The prosecution in the Roger Clemens trial shit the bed in a monstrous error this past week. Barred from presenting certain evidence (in this case, video testimony from Andy Pettitte’s wife), federal prosecutors indeed did just that: played excerpts of video expressly forbidden by Judge Reggie Walton.
Woops.
First Bonds beats the perjury charges in his case (and may have the obstruction conviction overturned), now Clemens may avoid retrial…and our boy Lance must be loving the gong show. The “it’s a waste of my tax dollars!” crowd seems to gaining converts. Is it any surprise the only person to sacrifice gold medals and do jail time…was a black woman?
There he goes, playing the race (and gender) card!
Maybe, maybe not. Does seem a little too bad to be true, though, that McGwire, Canseco, Giambi, Bonds, and the rest of these cretins are still living large while Jones is left to a sad comeback attempt…in the women’s NBA. (Did she succeed in that, by the way?) Granted, Jones perjured herself, while McGwire shelved the chest-thumping ‘roid-king routine and whimpered in front of Congress like a schoolkid flaking on a term-paper. He had the good sense to avoid the issue. Clemens, on the other hand, was jiz-drunk enough on his own story, that despite his own attorneys’ admonitions, he marched in front of Congress and declared his innocence repeatedly. Everybody has his/her own approach, I suppose.
What will come of the Novitzsky/Lance investigation is anybody’s guess. Word is many of his former Postal teammates have sung the same tune–systematic doping, repeatedly, for years. The number of people who’ve testified under oath, or as part of a deposition, that Lance doped far outnumbers Bonds.
But you’re against hope! You’re against the cancer survivors! Over 500 dope tests and never a single positive!
He’s gonna end up with tendinitis, pecking the same tweets over and over. That can be a serious condition.
Alas, though, this has rotted far beyond dead-horse status. It’s now a mere stain on the road, the leftovers of a catastrophic road-kill that occurred more than a decade ago. Maybe it was during the ’94 Fleche Wallonne or some rumors even allege during the ’89 Tour…but all that is just hearsay and conjecture and storytelling at this point. A sad, half-told tale.
The Tour marches on, with an interesting win by Hushovd yesterday. He must be going very, very well to survive the Aubisque with enough in the tank to ride across to Roy and go straight through him to the finish. It’s a bummer Vande Velde cratered on the Luz Ardiden day, but at least Danielson is riding well…and smart. Let the Schlecks, Cadel, and Contador peck at each other and maybe he’ll have some legs the week of Stage 18. That’s going to be a bloodbath, with the Agnel, Izoard, and a mountaintop finish up the back side of the Galibier. Save some gas, young brother!
Meanwhile in our neck of the woods the super-snowy winter gave way to a crazy-rainy spring. And summer. I was helping a buddy re-roof his house last week and boy was that…desperate. At one point he had water streaming in the light fixtures…indoors. I can honestly say that wasn’t my fault. Phew.
Trust you’ve all gotten up to Betasso to ride the new loop. They say it’ll eventually connect to Four Mile Canyon, so stay tuned, join BMA, and help make it happen! Me? I’ve watched about five minutes of the Tour; our little dudes are almost walking; and I have a book contract in the mail. Once it’s signed and sealed, I’m buying a beret and smoking hand-rolled cigs down at the Trident.
And best of luck the women’s World Cup team. Sadly, one would be a fool to imagine soccer’s any cleaner than cycling, but who knows, maybe the women’s side of the game is pristine. Let’s just believe it and hope for the best on Sunday. Credulity; that’s all we’re left with in the world of professional sports these days.
