When I traveled
by airplane to Managua, Nicaragua, in the summer of 1985, there wasn’t much in
the way of post cards. (Yes, that’s what we did in those days, send post cards
home.) I bought a few that I did find and didn’t get them in the mail because
they showed the landscape devastation of the Managua earthquake of 1972. Not
exactly what I wanted my mom and dad to see before I got home that year.
That year we lost
one of our great ones. Roberto Clemente, who died on a humanitarian flight to
Managua the last day of 1972. Before the appearance of my beloved Expos in
1969, I was a fan of Roberto Clemente and Pirates. (And since the demise of my
Espos in 2004, the Pirates are my team again.) Clemente's last baseball game in his 18-year
career was two days before my 17th birthday. It was director John
Sayles who said, “Most of what I know about style I learned from Roberto
Clemente.”
Consider this. Career
batting average: .317; total hits: 3,000; home runs: 240 and RBIs: 1,305. While
Clemente didn’t play on the perennial champion Yankees, those stats compare
more than favorably against the Great Derek Jeter, born after Clemente died in
the plane crash. Jeter’s numbers in his 20-year career: .310, 3,465, 260 and 1,311.
But it was the
grace of him that I remember. In many ways, the young outfielder Andrew McCutchen reminds
me of his grace in the field, his determination at bat. His demeanor is
reminiscent of Clemente, who as the Pirates make their way to their third consecutive
postseason appearance, I can’t help but think how much Clemente would be a part
of these exciting days. If he were alive today, he’d be 81 years old.
Next: Running for Your Life: Cruising to
Brooklyn
