More humiliation for the Rocket:
Shortly after their clubhouse conversation that day in June, Clemens summoned McNamee to the apartment, and by the time the trainer arrived, the pitcher had already laid out some clear glass vials containing a cloudy white liquid. The labels identified the substance as Winstrol, an anabolic steroid. There were some large needles, too, and sterilizing alcohol.
There was one problem. McNamee had experience only with the small-bore subcutaneous needles he used to inject his son. He was now looking at wide-bore needles meant to puncture dense muscle and inject a thick fluid deep into tissue. His mind began racing. He had no authority to give injections to players, let alone to the face of the franchise. But Clemens had asked, and McNamee had agreed. There was no turning back. Anyway, McNamee figured, Clemens was more prone to hurt himself if he stuck needles into his own ass.
The pitcher bent over (eeeeewwwwww!!!!). McNamee dabbed Clemens's skin with alcohol so as not to cause an infection. Then he stuck the needle into the pitcher's buttocks and depressed the plunger of the syringe. Now they were accomplices.
Followed by more weak denials as Clemens continues his Cheney-like legacy crusade:
"Everywhere I've gone and gotten the opportunity to speak to young kids or college kids, I take a lot of pride in telling those boys to get after it and do things the right way and take care of your body, because I know how I did it; I know how hard I worked," Clemens said. "For some of that to come in question, of course it's hurtful. But it's not going to break my spirit."
And evidence that he might as well not waste his breath:
While there are evidently a few sycophants hanging on the shred of belief in the integrity of their sociopathic hero, it looks like support for Clemens is less than that of the GOP, and that's saying something. (Clemens may have cheated and lied to Congress, but at least he was competent at his job.)
While there remains something very grimly satisfying about all of this, the days when I was giddy with schadenfreude are over. I wanted Roger Clemens' exposed for the lying, steroid-fueled scumbag he is. I wanted his reputation in tatters. I wanted his HOF chances DOA. All that has happened, and now it just seems like...piling on. Although it doesn't always shine through, I do have the capacity for empathy, and I feel sorry for him-although it's actually probably more accurate that I feel sorry for the complete annihilation of the brilliant career of a guy who once, long ago. carried the hope and promise of a downtrodden franchise on his golden arm...back in the the real world, though, I hope the miserbale bastard goes to jail ("I'm very thankful and grateful for this day to come. I'm glad for the opportunity finally. And, you know, I hope I get, and I know I will have the opportunity to come here to Washington again under different terms." We can accommodate, Rog!) forever sharing a cell with some Bush torture apologist. Despite what he'd have you believe, nobody else-not McNamee, not his wife, not his mother-is to blame for this. If he hadn't been so arrogant and stupid-if he had admitted to use, said he was sorry and thrown himself upon the mercy of the court of public opinion-he probably would have gotten away with it.
Just ask St. Andy Pettitte. You don't see Mr. "Personal Relationship With God and HGH" on the cover of a tell-all now, do you?
(And, yes, I bought the book...although my equally Clemens-hating mother wants it first.)