America at Large:A decade ago, after his second trial - the first had resulted in a mistrial - on federal racketeering and insurance fraud charges, Don King expressed his gratitude by treating the members of the jury that had just acquitted him to an all-expenses-paid vacation in the Bahamas.

Whatever your opinion of its propriety might have been, you had to admire King's audacity. Dodging jury duty is a time-honoured American custom, but if the feds had ever dared indict the World's Greatest Promoter again, people would have been clamouring to be included on the jury, and the presumption is that, whatever the evidence, at least a few of them would have held out for acquittal.

We were reminded of King's ploy last week, when Roger Clemens embarked on last week's cozy little meet-and-greet rampage through Capitol Hill.

Summoned to Washington to testify at yesterday's congressional inquiry into the subject of performance-enhancing drugs in baseball, Clemens arrived a week early, and spent three days in the Rayburn House Office Building, seeking out and schmoozing with 19 members of the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, which would be conducting the hearing.

Taking his case directly to the lawmakers was a public relations ploy engineered by Clemens's lawyers and public-relations flacks, and you can't blame them for trying. The politicians, on the other hand, should have known better. But as soon as I heard about this dog-and-pony show, the first thing thing that occurred to me involved how many autographs baseball's winningest pitcher would wind up signing for the lawmakers while there. And the answer, apparently, was: plenty. Between Congressmen, their staffs, and House pages, it was estimated the pitcher left behind "scores" of autographs and posed for not a few photo-ops.

The ethical question should be obvious: how can a man be reasonably expected to sit in judgment of somebody whose signature adorns an autographed baseball atop his desk? And it may well have even been illegal. The New York Times noted yesterday Title 5, Section 7353 of the US Code on government misconduct prohibits federal employees from soliciting anything of value from a person "whose interests may be substantially affected by the performance or non-performance of the individual's official duties". A baseball is worth 10 bucks. One signed by Clemens will fetch $175 on E-bay.

As the most prominent player not previously named, Clemens has been a focal point of attention since the release of the "Mitchell Report" two months ago. Suffice it to say George Mitchell is a man of unimpeachable integrity, a former judge, a former senator, and the man who helped broker peace in Northern Ireland.

In the face of mounting evidence, Clemens has vociferously denied ever having used steroids or human growth hormone. He repeated that denial in a sworn deposition a few days ago, and he repeated it again yesterday. Suffice it to say that to believe Clemens is to question both the integrity and the motives of Mitchell, who has no obvious axe to grind.

But in the absence of a smoking gun, Clemens had hoped to sway the committee membership with his good-ole-boy approach, along with constant reminders that the preponderance of the case against him rested on the credibility of his erstwhile personal trainer Brian McNamee, who claims to have injected him with steroids and HGH on 16 separate occasions. But even as Clemens was signing autographs for committee members, matters were unravelling all around him. In his own sworn deposition, McNamee produced used syringes and blood-soaked gauze that he claimed were the result of his injecting Clemens with performance-enhancing substances seven years ago.

Now, admittedly, you do have to wonder what sort of fellow would keep medical waste and bloody rags around the house as souvenirs, but McNamee had an even more newsworthy, if not particularly relevant, bombshell: he told committee members that four years ago he injected Clemens's wife, Debbie, with HGH prior to a photo shoot for her appearance in Sports Illustrated's annual swimsuit issue. (Nobody has even tried to deny that one.)

Clemens had also hoped his alibi would be backed by his long-time team-mate, fellow McNamee client, and workout partner Andy Petitte, particularly after Petitte was excused from yesterday's hearing after providing his deposition.

Turns out his optimism was misplaced. On Tuesday night the bombshell exploded: Petitte had essentially confirmed McNamee's version of events and then, for reasons best known to the committee members themselves, was allowed to leave town.

When Petitte's affidavit was released yesterday, it included the information that Clemens had confirmed his use of HGH as long ago as 1999.

The last-minute revelations forced Clemens to revise his defence strategy in midstream. He had come to Washington prepared to paint George Mitchell as a mean-spirited charlatan and McNamee as a lying, double-crossing snake. He had probably even pondered the possibility if he was going to save his own neck it might be at the expense of his buddy Petitte, but yesterday, instead, it was Debbie he hung out to dry.

Confronted with that allegation at yesterday's hearing, Clemens told chairman Henry Waxman, "I believe Andy misheard, Mr Congressman, on his comment about myself using HGH, which never happened. I must have been talking about my wife."