Swings and misses

On one end of the dark wood table sat baseball’s ideals -- the swaggering, swarthy starting pitcher.

On the other end of the same table sat baseball’s reality -- the slinking, shirking steroid pusher.

On one end of the table, Roger Clemens bragged about tough times and hard work and never taking a shortcut.

On the other end, Brian McNamee talked about syringes and abscesses and bloody pants.

Clemens said his former trainer was lying when he claimed he injected Clemens with steroids.

McNamee said his former employer was lying about those shortcuts.

In an extraordinary moment Wednesday, baseball’s ideals clashed with its reality while sitting less than 15 feet apart in a congressional hearing room on Capitol Hill.

In an extraordinarily sad moment, the pusher was more believable than the pitcher.

In a 4 1/2 -hour hearing in front of the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, McNamee’s testimony was supported from the first capital letter to the last period.

Clemens’ deposition was contradicted from page to page.

McNamee calmly withstood criticism of his checkered history while his testimony in baseball’s Mitchell Report was supported by everyone from Clemens’ teammates to Clemens’ former nanny.

Clemens, meanwhile, could offer nothing but unsupported bluster and banter before finally being gaveled shut by Chairman Henry Waxman (D-Beverly Hills)

“Excuse me, this is not your time to argue with me,” Waxman said before closing the hearings.

This was not Clemens’ time to be Clemens. The same combination of cockiness and surliness that led Clemens to glory on the mound dragged him through shame in the hearing room.

In what probably was the final appearance of his career, the greatest pitcher in baseball history was shelled.

The final call being made by Rep. Elijah Cummings (D-Md.)

“You’re one of my heroes,” he said. “But it’s hard to believe you.”

The same could be said of baseball after another dissection of the ruinous steroid era.

America still loves the game, but it’s increasingly hard to believe it.

You thought Mark McGwire refusing to discuss steroids in a previous hearing was bad? Compared to Clemens, McGwire was downright noble.

You think Barry Bonds being indicted for perjury was bad? Clemens is just Bonds with a smaller neck and a Texas accent.

Baseball thought it had atoned for the sins of the era when it commissioned the Mitchell Report, which was released this winter with numerous names and examples of alleged steroid use.

But when Clemens publicly and vehemently denied McNamee’s allegations, the government honored his reputation by examining the report more closely.

What it found, however, was only more dirty needles and bloody gauze.

The cheating allegedly done by baseball’s greatest home run hitter also was apparently done by its seven-time Cy Young Award winner.

How else do you explain that Clemens’ teammates, Andy Pettitte and Chuck Knoblauch, in earlier depositions confirmed McNamee’s claims that he injected them with steroids?

Why would McNamee tell the truth about two players, yet lie about another?

When offered this revelation Wednesday, Clemens had no good answer.

And how else do you explain Pettitte’s sworn contention that Clemens admitted to him that he used human growth hormone?

Clemens had to invent words for this answer.

“I think Andy has misheard,” he said. “I think he misremembers.”

The pitcher was continually wild with his fastball, while the pusher rarely missed.

The pitcher bobbed back in his chair, swayed from side to side, at once nervous and defiant, licking his lips as if unsure what he would throw up there next.

The pusher sat coolly at his chair, leaning calmly over the microphone as if it were a cold beer at a bar, answering every question quickly and directly.

Several times, the pitcher motioned disparagingly at the pusher, but the pusher never pointed back.

Clemens seemed to be climbing out of his skin, while McNamee seemingly could have stayed there forever.

Clemens wasn’t only dogged by McNamee, he was dogged by himself, caught in inconsistencies in his previous sworn testimony.

On one page he testified he had no knowledge of HGH. On another page, he admitted that he knew McNamee injected the drug into his wife.

On one page he testified that he was unaware of any opportunity to address the Mitchell Commission before the release of the report. On another page, he said he knew he could address it, but was advised against it.

“We have found conflicts and inconsistencies in Mr. Clemens’ account,” Waxman said. “During his deposition, he made statements that we know are untrue.”

Clemens’ only support came from a few bombastic congressmen who referred to him as a “titan” and “the franchise.”

One, Rep. Dan Burton (R-Ind.), attacked McNamee on the biggest apparent inconsistency in his testimony, a 1998 party at Jose Canseco’s Miami house in which McNamee claimed that Clemens first discussed using steroids.

Burton waved around DVDs of television news shows from that period that said Clemens wasn’t at the party, and cited testimony from partygoers, including Canseco, that Clemens was not in attendance.

McNamee never wavered in his assertion, and repeatedly maintained that Clemens was there, even remembering how he spotted Clemens’ nanny in a bathing suit.

“We’re here under oath, and yet we have lie after lie after lie after lie,” said Burton, scolding McNamee.

Yet, later in the hearing, Waxman revealed that the committee had interviewed Clemens’ nanny earlier this week, and she confirmed McNamee’s story.

Making things worse for Clemens, she confirmed that the pitcher arranged a meeting with her before she met with Waxman.

The smoking gun was a smoking nanny. From steroid use to witness tampering in one rocket-sized leap.

“At the very least, it has the appearance of impropriety,” Waxman said.

That was the final blow to the credibility of a pitcher who will now probably make like McGwire and disappear into retirement.

He will be fortunate if he is not dragged out by a perjury indictment. He has probably blown his chances at the Hall of Fame.

After a career in the spotlight, the pitcher will spend the rest of his life in shadows.

The pusher, meanwhile, has forever gone from those shadows to the spotlight.

While numb baseball fans begin spring training cheering for a familiar entity.

Nobody.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Plaschke, go to latimes.com/plaschke.