Roberto Clemente-The Great One

L-R Clemente in action, Statue of Clemente outside PNC Park in Pittsburgh







I don't write many essays on the subject of sports. Not that I am not interested in the subject-I am. I also don't read that many sports books. One exception in recent months is the book by David Maraniss on Roberto Clemente (Clemente-The Passion and Grace of Baseball's Last Hero).

I have always maintained that Willie Mays was the greatest all-around player to ever play the game of baseball. Clemente (who actually carried the moniker, The Great One)was also one of the greatest-but to me, he was the most unforgettable.

Rather than recount what is in Maraniss' excellent book, I would rather recount my own memories of watching Clemente play for the Pittsburgh Pirates until his untimely death in an airplane crash while helping deliver relief supplies to an earthquake- ravaged Nicaragua on December 31, 1972.

I first saw Clemente play in person in August of 1963 at Chicago's Wrigley Field, a game that would mark the beginning of my long-running love affair with the Cubs. Also playing in that game was a young Cub second baseman named Ken Hubbs, who at the end of the season, would also die in a plane crash. Of course, Clemente was already a star in 1963. In this particular game, my only memory of him was that he pulled a fly ball out of the ivy vines.

During his career, Clemente established himself as one of the top hitters in the game, winning several batting championships, albeit with an unorthodox batting style. He was not known as a power hitter (his top number in that regard was only 29 in a season). Yet, to this day, it was Clemente who hit the longest homer ever in Wrigley Field, a blast that flew past the left side of the center field scoreboard as it landed on Waveland Avenue.

But it was Clemente's fielding in right field that set him apart and caused him to be remembered by anyone who saw him play. Not only was he great at catching the ball, but he had the strongest throwing arm I ever saw-arguably the strongest of any outfielder who ever played the game. I still recall watching him play in Dodger Stadium and seeing him launch a throw from the right field corner (330 feet from home plate) to third base on the fly-keeping a runner from advancing to third.

Of course, physical skill alone is not sufficient to lead one to write a warm book like Maraniss' about an athlete. Otherwise Mr Maraniss (and I) might write something about, say, Barry Bonds. No, it was Clemente's extraordinary character, as a teammate, leader, family man and humanitarian that also set him apart. Of course, it goes without saying that he was an inspiration to other Latin American players, being one of the first genuine Latin stars of the game. To his native Puerto Rico, where he was active in working with kids playing ball, he was-and is a national hero.

Clemente's life ended prematurely, in the off-season following his 3,000th hit. His plane, carrying relief supplies to Nicaragua, crashed into the ocean just after taking off from San Juan. His remains were never recovered.

Maraniss recounts how the entire Pirates team flew down to Puerto Rico after his death. Dock Ellis was a young and cocky pitcher who was visibly affected by the circumstances. It led to me to remember my own brief personal memory of Ellis. In my college days, for a period of a few weeks, I worked out on Saturdays with a team called the Pittsburgh Pirate rookies. Based in south central LA, they were a group of young players coached by Chet Brewer, a Pirates scout. Many of the players (not me) went on to major league careers. One was Dock Ellis. (He certainly would not remember me because I never was able to actually play with the team.) I happened to be present at the park on the day Ellis signed his first contract with the Pirates. When we congratulated him on turning pro, his comment was "Sh..- I turned pro the day I was born, baby." As a Pirate, he was noted for being flaky. To read Maraniss' account of Ellis seeming lost and unable to cope with the tragic loss of his teammate struck me with the above-described memory.

Later in my life, I was fortunate enough to be assigned to work in the city of Pittsburgh from 1987-1990. Though never a Pirate fan, I will never forget that every time I went to a game, there would be a tribute to Clemente on the scoreboard. In the minutes before the game began, the scoreboard would show a montage of film clips showing The Great One in action. And the crowd would applaud in respect for the city's greatest sports hero.

Fitting in a classy city like Pittsburgh (where the football and the Steelers reign), that such a classy figure as Clemente is remembered with such reverence.

For anyone interested in a book that will bring back one's faith in athletes, David Maraniss' book is a must-read.