In his hubris, Roger Clemens probably thought all of this eventually would go away.

He would swear to tell the whole truth before Congress, be as earnest as his constitution would allow and hope his seven Cy Young Awards would be more eloquent than he ever could be.

But it isn't going away. Federal prosecutors are tightening the screws like a compulsive carpenter. They're putting together a perjury case against him, and they're sending out invitations to the party, including one to his former personal trainer, Brian McNamee, who has said he injected Clemens with steroids and human growth hormone.

McNamee met with prosecutors Friday, apparently in preparation for his appearance before a grand jury that is looking into whether Clemens is a stinking liar. That's not exactly how the feds would put it, but that's what they hope to prove.

Here's what I wonder: In his quiet moments, does Clemens ever ponder what his life will be like if he is found guilty of lying before Congress? Does the enormity of that ever pierce the shell of invincibility he has worn forever?

More to the point, does he wonder if he would look good in a prison jumpsuit?

Most people would be scared witless by what he's facing. Then again, most people would have stood in front of a congressional committee and a national TV audience and told themselves this would be a good time for honesty.

But Clemens isn't most people.

At the House hearing in February, he painted a self-portrait of purity, and the only reason he didn't title it "Snow White" was because the name already was taken.

Now, some of you are going to send e-mails telling me that, by law, Clemens is innocent until proven guilty. You will be correct about that. You also would be correct in declaring that Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich is innocent until proven guilty of trying to sell President-elect Barack Obama's Senate seat to the highest bidder.

But I don't have to wait for their trials to have an opinion. Given the evidence in both cases, I happen to believe both men are as guilty as sin. I'm more intrigued by what it must feel like to be pursued the way Clemens is being pursued by the feds, especially when you've been a star most of your life. Fear doesn't seem to be Clemens' natural response to anything. You get the feeling he would treat a charging lion the same way he treated Mike Piazza.

His supporters will say there's no fear when you know you've done nothing wrong. The rest of us will say there's no fear when you've spent your life getting your way. It's the only explanation for his refusal to give up this charade.

Absolute arrogance corrupts absolutely. If Clemens had admitted quickly that he had used illegal substances with McNamee's pharmaceutical help, as close friend and former teammate Andy Pettitte did, all of this would be over. His legacy would be tainted, yes, but that would be the worst of his problems.

Now his legacy is ruined, and there's a good chance he will go to prison.

It's a classic example of the fog of superstardom, a phenomenon that blurs athletes' judgment. We've seen the same thing from Barry Bonds as he fights accusations that he does a mean imitation of a walking medicine cabinet.

I wonder what Clemens and Bonds thought last month when they saw a judge in Las Vegas sentence a tired, broken O.J. Simpson to up to 33 years in prison on robbery, weapons and kidnapping charges.

Were they rubbing their wrists, trying to imagine what the shackles felt like? Did they feel a shiver of fear rattling up and down their spines?

My guess is they thought Simpson was either stupendously stupid or the victim of a large conspiracy against great, noble men such as themselves.

If the past is any indication, neither likely saw himself in the former running back. But they should have taken a good, long look at him. He very well could be their future. And worse for the two of them, federal prosecutors are as relentless as death.

McNamee's lawyers have supplied investigators with syringes and vials he says contained performance-enhancing drugs that he used on Clemens. Amateur legal opinion: not good.

Some of us have a hard time picturing Clemens and Bonds behind bars. Through force of will, they're used to shaping life into the way they want it. And through force of habit, we're used to watching them do it on the baseball field.

But this is a different game. They should have played ball a long time ago.