Yesterday I went back and spent another day in DC’s Prettyman Federal Courthouse, where Scooter Libby—or ‘Cheney’s Cheney,’ as his former colleagues lovingly referred to him—is about to be convicted of perjury and obstruction of justice for lying to federal investigators. The last time I’d been down there was the day the jury started deliberating, and now, a week later, they were still at it. There was a feeling of suspense in the media room. The jury had sent the judge a handwritten note at the end of the previous day, so the next morning anticipation was running high. The room was crowded, and there were some faces I hadn’t seen before. John Dickerson from Slate was there, and Chris Matthews hung around out in the hall for a little bit. Some of the reporters had put on nicer clothes, preparing for their big moment in front of the TV cameras. I, in particular, wanted to be present, because there was a good chance that I was going to win some money.

The week before, on the first day of deliberations, one of the reporters had organized a betting pool. Everybody in the room that day (there were 18 of us at the time) put a dollar in the pot and selected a date and time when he or she thought that the verdict would come down. I waited until everybody else had placed their bets, then picked a time—4 pm on Wednesday, February 28—one hour later than anyone else’s. Unfortunately, one more reporter came in later that afternoon and made one more bet: 3 pm on Thursday, March 1. So now the only way I could win was for it to happen after 3:30 on Wednesday.

Countering the air of optimism in the room was the observation, made by a few of the reporters that morning, that the jury had all worn jeans that day, which longtime court-watchers agreed was a very bad sign. Juries almost always dress up for verdicts too.

The day dragged by. I worked on a little editing job I’d brought along, and amused myself by engaging with some of the other reporters. I introduced myself to Jane Hamsher and Pachacutec of firedoglake.com, the blog that made its name through its coverage of the leak investigation. Jane was familiar with BTC News, and told me that she loved Weldon Berger’s work. I also handed out copies of my Plame-at-a-glance postcards. David Shuster of MSNBC saw me giving one to Marcy Wheeler, author of Anatomy of Deceit, and he came up to me and asked, very eagerly, if he could have one too. He offered to pay for it, I said that wasn’t necessary, and then he asked for two more and insisted that I accept ten bucks. Later I gave copies, at their request, to Carol Leonnig and Amy Goldstein of the Washington Post, Neil Lewis of the New York Times, and to Dickerson, who is featured on the card (Ari Fleischer testified that he told Dickerson that Joe Wilson’s wife worked at the CIA). Dickerson told me that he was grateful that I had included on my chart his denial of Fleischer’s assertion.

By this time, it was a quarter to five, and hopes were dwindling. Then a reporter who had been upstairs in the courtroom came in and told us that the jury had been sent home for the day—the judge had to get to a five o’clock meeting. So, no $19 jackpot for me, but at least some good shmoozing.

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