Former NY Yankees Pitcher Roger Clemens arrives with his wife Debbie and lawyer Rusty Hardin at Federal court for jury selection in his perjury trial in Washington, DC, on July 6, 2011. Clemens is accused to lying to Congress under oath about using performance enhancing drugs. UPI/Roger L. Wollenberg
I’ve always been a big believer in the theory what goes around, comes around. Every time I hear about how someone lied, stole or cheated, Johnny Cash’s haunting melody “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” plays in my head as I think to myself, ‘You’ll get yours…oooooooooh, you’ll get yours.’ (Sometimes I’ll even throw in a sinister laugh if nobody’s around.)
But after reading about how the prosecution screwed the pooch in the Roger Clemens trial on Thursday, I’m not so sure karma exists now. This turd has lied so many times about his alleged steroid use that somewhere along the line he actually started to believe the crap that was spewing out of his mouth. I hear Clemens speak now and I’m thoroughly convinced that he believes what he’s saying. Dude could take a lie detector test tomorrow and pass it with flying colors George Costanza-style.
You can Google the details on your own, but here’s the cliff note version of how Clemens’ case was declared a mistrial on Thursday:
1. The judge told prosecutors that they couldn’t use testimony of Andy Pettitte’s wife unless it was in rebuttal, since she did not hear Clemens directly state that he had used HGH.
2. Via video, the prosecutors used the testimony anyway.
3. Mistrial.
That sound you just heard was your tax money flushing down the toilet at the hands of well-educated, well-paid men who just produced one of the all-time screw-ups in sports history. It’s not like this happened on Day 45 because someone lost focus and got a little careless. This was the second freaking day of the trial.
What happens next is interesting. If the judge declares double jeopardy, then Clemens cannot be tried for the same crime, which basically means that he’ll get off even easier than Barry Bonds did. Following Bonds, Clemens would be the second liar not to have had to pay the piper, which ruins my faith in karma and karma-like revenge.
Go tell that long tongue lair, go and tell that midnight rider
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter
Tell ‘em that God’s gonna cut ‘em down
Tell ‘em that God’s gonna cut ‘em down
Not this time, Johnny.
Quick-Hit Thursday Thoughts:
– I don’t want to make light of the fact that Clemens allegedly lied under oath, but at this point I would rather see the government move on. It’s clear following the Bonds and Clemens’ trials that the government is in over its head and I would like to think that it has bigger fish to fry.
– NFL Network’s Jason La Canfora reports that the Dolphins “might actually set the market for Reggie Bush.” That’s outstanding: Can he play quarterback?
– The player rep for Randy Moss is claiming that his client “has been working out, two-a-days all spring and summer in West Virginia” and that Moss is going to be a “difference maker” again. I don’t doubt that Moss still has the talent to be a starting receiver in the NFL. I do, however, doubt his willingness to do anything but cash a paycheck and steal more money from a team.
– Mark Maske of the Washington Post is reporting that an agreement in principle on a new CBA could be completed between this Friday and next Tuesday. That’s fantastic. I wonder when the deal could have been in place had the two sides bothered talking to each other at the start instead of directly going to court.
– Maurice Clarett told a radio station in Omaha that colleges should pay football players $30,000 or $20,000 to fix the problems that the NCAA has been facing. I’m all for the idea on one condition: The schools stop shelling out thousands of dollars for this kid’s tuition and room and board. Because given Clarett’s comments and history, it’s clear that some of these players aren’t taking advantage of the free education that is being provided them. So yeah, pay them $30,000 a year so that they can buy all of the handguns and Grey Goose vodka they want. Zing!
