THIS JUST IN

The Rocket fades from the night sky. What now?

by Tim Keown

Stupidity or hubris—which is most at fault for the wholesale destruction of Roger Clemens' reputation? You can't go wrong with either, but it is the two choices in concert that have produced a spectacle truly startling in its completeness.

Through this ongoing yard sale of Clemens' legacy, personal and professional, one truth shines through: If it was not for his otherworldly ability to throw a baseball, this guy would be standing behind a convenience-store counter, rubbing his gut and betting his co-workers five bucks he could eat a dozen Slim Jims. The façade fell for good as soon as we were offered the image of a 28-year-old man taking a 15-year-old girl back to his hotel room. Didn't help to hear Clemens had also cavorted with one of John Daly's former wives. All this from a guy who preached the gospel of the family man?

Every bit of his reputation, shredded. Every member of his family, shamed. Every hope of redemption, shattered. And why? Because Clemens believed in the sanctity of the star-loving culture that created him. He could ignore George Mitchell's investigators (like the rest of his colleagues), seemingly lie to a congressional committee and file a lawsuit against his accuser—and nothing would happen.

He was insulated by his superhuman identity, unburdened by the mundane boundaries of accountability. He is The Rocket; the rules don't apply. He's a ballplayer, one of the best, and there are privileges attached. Did you see how members of Congress, the ones who were supposed to get him to come clean, acted like adolescent fans when he graced the Hill? Small wonder that Clemens figured the sanctity of the baseball institution extended beyond the institution itself. He believed in the code of honor in clubhouses that long ago decreed the discussion of infidelity off-limits. He didn't understand that filing a defamation lawsuit was stepping away from the protection of the
institution, into the big, bad world of real people and real consequences, where character goes beyond an abscess on your ass to who you really are.

Oh, but he is a man of power and privilege, and in his world Brian McNamee is merely an invited guest. Of course The Rocket would be believed and the trainer's allegations discarded. Increasingly, no one cares about getting to the truth. Our culture has created a who-screams-loudest pecking order that discounts fact in favor of status. This line-blurring is why some people don't believe the weather they plainly see out their windows until it is confirmed on Fox News. What matters are our opinions and how well we can defend them. Farhad Manjoo, author of True Enough: Learning to Live in a Post-Fact Society, says, "It's been proven people have a tendency to believe something is true if it's repeated often enough."

The Rocket's relationship with the truth has always been rocky. To put it in terms that even he might understand, he was never so intimate with it that he could fly it around in his private jet. Remember when he threw half a bat at Mike Piazza in the 2000 World Series and tried to convince us he thought it was the ball? And remember how nobody made him tell us why, if he thought it was the ball, he threw it at Piazza instead of to first base? Everyone just shrugged and said, "That's Roger," in the same way they shrug when the dog chews the furniture.

Athletes love to call themselves entertainers and Clemens seems to have enjoyed all the trappings of the entertainer lifestyle (money, women, planes) while still living within the baseball culture. That culture called for obedience and silence—especially from the hired help, the trainers and clubbies—and so obedience and silence were received.

Now, though, with the lawsuit being his first big leap into the deep end, the truth is there for all to scour. He has made it okay to sift through his garbage, and he was too ignorant or insulated to see it coming. He thought he could compartmentalize the pieces of his life—steroid denials here, defamation lawsuit there—to separate The Rocket from his philandering self.

It could get worse. His wife, his sons, his teammates, his alleged mistresses—all could be deposed. Before it's over, more legal problems could ensue. Unless Rusty Hardin talks his client into dropping his lawsuit, McNamee's lawyers will go at Clemens the same way he went at Piazza. Stupidity and hubris. Combine the two and you get a guy walking face-first into a blast furnace—and still coming away surprised he got burned.

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