It's Saturday Scorecard, now available in glorious hi-definition and without a trace of trans fat.

With another snow dump slated for Sunday, we're typing this column as quickly as possible so everybody has time to purchase new shovels or gas up the snow blower.

On to the good stuff...

Parliament of fools: One of the fundamental things we love about sports -- along with the human drama and spontaneity that make for pure reality TV -- is the comforting notion that, at the end of most games, there will be a winning side and a losing side.

If you watched the Roger Clemens-Brian McNamee circus on Capitol Hill this week, all you saw was losers.

Clemens looked like a loser and a liar, albeit a defiant one. Although there probably isn't enough evidence to prove conclusively in a court of law that he used performance-enhancing substances or perjured himself, anybody who believes he didn't at this point probably believes that O.J. was innocent, too.

Clemens' ham-handed reaction to the charges -- from the contrived (and delayed) interview with Mike Wallace on "60 Minutes" to the taped phone call that revealed nothing to the glad-handing he did in Congress before the hearing to the potential witness tampering with his nanny -- all served to bolster the already overwhelming circumstantial case against him.

This is what we know:

At the request of Major League Baseball, former Sen. George Mitchell conducted a two-year investigation that named close to 100 players believed to have used steroids or human-growth hormone.

Clemens was on the list. So were his former teammates, Andy Pettitte and Chuck Knoblauch, all of whom trained with McNamee.

McNamee admitted that he provided steroids and HGH to all three players. Knoblauch and Pettitte corroborated the account.

Clemens denied it.

Pettitte, an intelligent man and a devout Christian, swore under oath that Clemens had admitted his HGH use to him during private conversations.

Clemens denied that, too.

Clemens said he never spoke to McNamee about HGH. But, nobody disputes that the trainer injected Clemens' wife with the substance to help her train for a swimsuit photo in Sports Illustrated.

Clemens is a loser. No matter how forcefully he proclaims his innocence or what evidence comes to light to support the claim, his legacy is tarnished and millions of people will believe that he cheated.

McNamee is a loser. While being a personal trainer to a star athlete can be a lucrative and rewarding job, it comes with drawbacks. For starters, there isn't a lot of job security. There is the sycophantic, leech-y nature of serving at the whim of a coddled athlete. And, there is pressure to do things that are illegal and ultimately get you in trouble.

After years of private jets, four-star hotels and dugout seats to nationally televised games, McNamee will have trouble getting a training job at a junior high. His obituary likely will indicate that he was the guy who brought down The Rocket.

McNamee has issues with credibility, but they are relatively minor. The real credibility questions in this case should be directed to the legislators, many of whom looked like grandstanding buffoons debating with witnesses in a proceeding that did nothing to unearth truth or create a feeling of closure.

It's safe to say that most Americans would rather have their elected officials digging for ways to end to the war, sidestep a recession or to provide health care to disadvantaged citizens than arguing about whether Clemens attended a pool party at Jose Canseco's house a decade ago.

Thank goodness the writers' strike is over. It would be fun watching the folks from "Saturday Night Live" take a few swings at McNamee (who at times resembled Martin Short's hilariously fidgety lawyer, Nathan Thurm), Clemens, who liked like a dumb ogre jock about to break into the slow clap, and the bumbling politicians who questioned them.

Thank goodness spring training is beginning; baseball is always at its best when the focus is on the field.

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