He's going to lie repeatedly and emphatically until hopefully the whole thing goes away.
"I'm good at psyching myself up to do crazy stuff," said Clemens, "whether it's pitching a baseball a hundred miles an hour, throwing a broken bat at Mike Piazza, or jogging five miles after a long day on the mound even though it's been shown to be bad for your ankles. I mean, my tendons are practically turning to dust. Wait, I mean, they aren't. AREN'T! God this is making me annngggrrry!"
Here he grew several feet, turned green, and ripped his clothes so that they barely covered his genitalia.
Next, I yelled a question into the third ear growing from Clemens' forehead.
"What have you and your lawyer worked out?"
"One finger means the high hard lie, two fingers, a meandering fib, and three fingers I deliver an out-of-left-field fabrication," Clemens said. "If he holds down a clenched fist, I'm supposed to just start punching people while he fires up the spaceship and we escape to Rigel 5...'til I return for my induction into the Hall of Fame."
Later the Red Sox, Blue Jay, Yankee, and Astro pitcher flew to New Hampshire to hug Hillary Clinton; they both cried quietly at the injustice of it all.
Meanwhile, Barry Bonds is going to stick to stonewalling, and periodically popping out of limos to duck into a courtroom wearing a four-thousand dollar suit and a smug look on his face.
"It's worked for me so far," Bonds allowed himself to be quoted. "People really like me!"
Pete Rose, on other hand, warned against fessing up:
"They told me if I admitted gambling on baseball I'd be forgiven, so I did, and they just said, 'See, he admits it.' So don't do that," offered Rose, sorting through discarded quinella tickets on the disgusting floor of a Brooklyn OTB.