If Martha calls, take it. That e-mail from Scooter? Read it carefully and respond. Oh, and the Watergate documentary on the History Channel? Might want to tape that sucker so you can watch it several times.

Clemens might want to do all that before Wednesday, before he appears before a congressional committee investigating the use of performance-enhancing drugs in Major League Baseball.

The big right-hander is the latest Mighty Casey accused of taking human growth hormone to rocket him to the top of his profession pitching a baseball and the appropriate tax bracket he earned $28 million last season for part-time work.

Clemens' current legal dilemma is eerily similar to that of Barry Bonds, who hits major-league pitches, for which he earns a Clemens-like living.

You could argue that Clemens and Bonds, two of baseball's best ever, represent the game's yin and yang, the offense and defense, home runs and strikeouts.

Much hand-wringing has transpired in the last few years about who took what and when, but what is becoming clear is that the shooting up before suiting up in question breached no MLB policy at the time.

Still, for Clemens and Bonds, being in a jackpot over pills and needles, while sure to damage them physically in the long run if true, is nothing compared to what will happen if they are caught lying to a grand jury or Congress.

Just ask Martha and Scooter.

'He said'

That would be Martha Stewart and I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby Jr., if you're keeping score at home. Prosecutors in their cases believed the extent of their wrongdoing was at best a minor-league offense; covering it up, however, qualified them for the majors and the pokey.

What Stewart and Libby might impart to Clemens is that the feds have little use for those who lie to them. They can be downright grumpy about it. The star pitcher has been locked in a "he said, he said" back and forth with his former trainer, who claims he supplied and injected Clemens with HGH.

Bonds was indicted in November on four counts of perjury and one count of obstruction of justice for lying to a federal grand jury about his use of performance-enhancing drugs. He could get 30 years if convicted.

Throw in the doping scandals in cycling, an NBA referee betting on NBA games, a gambling glitch in the National Hockey League a few years ago, Michael Vick and his dog-fighting woes and you begin to wonder if we can indeed forgive our heroes for their varied and voracious appetite for trouble legal, social and stupid.

Forgiveness seems to be the point, however.

Clemens' teammate and friend Andy Pettitte, who will also testify Wednesday, admitted to two injections of HGH, and nobody is predicting his demise.

Many believed that, had Stewart come clean, she would have gotten no time. Same with Libby, whose sentence the president commuted.

Whether or not that is justice is for smarter people than me to decide. The court of public opinion, however, has a soft spot for redemption, the first step of which is called 'fessing up.

Starstruck, skeptical

There are differences with Bonds and Clemens, too. Where Bonds went surly, Clemens went ballistic, filing a lawsuit, berating his accuser, essentially grabbing the public by its collective throat and shouting, "I didn't do it."

As baseball commentator Bob Costas said, Clemens is either behaving as an innocent man might or acting the part of an innocent man.

We may never know.

Wednesday's hearings follow Clemens' meet-and-greet sessions with members of Congress last week, the seven-time Cy Young Award winner pressing the flesh and his case to representatives ranging from the starstruck to the skeptical.

Skepticism is not enough to put you in jail, however.

Lying to Congress is a point as fine as a Clemens curve ball, and one he and his chief accuser need to remember.

If they should forget, they can always ask Martha Stewart, Scooter Libby and a whole pack of perjurers from Watergate just how this game is played.

George Ayoub is senior writer at The Independent.