Clemens cashed in big, in reputation, money and extra chances to keep pitching, with his good-ol'-hard-workin'-country-boy image. If all of the reports about his steroid and human growth hormone use are true, he also made a killing with his silence. That is, his silence while Bonds was basted and rotated over an open flame for the latter stages of his career.
All those in baseball, whether named in the Mitchell Report, in other investigations or who still haven't been caught, benefited from having Bonds around to act as a human shield.
Any of them, at anytime during the five years Bonds was hounded by every corner of the sport, could have stepped up and said: "Look, the home run records may be a big deal, but he's not the only one indulging. We all had choices to make."
But why do that when you never fear for your own career, when you never sense that the assault on performance-enhancers is directed toward anyone else besides that one lightning-rod player? What incentive was there for any of them to say anything besides, "It's every man for himself - better him than me"?
Clemens got so enamored with himself and so secure in the idea that it was all about Bonds, he hoodwinked the game and the public long enough to sign some of the most outlandish contracts in history and still heard far more admiration than condemnation for it.
Now he, like Bonds, is no longer an active player. Unlike Bonds, he'll live with no threat of an official sanction from baseball. He'll see only a handful of grim analyses, a few scathing remarks, mainly from the blogosphere. He'll face no daily reminders of his sins, no strident demands that his entire career and legacy be declared invalid. If he ever has to duck a tube of cream hurled in anger, it's more likely to be in his own bedroom from his humiliated wife than in a public place with tens of thousands of enemies.
On second thought, maybe Bonds doesn't find it all very funny after all.
david.steele@baltsun.com
Listen to David Steele Wednesdays at 9 a.m. on WNST (1570 AM).
