Clemens was then in his first year with the Toronto Blue Jays and, having bolted the Boston Red Sox after 13 record-setting seasons, was demonstrating that pitching well is the best revenge. By the time I popped up to Sky Dome, he had won his first 11 games. Our interview was cordial, by Roger’s uptight and somewhat prickly standards, but not very informative. He tends to answer questions reflexively (“I’m exactly the same pitcher I always was”) but not reflectively. So I was really hoping for a stirring performance on the mound that night to jump-start my tale. But as luck would have it, Clemens struggled the whole evening and was fated to suffer his first loss. He was a bit wild walking three and hitting one batter, Seattle Mariners first basemen Paul Sorrento.
The hit batsman appeared to be accidental, no sign that it was mound vengeance for some grievance held dear by Clemens. Nor did there seem to be any portent when the Seattle pitcher later plunked a Toronto hitter. When Clemens left the mound after the top of the seventh inning, he appeared done for the evening. Toronto trailed 4-0 and Roger had already thrown a whopping 120-plus pitches. We pressbox sages were surprised when Clemens came out for the eighth. And we were stunned when he threw just one pitch-a fastball that again drilled Sorrento, this time high in the back. As Sorrento reeled in pain, Clemens strode off the field and into the Toronto dugout without even waiting for the manager to fetch him. He had come out for just one reason and felt no need to mask it.
The motive for that assault was never revealed, but Clemens has been hitting batters-in the back, in the head, wherever it pleases him-with impunity for years. In his 18th season, he has hit 126 batters. Just for some perspective, Sal Maglie, the New York Giants star hurler in the ’50s who was known as “The Barber” for the way he like to “shave” batters, hit just 44 of them in his 10 seasons. And Bob Gibson, the great St. Louis intimidator whose glorious career is always cited as a rebuttal to wuss sportswriters who deplore beanball aggression, hit 102 in 17 seasons on the mound.
Clemens throws at hitters for all the time-honored reasons-to keep them off balance, to push them off the plate and to punish them for the insult of a home run. He also throws at them for every conceivable slight, real or, very often, imagined. So many of his menacing pitches seem to result from what can only be described as a brain glitch, a total disconnect from the real world. And the possible consequences never seem to occur to him. Last year he threw at Boston’s Trot Nixon after he dared to look askance at a called third strike. Just last week, Baltimore’s Jerry Hairston offended Roger with his cockiness compounded by a breach of arcane baseball etiquette. Roger brushed him back not just once, but three times-and then for a finale unleashed a fastball behind his head. It was a pitch that might have been lethal had Hairston not somehow resisted the natural instinct to duck backward.
The most shameful Clemens assault was, of course, his beaning last season of crosstown hitting star Mike Piazza, whose sin was the most egregious of all: he had a history of hitting Roger too well. That nasty blow led to the infamous broken-bat-throwing incident in the World Series, which resulted in a $50,000 fine against Clemens and a further tarnishing of his reputation. But the biggest tarnish, in some eyes, came this week with the Yankees about to visit the Mets for the first time since those confrontations. What did our hero do? Clemens meekly acquiesced to his manager’s decision to juggle his pitching rotation just so Roger could escape having to pitch-and, of course far more important, having to bat-against the Mets in Shea Stadium.
There is no quarreling with the wisdom of Joe Torre’s decision from his vantage point at the team helm. He is looking to avoid a situation that would inevitably provoke a brawl, possibly resulting in costly injuries or suspensions. He did what he had to do. Still, Clemens, who is cruising along with an 8-1 record, should have been mortified that he was spared the Shea challenge. A true exemplar and team leader like Bob Gibson would have said, “Forget it, skipper. Let’s bring it on.” Clemens’s silence resonates loudly. He is a sit-down guy in what should be a standup situation, content to hide behind his manager’s calm, reasoned words. Clearly Roger can dish it out, but he can’t take it. And one reason he can dish it out is that he never has to take it.
I am one of those rare old-school baseball fans, who admits to favoring the designated hitter. As a kid, I hated seeing rallies snuffed out by some anemic-hitting pitcher. As an adult, I have enjoyed watching baseball greats-from Hall of Famer Tony Perez to future Hall of Famer Edgar Martinez-prolong their careers thanks to the DH slot. And I’ve never been that dazzled by the strategic nuances that result from having pitchers bat. But the one absolutely compelling anti-DH argument is that cheap-shotters like Clemens don’t have to stand in and face the same peril they deliver so casually and callously. Gibson may have thrown high and inside, but he took his turn in the batter’s box and accepted the risk of payback. (Gibson was such a great athlete that he was more likely to deliver another helping of hurt at the plate. He hit 26 home runs, including two in World Series games.)
We have grown sadly accustomed to the fact that many of our most cherished athletes are not especially admirable figures off the field. That is not the case with Clemens. While Roger may not be a charmer, there is much to like about a guy who seems dedicated to both his craft and his family. Clemens is rather the case of a star performer who is not admirable on the field. His gutless poaching from the mound threatens to supersede his myriad pitching accomplishments, if it hasn’t already. He seems fated to enter the Hall of Fame one day with many records and very few fans.
