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I just finished reading “Clemente: the Passion and Grace of Baseball’s Last Hero” by David Maraniss. He has written prior sports books on Vince Lombardi and the 1960 Summer Olympics, as well as a masterful biography of Bill Clinton: “First In His Class.”
This book provides just as marvelous insights into the character and career of Roberto Clemente, the 18 year veteran of the Pittsburgh Pirates and member of the Hall of Fame.
Clemente’s career (1955-1972) spanned some of the most interesting times in Major League baseball’s history–from the “glory days” of 1950’s baseball, when the game reigned supreme as the national pastime until the 1970’s with expansion and multi-purpose stadiums.
Clemente was at the center of the two most important events in the development of the sport. As a black player, born and raised in Puerto Rico, he came into the league just eight years after Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier. He was also a victim of the reserve clause, the baseball policy that ensured that management had total control over a player’s contract for life. (Clemente was signed on the promise of playing in New York with the Dodgers, yet he was hidden in the minor leagues for a year before being assigned to play for Pittsburgh.)
In the end, Clemente helped mentor Latino players and helped to honor his heritage by using Spanish to speak directly to his parents and Puerto Rican fans in his live post-World Series championship interview in 1971. As a player representative for the Pirates, he helped authorize the union’s support for Curt Flood’s challenge to the reserve clause–the first breach of the dam that finally broke in the mid-1970’s and resulted in free agency for players.
While the book is admirable on documenting his undeniable talent and also focuses on some interesting quirks in his personality (his interest and talent in chiropractic healing, for instance) the book is at its best when it shines a light on Clemente’s role in fighting the discrimination faced by Latino ballplayers, as well as his desire to help those less fortunate, especially children.
Clemente was undeniably one of baseball’s all-time best players (.312 career average, 3,000 hits 18 Gold Gloves for fielding), yet he was forced to deal with sportswriters questioning his commitment to playing hurt and writing his post-game quotes in racist phonetic approximations of broken English (despite his perfectly understandable English language skills.)
Like so many athletes who question the status quo of professional sports and its folkways, he was tarred with the brush of hothead, malingerer. Yet his personality away from the field was one of incredible kindness and service to the community. One would never know this from merely reading the press clippings.
The last part of the book deals with his untimely passing, dying in a plane crash on New Years Eve 1972, attempting to get food and medical supplies to the people of Nicaragua suffering from a massive earthquake that occured on Christmas Day. The reporting on this section is extraordinary. I had always assumed that the plane went down in Nicaragua. The plane crashed shortly after takeoff from San Juan airport–the victim of a plane that was unsafe, cargo that was stuffed to the gills and unbalanced and a crew that was inexperienced and sleep deprived.
What was also fascinating was the background on why Clemente was determined to accompany the aid mission. Dictator Somoza and his family were stealing most of the aid coming in to the country and Clemente reasoned that his superstar status would allow his aid to remain unplundered if he was there in person. What allowed Somoza to steal the supplies was the personal backing of Richard Nixon, who continued to see Communists behind every palm tree in the region. American troops guarded the Somozas and allowed the local police and army to not only steal supplies, but also shoot their own countrymen and women–most struggling to survive from medical injuries aggravated by dehydration and starvation.
The book’s thesis is elegantly stated at the end of the book. Not only was Clemente the last of the heroes from the glory days of baseball’s history, he was a fundamentally different kind of hero. Baseball heroes generally bask in the light of a pastoral nostalgia–back when dappled sunlight played off the rural fields and city streets, illuminating fathers and sons playing catch during a simpler time.
Clemente was the only hero whose influence was on the future. He alone represented what we wanted to become: a more diverse society that treated its players with respect, in its treatment of racial and linguistic differences, as well as a more progressive labor policy. Clemente dreamed of a future where children of all races and nationalities would be able to compete in athletics, transcending the problems of racism, poverty and poor health. His dream of a sports city for children in Puerto Rico has been brought to life by the diligent work of his surviving family. The dream of a more universal solution remains, perhaps out of our reach without the fame, vision and talent of Roberto Clemente.
The novelist John Updike passed away yesterday. I liked the Rabbit books for which he is justly honored. However, he also wrote one of the the best essays ever on baseball, his chronicle of Ted Williams’ last game with the Red Sox and his home run in his final at bat: Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu
My favorite part:
For me, Williams is the classic ballplayer of the game on a hot August weekday, before a small crowd, when the only thing at stake is the tissue-thin difference between a thing done well and a thing done ill. Baseball is a game of the long season, of relentless and gradual averaging-out. Irrelevance—since the reference point of most individual games is remote and statistical—always threatens its interest, which can be maintained not by the occasional heroics that sportswriters feed upon but by players who always care; who care, that is to say, about themselves and their art.
The Red Sox traded my favorite player, Manny Ramirez, on Thursday in a
three team deal that sent Manny to the Dodgers, Craig Hansen and
Brandon Moss to Pittsburgh and Jason Bay to Boston.
I responded in the manner of the Kubler-Ross stages of grief:
Denial: All the newspapers said it was coming, so I stopped reading the
papers.
Anger: How could they trade Manny! I stopped wearing my omnipresent
Red Sox cap for the weekend.
Bargaining: I skipped this one and went right to:
Depression: O.M.G. What if he ends up as a free agent DH next year for
the MF’ing Yankees?
Acceptance: Did you see the weekend Jason Bay had? Triple, HR and the
kind of defensive plays Manny couldn’t have pulled off.
OK: Manny was increasingly disruptive, his productivity was declining
and
he increasingly sat out against tough pitchers. In modern baseball,
you have to
act while you can and get something for your asset before free agency
strands
you with nothing. Bay looks like a good acquisition.
However, I think a lot of people are grieving for the idea of the
“Idiots”–the
group of shaggy-haired, non-conformists who broke through the World
Championship drought of 86 years. 2004 is only a few years ago, but
almost
the entire lineup is gone.
What’s left is a solid club, a perennial championship contender. Just
a little less
fun to watch.
Good luck Manny. Don’t sign with the MFY or I take back everything
good I said.
I just voted the maximum 25 times in the online voting for the 2008 MLB All Star game. My picks:
American League:
1B: Kevin Youkilis, Red Sox
2B: Dustin Pedroia, Red Sox
SS: Orlando Cabrera, White Sox
3B: Mike Lowell, Red Sox
C: Jason Varitek, Red Sox
OF: Manny Ramirez, Red Sox
OF: Coco Crisp, Red Sox
OF: JD Drew, Red Sox
Write In: OF: Jacoby Ellsbury, Red Sox
American League–entire Red Sox starting line up, except for White Sox shortstop Orlando Cabrera–he played for the Red Sox 2004 champs and the Sox should never have let him go.
National League
1B: Prince Fielder, Brewers
2B: Dan Uggla, Mariners
SS: Hanley Ramirez, Mariners
3B: Nomar Garciaparra, Dodgers
C: Josh Bard, Padres
OF: Rick Ankiel, Cardinals
OF: Ryan Braun, Brewers
OF: Kosuke Fukudome, Cubs
Ramirez. Garciaparra and Bard are all former Sox. Ankiel is best story in baseball, washing out as a pitcher and then working way back to majors as an outfielder. Fukudome has the most fun name in baseball. I sort of like the Brewers and think both Fielder and Braun are legitimate All Stars. Uggla the only name I recognized in NL 2b’ers list.
Clay Buchholz pitched Pawtucket to a victory over the Syracuse Chiefs last night.
I went to see the young Red Sox phenom and got
a chance to also see Mike Timlin, the iron man of the Red Sox’s
bullpen in both of their championship seasons.
Buchholz was not dominant last night in his five innings, although he
gave up only a couple of hits and no runs.
Second baseman Joe Thurston was the star of the game, with two RBI’s
and several nice plays in the field.
The infield bailed Buchholz out with three double plays and errorless
play in the field. Timlin came in to relieve
Buchholz in the sixth and set down the home team 1-2-3. I think he
threw all of six pitches. He looks healthy.
Even though the game was played through a persistent drizzle, I had a
great time. There were tons of Sox fans out
flying the colors. In Boston, there is some sniping about poseurs
and folks jumping on the bandwagon.
The blogs are aflame with debates on being a “real” Sox fan. For
those of us in the hinterlands of Red Sox
Nation, the debate is silly. I don’t care if you’re wearing a pink
Sox hat or don’t know the 1967 Impossible Dream team
starting line up. All I know, there were more Ortiz, Papelbon.
Lowell, Dice K, Lester, Ramirez (even a Derek Lowe!)
shirts in evidence last night than Posada, Jeter and A-Rod shirts. In
the middle of Yankee country.
Curt Schilling is set to undergo shoulder surgery today, something troubling
for any major league baseball pitcher, but especially so for someone 42 years old.
Even Curt’s own blog , not to mention all the news and internet coverage, hints that this may be the end of his career.
I thought he was one of the most interesting people in sports,
someone willing to speak his mind, someone intelligent enough to put
thought behind the words and demonstrate his clearly thought-out
philosophy and world view. I wasn’t thrilled with the right-wing
politics, but it was refreshing to hear a player discuss something other
than pre-chewed cliches.
There were many historic moments in the greatest comeback in sports playoff
history: Big Papi’s two walk-off hits, Damon’s grand slam, Dave Robert’s
steal: but above them all is the bloody sock. Curt had his ankle
sheath sewn into his bone to allow him the strength to push off on
his right foot when he pitched: not once, but twice. He shut down
the Yankees to tie the playoff series at 3-3 (after the Sox had been
down 0-3) and cruised through the Cardinals to win Game 2 of the 2004
World Series.
Like everyone else, I hope this isn’t the end, just another in the
series of amazing comebacks by Curt Schilling. If it isn’t to be,
all I can offer is my profound thanks for 2004 and Curt’s
contributions to the victory that changed everything. It’s a Red Sox
Nation now, no little thanks to the courage and talent of Curt
Schilling.

Need a big, gregarious slugger to reproduce the famous Babe Ruth “called shot” during a promotion during the All Star Game home run derby? At Yankee Stadium? The Yankees are furious that State Farm went with Big Papi instead of someone wearing pinstripes.
It’s a Red Sox Nation, baby! Who’s the Babe cursing now?
Last week I went out to Alliance Bank Stadium to root for the Pawtucket Red Sox against the hometown Chiefs. Why?
1) I’m never going to root against the Red Sox–majors or top farm team
2) The Chiefs nickname is racist.
3) I had to see the new grass field.
Oh well, the day was overcast and cold, the PawSox lost 8-5 and the thrilling young stars destined for Fenway are mostly already up in Boston due to injuries (Lowrie, Buchholz, Moss). It was still a fun day. Draft Saranac beer and a grass field. Beats lousy corporate brew and astroturf.
Back in the 1980’s, Thomas Boswell of the Washington Post wrote a book about baseball called Why Time Begins On Opening Day. I only read excerpts of the book, so maybe that’s why I have always recalled the title as Life Begins On Opening Day.
I like my title better. Spring: the earth is unthawing, plant life starts growing and baseball starts. When I was a kid, spring meant little league sign ups and just tossing the ball around in the back yard (or if you had three guys, monkey in the middle–the better to practice your rundown skills, both defensively and as a base runner.)
As an adult, I may get in some catch every now and again, but baseball is now largely rooting for the Red Sox. And life began again today, albeit at 6 in the morning and in the Tokyo Dome. The Sox beat the Oakland A’s 6-5 in 10 innings, thanks to a two-run double by Manny Ramirez. It’s a weird way to begin the year–fly to Japan to play the first two regular season games of the year, then fly back to the United States and play a few more exhibition/pre-season games.
Oh well, our magic number over the Yankees is now . . .
According to a study presented to the American Association for the Advancement of Science, researchers at Penn have determined that Derek Jeter is the worst fielding shortstop in baseball.
What’s more, A-Rod was one of the best fielding shortstops when he played at Texas, yet he got moved to third to accommodate Mr. Slow Motion, No Range, No Arm. Perhaps this is why the current century has two titles for the Sox and none for the evil empire of Steinbrenner.
