, his playing days are over. He should befriend a vegan, go into hiding and try to misremember this day.

Jerry Brewer: 206-464-2277 or jbrewer@seattletimes.com