When Panezich—in his black dress clothes with the whites underneath—stands to give his allocution, he’s a catcher trying to regain control of the game. “Your honor,” he begins, “I just want to say, I think I was misportrayed in the court.” He offers an apology and an explanation: “It started as a legitimate business, and it snowballed into what you see before you. . . .” But he has also written a sentencing memorandum that argues the prosecution has only proved he’s responsible for $600,000 in eBay sales and that forgers in similar—albeit federal—cases received six months in jail, not the three-to-seven years he’s facing. He tries to present himself as a small player in an industry that’s widely plagued by forgeries, rather than someone who has personally defrauded thousands of naive buyers.

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Sweeney is unmoved. She sentences Panezich to six years, with his earliest release in five. He briefly closes his eyes, processing his fate. The bailiff, standing behind Panezich, cuffs his left hand first, behind his back, and then his right, before leading him out the door. The whole hearing takes just 20 minutes and 28 seconds. (Panezich will eventually appeal the sentence.)

There is little to divvy up in the aftermath. Investigators have yet to uncover a stash of money. Panezich says that between rent, bills and Vegas clubbing and gambling, there’s not much left, and McGivern believes him, saying, “I think [he] just blew all of it.”

McCormick, who two weeks later is handed a three-year sentence, has no money either; in his hearing he states that he’s struggled with addictions to pills and gambling.

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The most successful party—in the end—appears to be eBay, which would have earned more than $300,000 on auction and PayPal fees on $2.4 million in sales. Although eBay cooperated in the case, a company spokesman declined to answer SI’s questions about whether it had contacted potential victims or returned any of the fees.

The $18,200 in rubber-banded cash (plus another $155.33 in other currency) that was seized from the Sandhill Sage house will get split up between the Canfield P.D. and the Mahoning County prosecutor’s office. On May 12, Canfield police announce a plan to donate the sporting goods in evidence to several local charities. All of the autographs—the Trouts, the LeBrons, even the Obama—have been scribbled over with a marker.

“I mean, I’ll be all right—I’m a survivor—but of course I’m not O.K. My husband’s dead, you’re in jail, and I’m alone.”

Rose, meanwhile, continues to live in Henderson and receive regular collect phone calls from Cliff, who’s in Richland Correctional Institution in Mansfield, Ohio. “I’m O.K.,” she tells her son during one conversation. “I mean, I’ll be all right—I’m a survivor—but of course I’m not O.K. My husband’s dead, you’re in jail, and I’m alone.”

She’s still in the process of recovering items that were taken into evidence during the raid of her house. She’d like to reclaim her son’s jerseys from the various teams he played on and a Lucite cube containing a collegiate baseball with the inscription, to grandma, home run #9, 3-13-08 . Investigators did not need that one, in the end. It was the lone ball with an autograph that they were certain was authentic: #18. cliff panezich .

SI True Crime, an ongoing series from SPORTS ILLUSTRATED, dives deep on stories of sports crime and punishment through in-depth storytelling, enhanced photos, video and interactive elements.

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