Radomski’s cooperation results in a light sentence

SAN FRANCISCO – Looking at Kirk Radomski, the 38-year-old erstwhile New York Mets towel boy turned super steroid snitch, you never would guess Friday was Judgment Day.

The thick-necked, broad-shouldered man with the chipmunk cheeks and prominent brow chats amiably with his seatmate in the second row of the U.S. District Court. Radomski looks a bit awkward in an oversized double-breasted dark suit with a gangsta flair. He nervously squares his tie, scratches at his throat and what’s left of his close-cropped hair. But all in all, he looks to be in remarkably good humor, and why not? At his shoulder, keeping the defendant at ease is the familiar tall man with the billiard-ball head, a better cut of suit and smooth, inscrutable expression. Radomski is in good hands, the only hands that seem to matter in this nationwide steroid investigation – those of IRS agent Jeff Novitzky.

Yes, this is Courtroom 10 – otherwise known as the setting for the Barry Bonds perjury case – and, yes, it’s time for another sentencing in the long-running saga called BALCO.

The time is 11:03 a.m., and Judge Susan Ilston is slightly tardy for Radomski’s sentencing. Down in front, in the belly of the court, chunky Matt Parella, the lead BALCO prosecutor with a buzzcut that hints of a Mohawk and a build that looks as if it came from a gym, snaps his fingers and hits his fists together and then leans back in his leather chair like a man in control.

It is a good day for Team BALCO. Radomski, as you may recall, is the man who ratted out Brian McNamee, who ratted out Roger Clemens. He’s the man who gave heft to the Mitchell Report, and who next week will testify at the same Congressional hearings that will feature Clemens and McNamee.

How Radomski, who hails from Long Island, found himself in San Francisco in front of the BALCO judge and prosecutor is an intriguing story.

Court records show that an informant told the FBI in early 2005 that Radomski was selling steroids to baseball players. As first reported in the San Francisco Chronicle, the FBI introduced the informant to Novitzky, who then arranged for Radomski to be led into selling steroids by express mail to San Jose, Calif., which, come to think of it, is where Novitzky has an office.

In December 2005, Novitzky filed a search warrant under seal for Radomski’s Manorville, N.Y., home and then, along with a team of federal agents, seized thousands of doses of anabolic steroids, along with client lists and bank records showing as many as 23 MLB “associated individuals” who wrote checks to Radomski or showed up in his phone records.

Everyone rises for Judge Ilston, and she quickly motions to the defendant.

“Mr. Radomski, come over here in front.”

Radomski stands at the microphone while Ilston details the steroid distribution and money laundering case. Parella summarizes Radomski’s critical role in the wide-ranging investigation, calling him “the most significant cooperator in the arena of sports” in breaking an atmosphere of “hear no evil, see no evil.”

Radomski apologizes to the court, to family and friends. “I take full responsibility,” he begins, but then rather abruptly takes an odd tack for a defendant pleading the mercy of the court. The defendant – the steroid dealer out to make big bucks by selling ‘roids to ballplayers – talks about how hard the ordeal has been on his family, about his “loss of privacy” and about “threats.”

Judge Ilston reads into the record the report of the probation officer, speaking of how major league players are “role models” who led “adults and more importantly children” to think that steroid abuse is acceptable.

She looks straight at Radomski. “I suggest that these are very, very serious offenses,” she says. And then, she lets the steroid dealer walk right out of her courtroom.

Radomski could have been sentenced to six months in jail, but instead he gets five years probation and an $18,575 fine. And if you listen closely, all Judge Ilston manages to pull out of Radomski’s pocket is a $200 “assessment” and an agreement to begin making $100 monthly payments.

“Good luck, Mr. Radomski,” she says.

“Thank you, your honor,” he replies.

Forty minutes later, in front of the federal building, reporters press forward against Radomski’s attorney, trying to draw his client into commenting. Radomski is only a bat length away, looking skittish. His bulk and darting eyes give him the look of a squirrel on steroids.

Yet his stance is of a man of principle. He has done this the right way. Talking to Novitzky. Senator Mitchell. Congress. Kirk Radomski is a man who knows the value of his words – and he has legal bills to pay, and an 18-grand tab with the federal court.

That’s why, according to Newsday, Radomski has been floating a book proposal on his central role in the scandal, demanding top dollar.

“He’s anxious to get back to his family,” says his attorney, as Radomski shakes his head in disdain at the questions, turns his back on the cameras and backs into the federal building.

But not everything in BALCO is as it seems. As the towel boy departs, he whispers under his breath to one reporter, who maybe, just maybe, is the ghostwriter of that soon-to-be-sold bestseller. Radomski tells him that after he runs back to his hotel, “I’ll meet you in 30 minutes.”

This is one snitch who understands the value of his word.