Clemente and Maddux

Picked up a copy of David Maraniss' new book on Roberto Clemente this weekend, Clemente: The Passion and Grace of Baseball's Last Hero. Obviously haven't gotten through it yet, but I had to get it to add to my book shelf of personal hero biographies. My first World Series of interest was the 1959 White Sox-Dodgers one, primarily because Nellie Fox's TOPPS card that year was one of my favorites. But the first World Series I really cared about was the next one, the Pirates and the Yankees.

The Yankees destroyed the Pirates in three of the seven games. Major league versus Double A, anyone against the Royals today. But with Bob Friend and Vern Law on the mound in the others, the Pirates hung on to force a seventh game. The Yankees looked ready to win another high scoring game, but Hal Smith, the Pirate catcher, nailed a three-run homer in the eighth to bring them back and Bill "My Hero Forever" Mazeroski punched out the game-winner in the ninth to win the game 10-9 and the series 4-3.

That series was my first exposure to one of the most exciting players of my youth, Roberto Clemente. The argument when choosing the National League All-Star Team was always who you were going to stick in the third outfield spot with Mays and Aaron, Frank Robinson or Clemente. The Reds stupidly ended the argument by trading Robinson to the Orioles in the American League, but I always went with Clemente anyway. I'd seen him in the 1960 series. The guy just possessed an aura that even came through a tv set, and his skills were undeniable, the ability to hit pitches away and in the dirt down the right field line for extra bases, the arm that could fire bullets anywhere in the stadium, the flair on the bases, just the way he wore the uniform. So, when you'd find out the things he did to promote his Puerto Rican community, to help people in need, you weren't surprised. That's what obvious royalty obviously did. And when he died trying to deliver aid to earthquake victims, you weren't surprised either. Clemente was a hero on and off the field, and I'm glad to support an author of previous distinguished biographies who's decided to give the man his due.

The only thing I object to is the subtitle, the "Baseball's Last Hero" part. I'm second to none in bemoaning what has happened to the sport I loved, the corruption and egoism and hype and oversaturation of all sports (except that Winter sport where you ski then shoot targets). I watch very little and like even less. I could once tell you every Series winner going back before I was born. Now I can't tell you who won the last five. But I still pay attention to baseball for one thing. To see how Greg Maddux is doing.

Greg Maddux is no Roberto Clemente. As far as I know, he doesn't give to charity, and the idea that he will die trying to help disaster victims doesn't even register. So, in that sense, Maraniss is right. He doesn't equal Clemente in heroism. But the man just turned 40 and has won, at this writing, his first five games this season. Granted, that's not heroism either, but how he has done it is. Maddux's glory days were a decade ago when he had the monopoly on the NL Cy Young Award. But ten years later, without even the less than overpowering stuff he had then, he's still someone you just watch slack-jawed. Because he is a master of his craft, in the highest sense of mastery, just like Clemente.
I remember some hockey player one time saying he'd love to play just one game inside Gretzky's head, to see what he saw, to know what he knew, instants before anyone else on the ice did. I'd love to pitch one game inside Maddux's head. He doesn't overwhelm you like a Clemons or Johnson, he just knows you as a hitter better than you do yourself and knows how to get you out. As his command has declined, he has made himself even smarter, worked himself even harder, so at 40 he may not impress you with how he looks when he does what he does, but the results are still far beyond what we would expect.

The reason I would put such a beige-looking guy up there with Clemente is not just because he will likewise be a Hall of Famer. The reason is because he epitomizes excellence achieved by mastery, not overarching talent. Think of the values he represents. Knowing what you can do, even as that changes. Paying attention and being real. Understanding who you're dealing with and reacting accordingly to max out the results. Acknowledging all the help and support you get to make you who you are. Not overrating yourself but driving yourself to be the best you can be. Making the most of what you've got at any given time. In an age of blustery and overrated self-promoters, of artificial and superficial means to enhance one's skills, of the hype, corruption, and dishonesty today (and I'm obviously not just talking about sports here), to have someone still around who embodies those old American values and who shows that they still can lead to tremendous success is, to me, heroism, role-modeling, a hope that we can still apply the same virtues to pull ourselves out of this tailspin this nation is in. He's not Clemente. No one ever will be (so retire his number already, MLB). But we may never see another Greg Maddux either. And that, in its way, is just as bad.