2005 had its share of memorable moments

Sport in 2005 was pretty much like every other year:

There were wins and losses, failures and redemptions, heroes and weasels, comings and goings, and random acts of generosity and sportsmanship undercut and then overshadowed by selfishness and petty jealousies.

What made 2005 different was the nagging feeling that, in a few high-profile instances, a drug screen, a Wonderlic test or even Judge Judy could have cleared up the confusion about which was which.

Baseball finally swore off the juice, thanks to tough love administered by Congress. But not before Jose Canseco became a best- selling author; Barry Bonds docked in the safe harbor of the disabled list; Mark McGwire testified like some fidgety Mafia don; Rafael Palmeiro fibbed like one, and a tough-talking baseball lifer took a swing at the question still on everyone's mind:

"Where do you go back, stop and say, 'OK, when did he start using steroids?' " said Frank Robinson, a Hall of Fame player now managing the Washington Nationals. "To eliminate all that, and get the players' attention, you wipe the whole thing out."

Like that's going to happen.

Win or loss?

Lance Armstrong rolled to a seventh straight Tour de France title, then scolded cynics, saying, "I'm sorry for you." Armstrong wound up pedaling even faster afterward, trying to keep a French newspaper's doping allegations from overtaking him.

Redemption or failure?

Everybody wondered, too, what T.O. was ingesting to make him ornery all over again. Turns out it was nothing more than bad advice furnished by his agent, Drew Rosenhaus.

Despite signing a seven-year contract in 2004, Owens lobbied defiantly at every turn for more money and even more attention. In the Eagles locker room, he became the envy of every player who resented how management played hardball at contract time with everyone but Donovan McNabb. To the rest of us, he was the same old backstabbing, blabbermouthing, franchise-killing, me-first T.O.

Hero or weasel?

Baseball held its breath waiting for the first player to fail a steroid test. Not long after being busted, Alex "Who, Me?" Sanchez was claimed off waivers by the San Francisco Giants, then given a ringing endorsement from new manager Felipe Alou: "It's not like he murdered somebody or stole Mona Lisa."

No. And thankfully, not every achievement required a debate to appreciate.

Chicago swept the Houston Astros in the World Series, changing their Sox from black to white. With few bona fide superstars and a wacky Latin wizard named Ozzie Guillen pulling the levers, this team pitched like few before it and redeemed a franchise -- a la the Boston Red Sox a year earlier -- whose most memorable previous appearance in the Fall Classic, in 1919, involved taking a dive.

The Indianapolis Colts delayed what might be America's longest- running cocktail party -- the 1972 Miami Dolphins' annual champagne toast -- but only for 14 weeks. Tony Dungy, Peyton Manning & Co., and a reworked defense were perfect in record only up to that point. But all that seemed so meaningless when the news came that Dungy's 18-year-old son had died in an apparent suicide, a devastating blow that understandably took the NFL's resident family man out of the equation for the foreseeable future.

The sweetest moment involved one of sport's most noted curmudgeons. Bill Belichick, who grew up more interested in poring over his father's game plans than playing with the other 5-year- olds in the neighborhood, had his dad on the sideline one last time to see Tom Brady bring those schemes to life.

They embraced after the Patriots beat Philadelphia to win their second straight Super Bowl and third in four years. Nine months later, Steve Belichick, a coach, assistant or scout with the U.S. Naval Academy football program for over 50 years, died at 86.

Almost as sweet was seeing Roy Williams get the win that validated all the others. As the clock ran down on North Carolina's NCAA championship victory over Illinois, the Tar Heel player-turned- coach by way of Kansas walked up the sideline, adjusting his glasses. And why not? After 17 seasons, 16 tournament appearances, five Final Fours and losses in two previous title games, it was one scene Williams wanted to see for himself.

The best move, remarkably, was made by a horse. (Worst move: Any member of the Minnesota Vikings who boarded the "Love Boat" cruise expecting to go sightseeing.)

Upset by 50-1 shot Giacomo in the Kentucky Derby, Afleet Alex was chasing vindication at the Preakness when he stumbled at the top of the stretch. The colt's knees scraped the racetrack and his nose was close enough to disaster to stick out his tongue and lap up a mouthful.

"Four to 6 inches at 40 miles per hour," jockey Jeremy Rose marveled afterward, "and that's way too close for comfort."

Thoroughbred racing was left without a Triple Crown winner for the 27th straight year. But Afleet Alex won the Belmont, retired and went to stud after banking $2.8 million and raising almost as much for a charity honoring 8-year-old cancer victim Alexandra Scott.