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CRAIG HARTLEY/BLOOMBERG VIA GETTY IMAGES; JAMES NIELSEN/AFP/GETTY IMAGES case, but Hardin tells me a judge's gag order prevents him from discussing it. Nor would he handle the jeopardy motion. "So why am I here again?" I ask. Although we'd arranged for a follow-up interview in Hous- ton to discuss the secrets of his courtroom success, I wanted to get some color for the story by watching him chew on some government hide. "How about dinner?" he offers. "Roger will be down any minute." "Roger," I repeat. Maybe the trip won't be such a washout after all. Clemens' infamous appearance before Congress never comes up at dinner. The Cae- sar salad and beef tenderloin at the Capital Grille are conducive to confession, but none is forthcoming. Clemens is dressed more for the links than five-star dining, wearing khaki slacks, a blue golf shirt and a gimme cap that says "Rocket Man." Nicknamed "the Rocket" when he dominated the sport, he played for four big-league teams in his 24-season ca- reer and retired with the third most strike- outs in MLB history. After dinner we move from the hotel restaurant to a nearby rooftop His juries don't just find in his favor — they want to take him home for dinner. bar, drawing stares and parting crowds. Cle- mens is constantly wired to his cellphone, listening to reports from his son's high- school football game in Houston. He shows me photos on his phone; pic- tures of his wife, his kids, the family cat and several baseball shots from his days in uniform. Suddenly I turn into a shameless fan, asking him to sign an autograph for my 14-year-old son. He says he'll get me some- thing soon, and I wonder if he's just brushing me off. But the next day Clemens remains true to his word and hands me a signed photo of himself when he pitched for the Houston Astros — the autograph made out to my son. T wo weeks later, I'm in downtown Houston at the brightly colored digs of Rusty Hardin & Associates. Hardin is late. No matter. I'm in his office, reading from a seemingly unending rogue's gallery of wall-mounted news- paper clippings, many inscribed with grateful words from high- profile defendants upon whose victories Rusty built his ce- lebrity practice. Among these are photos of former Houston Rockets coach Rudy Tomjanovich, who was charged with DWI within a month of his team winning the 1994 NBA championship (case dismissed); former NFL quarterback Moon, who was charged with domestic vio- lence (jury acquitted in 30 minutes); and former Boston Red Sox star Boggs, who was sued for verbally assaulting a flight attendant on Continental Airlines (jury acquitted in four minutes). "So how does one go about building a celebrity practice?" I ask Hardin after he finally shows up. It's luck, he says, and word of mouth. "I've been fortunate to get good results." Noticeably absent from his wall of fame are any certificates from criminal-defense- attorney associations. Hardin says he has never joined one because he doesn't see him- self as the typical criminal defense attorney. At his core, Hardin is a prosecutor, having FROM LEFT: Former Major League Baseball All-Star pitcher Roger Clemens and Hardin, who is defending Clemens against charges he lied under oath about steroid use. Hardin (in yellow tie) talks with Arthur Andersen's Gene Frauenheim (far left) and Richard "Dick" Favretto, another member of the Arthur Andersen defense team. AA.COM/AMERICANWAY JANUARY 15, 2012 53

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