Dallas ? As a congressional committee heard varying degrees of denial during its steroids hearings last spring – hear no evil, see no evil, shoot no evil – at least one speaker seemed a little surprised.

“From the sound of it,” Jose Canseco whispered, just out of range of the microphones, “I’m the only guy in baseball who’s doing steroids.”

Of course, as it turns out, he wasn’t the only guy at the table.

Don Hooton wasn’t so surprised. Not when the stars said they had no idea what this steroids mess was all about.

And not when Rafael Palmeiro tested dirty, either.

The rest of the world howled at the results this month. Wasn’t Raffy one of the game’s nicest guys and greatest stars? Wasn’t he a role model?

Doesn’t he have cute kids?

Didn’t he say “Never?”

Didn’t he say “Period?”

Hooton doesn’t care what anyone says. The Plano, Texas, dad has heard it all, even from someone he loves.

Ever since his son committed suicide after suffering steroid withdrawal, Hooton has made steroid abuse a national crusade.

And wherever he goes, whoever he talks to, the rhetoric he hears is the same.

“Denial,” he said, “is a standard characteristic, whether you’re dealing with a pro athlete or just a kid.

“There’s no one that admits to it.”

No one but Canseco, anyway. And you see what it got him: on the cast of “The Surreal Life.”

Canseco’s out there with Dennis Rodman now, and he’s not coming back. He’s like some used-up satellite endlessly orbiting Earth, unable to get home.

Not that he’s an altogether sympathetic character. Palmeiro got at least one thing right in his indignant statement to the committee, calling Canseco an “unashamed advocate” of steroids.

But however Canseco has tried to recast himself since “Juiced” hit the fan, he doesn’t look as bad as some of the players he wrote about.

Or as Hooton put it: “None of the players have filed any libel suits.”

And what exactly would they say under oath again? Palmeiro explains now that it must have been something he ate, a fish story not even all Baltimore fans are buying.

He played his first game Sunday since his 10-game suspension expired. Fan reaction was mixed. He was booed every at-bat, but a little less each time, according to reports, as the fizz went out of the buzz.

Maybe they’ve lost interest already. And what’s worse than that? The guy is one of four men in baseball history with 500 home runs and 3,000 hits.

In his brief statement to Congress, Palmeiro said he’d gladly serve as “an advocate to young people about the dangers of steroids.”

He could still do that. He could yet be a hero. He could make the courageous choice that Mark McGwire passed on in his pitiful performance before Congress and tell kids not to make the mistake that he did.

“Or are we sending the message,” Hooton said, “that you’re not a cheater unless you get caught?”

Or die. Hooton gave that terrible testimony to congress last spring. And then he took his place behind the stars, where he heard Palmeiro’s emphatic denials and Canseco’s whispered aside.

As the players got up from their hot seats, Palmeiro turned around and shook Hooton’s hand and offered his condolences. How empty that must seem now.