New York ? For one precious, unfiltered hour on Thursday, Jason Giambi had the chance to become the steroid scandal’s first hero. Not Jose Canseco, whose soon-to-be-released book Giambi called delusional and desperate. Not Barry Bonds, who had the nerve to tell federal prosecutors he thought Victor Conte’s steroid cream was actually pumpkin seed oil. Here was Giambi, alone with his conscience, ready to give fans a reason to trust baseball again.

The Yankees’ slugger had our attention at 2 p.m., when he walked into the auxiliary clubhouse at the Stadium. Giambi looked healthy, robust, happy even — giving no hint that his news conference would amount to nothing.

Oh, Giambi apologized repeatedly and sincerely. Trouble was, he never once explained what he was apologizing for. Steroids? Giambi refused to admit he used them. In fact, Giambi never uttered the word.

Instead, Giambi ducked every question about his testimony to the BALCO grand jury, insisting he couldn’t get into specifics. That was the catchphrase of the afternoon — specifics. As in, don’t ask about them.

If so, why did Giambi insist on calling a news conference? Was he so naive as to believe an “I’m sorry” would get him out of the worst mess of his professional life? Giambi is a nice guy, but by the time he walked out of the room, he was no closer to the absolution he so obviously craves.

What Giambi doesn’t get is that calling a news conference and saying nothing only burrows him deeper into this mountain of steroid sleaze. His agent, Arn Tellem, instructed reporters to read between the lines of Giambi’s apology, but that wasn’t good enough. The first baseman blew an opportunity to explain why he used the juice and why he risked everything — his career, his reputation, his health — for the sake of a few more home runs.

Giambi could have used his stage to tell kids not to make the same grave errors in judgment that he did. Giambi could have said he’ll spend the rest of his life regretting his decision to inject steroids into his body. He could’ve called himself living proof that if you live a lie long enough, eventually it swallows you up.

That’s exactly what’s happened to Giambi. His achievements in Oakland, including the AL’s Most Valuable Player Award in 2000, all look dirty now. Giambi signed a seven-year, $120 million contract with the Yankees under false pretenses, and proceeded to disintegrate in the second half of the 2003 season, when, according to his own testimony, he stopped taking injections.

Since then, Giambi has turned into a broken-down, unusable part. He’s practically irrelevant, although the Yankees can’t say that. Instead, they’re giving Giambi every chance to rehabilitate his career in spring training, because they have no other choice. Unless they’re willing to release Giambi and pay every last penny of the $82 million he’s owed, the Bombers are stuck with him.

They know this because they’ve hunted for loopholes. Their lawyers have spent countless hours with Major League Baseball arguing that Giambi voided his contract by admitting to using steroids.

Giambi would have been better served to answer questions another day. Instead, he sounded like just another guy hiding behind his agent and lawyers. They’re his cocoon, but in two weeks, Giambi will enter the real world. He’ll come face to face with fans who think they’ve been lied to.