AMERICA AT LARGE:Slammin' Sammy may yet face perjury charges for lying to Congress, writes GEORGE KIMBALL

ALTHOUGH WRIGLEY Field had been subjected to one of those summer deluges that lead the resident rodents to seek safer ground in the visitors’ dugout, the game between the cross-town rivals scheduled for Tuesday night was not officially postponed until that evening, meaning the members of the Cubs and the White Sox had been obliged to report for duty.

The man whose name became the principal topic of conversation in both clubhouses was not there, of course, but there was some irony in the fact that, when the other shoe finally dropped on Samuel Peralta Sosa, the occasion coincided with one of those rare meetings between the teams with which he had spent 16 of his 18 major league seasons.

Earlier on Bloomsday the New York Times had reported that Sosa’s name had been included on the list of Major Leaguers who tested positive for steroids back in 2003. On its merits this had to be the least surprising revelation since Boy George came out of the closet. But, given Sammy’s public declarations of innocence, the belated confirmation became the hot topic in both clubhouses once the game was rained out.

Dave van Dyke, the veteran Chicago Sun-Times baseball writer, sought out Steve Stone, a former pitcher for both Chicago teams who had in his later career as a radio broadcaster covered Sosa’s 13-year run with the Cubs.

When van Dyke asked Stone if he were surprised, Stone arched his eyebrows: “You think the sun’s going to rise in the east tomorrow?”

Well, maybe not in Chicago, where the forecast called for more foul weather, but the point is well taken. Going by empirical evidence alone, an examination of the first and second halves of Sammy Sosa’s career suggests that it was an exercise compiled by two different men – or at least two very different body types.

Sosa’s break-out year came in the feel-good 1998 season, when he captured the nation’s fancy and endeared himself to baseball with his good-natured battle with Mark McGwire (both smashed the single-season home run record). But Sosa had come up as a fleet centerfielder without notable power. Over his first 10 seasons he had more stolen bases (211) than home runs (205), but from then through 2008, his last season, he stole just 17 bases while belting 405 homers.

As the boxing philosopher Cus D’Amato once, “people born round don’t die square” – unless they’ve had some help, anyway.

Bud Selig, the Baseball Commissioner who presided over the Steroid Era by burying his head in the sand, finds himself greatly distressed by the Sosa revelation this morning. Selig isn’t outraged by the positive steroid test, which he almost certainly knew about anyway, but he’s livid about its disclosure.

The results of that 2003 round of tests, the first to which Major League Baseball and the Players Association had agreed to, were allegedly confidential. The survey was undertaken on the understanding no one would be punished for failing the test, and that if fewer than five per cent of the players came up dirty, that would be the end of it.

As it turned out, 104 players failed the test, thus triggering a permanent testing programme. By agreement, the list of those failing the 2003 tests was furnished only to one designated representative of the players’ union and one from the commissioner’s office (hence furnishing Selig with plausible deniability), and the results otherwise destroyed. In practice, almost every agent in the business has a copy, and US Department of Justice investigators don’t seem to have had much difficulty laying their hands on it, either.

But Selig, who had already been embarrassed once this season when Alex Rodriguez’ positive test on that same list was revealed, once again reflected his displeasure and disappointment over the latest bombshell. He’s not displeased or disappointed in Sosa, mind you. He’s displeased and disappointed that it appeared in the New York Times, and when you hear Bud Selig talking about rats he’s describing a different animal than the furry rodents that have been plaguing Wrigley Field this week.

Sosa would have been informed of the finding within weeks of the 2003 tests, but on St Patrick’s Day two years later he found himself summoned to appear before the House Committee on government reform, in the company of McGwire and Rafael Palmiero.

McGwire, under oath, ducked questions about his own steroid use by protesting, “I’m not here to talk about the past”. His testimony was considered so evasive as to constitute an outright admission. The only member of that trio to come up for election to the Baseball Hall of Fame, McGwire has been summarily dismissed by the voters. Needing to be named on 75 per cent of the ballots for election, McGwire hasn’t tallied as high as 25 per cent in any of his first three years of eligibility.

Sosa’s testimony was more ingenious, or at least more inspired. His attorney claimed Sosa’s limited English would prevent him from testifying. Instead, Sosa was allowed to submit a sworn statement in which he claimed, “To be clear, I have never taken illegal performance-enhancing drugs. I have never injected myself or had anyone inject me with anything”.

And in the absence of evidence, Sosa was allowed to persist in his denial for six years – even though the players’ association and the commissioner’s office knew it to be a lie.

Even in protesting his innocence, Sosa was confirmed as a cheat of a different stripe. In the 2003 season, months after his positive test, he was caught red-handed when his bat shattered in a game against Tampa Bay and the shards revealed the bat had been illegally doctored by inserting cork into the hollow barrel. (Philadelphia scribe Bill Conlin proclaimed Sosa “The Big Cork-socker”.)

The absence of hard and fast evidence might have proven problematic for potential voters when Sosa’s name came up for Hall of Fame consideration in 2012, however, and many a potential voter is doubtless breathing easier today now Sammy has been fingered as both a drug cheat and a liar.

The latest revelation may also cause MLB to re-evaluate its record book. No game on earth places a higher premium on statistical matters than baseball does, but five of the top dozen leaders in home runs have now been tainted by the steroid brush: Barry Bonds (No 1), Sosa (No 6), McGwire (No 8), Palmiero (No 10) and A-Rod (No 12, though he remains active and is in a position to overtake several others).

Like Rodriguez’, Sosa’s positive finding occurred before steroids had been officially outlawed. Between that and the alleged confidentiality of the 2003 list, he would seem beyond the reach of the commissioner’s office, even were Selig so inclined, which he plainly is not.

But beyond the court of public opinion and the electorate composed of the Baseball Writers Association, Sosa may have another problem. The deposition he filed before the Congressional committee six years ago was submitted under oath. Since that has been flatly contradicted by the latest revelation, Sammy could soon have his ass in a sling for knowingly lying to Congress.

Like Bonds and fellow drug cheat Roger Clemens, he could be facing a perjury rap from the feds. As they say back in the Dominican Republic, muy problemas.