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Roger Clemens verdict won't erase the shadow of some doubts - Washington Post

If I ever lie to Congress about having syringes of Human Growth Hormone injected into my bloodstream, I hope my case is heard in the District of Columbia by a group of jurors I can wink and smile at, people who know my face, what I’ve accomplished in my career and are clearly impressed that I am much more famous than they are.
If I ever lie to Congress about having a low-life drug mule puncture my buttocks with performance-enhancing drugs, I hope I have enough money to be represented by a homespun slick lawyer named Rusty, who cross-examines that lowlife whom I employed, and puts enough doubt into the people impressed they get to sit within a few feet of me.

If I ever cheat my profession and tell Texas-sized lies on Capitol Hill, I hope a former co-worker of mine, who had the guts to admit he once used HGH, will contradict his original testimony during my trial. Because not only will someone like Andy Pettitte be useful to my acquittal, heck, I might even tell my wife to invite him back to my cookouts and put him back on the Christmas card list.
When I break down and cry after my lawyer gets me off, like Roger Clemens did after he was acquitted of all perjury charges Monday afternoon, let my supporters believe they are tears of innocence instead of what they really represent: my emotional reaction to knowing I had dodged a self-inflicted beanball that barely missed and very nearly proved I lied to America.
More than a decade after federal agents raided a Bay Area “supplement” company and uncovered mounds of evidence showing that many of our athletic heroes weren’t worthy of adulation — convicted felons such as Marion Jones and Barry Bonds, violent Neanderthals such as Bill Romanowski and dozens of others who taught us not to believe what we see anymore is the simply the result of just authentic grit and work — we have learned two truths: