To commemorate the 40-year anniversary of Roberto Clemente’s passing, MLB Network is airing a new feature on Roberto Clemente.
Narrated by Bob Costas, the feature looks back at Clemente’s playing career, his decision to assist in the relief efforts in Nicaragua, his tragic death 40 years ago on December 31, and the impact his life had on Pittsburgh, Puerto Rico and Latin America.
The piece includes exclusive interviews with friends Orlando Cepeda and Tom Walker, who was almost on that fateful flight, in addition to Pirates teammates Steve Blass, Dick Groat and Manny Sanguillen and historian Rob Ruck. Also included in the feature is archival footage from interviews with Clemente and footage from news reports on the plane crash and Clemente’s death.
Hat tip to Tim Shanahan of the MLB Network for sending us over the information.
Here are a few quotes below from the piece, as well.
Steve Blass on how exciting it was to watch Clemente play:
“He could turn a 10-year Major League veteran into a 10-year old kid because you didn’t want to miss a thing he did.”
Blass on the reaction when it was confirmed Clemente had died in the crash:
“To this day, it just seemed to me like the shoulders of the city of Pittsburgh slumped when it was confirmed. It was as simple as that and it was as devastating as that.”
Dick Groat on the loss of Clemente:
“It’s hard to believe you lost a friend that quickly, trying to do something good for people.”
Orlando Cepeda on the number of mourners in Puerto Rico:
“The only time that I’ve seen so many people gather was when the Pope came to Puerto Rico.”
Blass on Clemente’s legacy:
“There have been a few guys that played at different levels: a Mantle or DiMaggio or Willie Mays or Henry Aaron. Clemente was in that class.”
Monday, December 31, 2012Losing A Hero By Alfredo R. Berrios ESPN Deportes
Roberto Clemente races down the first-base line against the Orioles during the 1971 World Series.
On Dec. 31, 1972, New Year's Eve ended in Puerto Rico before the clock struck midnight. At first heard as a rumor, then sadly confirmed, Puerto Rican baseball star Roberto Clemente Walker had died in a plane crash while en route to deliver aid to the victims of a devastating earthquake that had struck Nicaragua weeks before. He was 38. It was unbelievable. Together with Orlando "Peruchin" Cepeda, Clemente was the island's main star in major league baseball. Among his accomplishments, the still-active player had won four batting titles, 12 Gold Gloves, two World Series titles and a National League MVP award, plus he registered a .317 lifetime batting average. Only months before, in September, Clemente got his 3,000th major league hit, an almost unattainable milestone at that time. In October, he had managed the Puerto Rican team at the Amateur World Series held in Managua. Afterward, he fulfilled his dream of offering free baseball clinics to children throughout Puerto Rico. Then suddenly, he lost his life just hours before the end of the year that perhaps gave him the most exposure in baseball and in his own homeland.
Ramiro Martinez, the octogenarian Cuban sportscaster who resides in Puerto Rico, met Clemente in 1954. Ever since, he developed what he described as something more than a friendship with the baseball player born in Carolina, Puerto Rico, on Aug. 18, 1934. "In '54, I met Clemente for the first time when he debuted with the Triple-A International League team from Montreal, the Royals, at the stadium in Montreal," remembered Martinez, who was connected to the player for almost the rest of his life. "Here [in Puerto Rico], I had the opportunity to spend time with Roberto during every moment of his existence. "We were no longer friends; a brotherhood was formed."
Before Clemente passed away, I had the opportunity to watch him play. In fact, my first contact with baseball was several years before, when I saw my first game of the Puerto Rican Winter League between the Cangrejeros de Santurce and the Senadores de San Juan. I had accompanied my great-grandmother to see her Senadores, the team to which the legendary Clemente belonged.
September 30, 1972: Roberto Clemente accepts his due after his 3,000th hit.
Among the stars of this San Juan team were two Cincinnati Reds rookies: Johnny Bench and Lee May. On the opposing team, I remember these stars playing: Paul Blair, Frank Robinson, Dusty Baker, Ruben Gomez and Juan Pizarro. It was a constellation of legends, but the one who caught my attention was the Senadores' No. 21. Clemente had a strange way of playing baseball. He liked to send pitches towards the right side even though he was a right-handed hitter. His style of running the bases, shaking his entire body wildly, was different, something I gathered from the limited amount of baseball I had seen. When the opposing team's bat cracked, he ran automatically to the area to which the ball was headed and caught it, throwing it back to the diamond almost effortlessly without it bouncing on the field. It surprised me how he got an opponent out at the plate with a throw from deep in center field to home without bouncing the ball -- a perfect throw. I confess that I don't remember what team won on that winter night in the '60s, but my loyalties remained with the San Juan team and with Clemente. From that night onward, I would place the radio earpiece in my ear and listen to every game he played, keeping a rough score on an improvised graph paper without knowing that I was keeping my first box scores. Later in my life, I saw Clemente do things I believed to be impossible and which very few baseball players have matched.
Martinez maintains he had never met anyone like Clemente. Beyond his exploits on the baseball field, the veteran sportscaster highlighted the player's qualities off it. "Of the many, many people I have met in this dynamic radio and television line of work, I haven't met anybody with such incredible qualities of humanism and discipline, of being a good father, a good son. Roberto was an exemplary human being," said the broadcast journalist, who narrated dozens of Clemente's games on radio and TV, including his 3,000th hit, a double off New York Mets left-handed pitcher Jon Matlack on Sept. 30, 1972. As if acting on a premonition, Clemente did many things that year, on a personal level and on the field. Martinez was a participant, both as a sports journalist and also as a promoter in several of the activities. "That year, 1972, he did it all. He signed on as a representative with Eastern Airlines, a project that entailed visiting throughout the United States, different places in Latin America and different places of scarce economic resources. He was going to take on a production to be narrated by Jose Ferrer and Orson Welles," explained Martinez. He recalled that part of the project included filming various children in Pittsburgh, where Clemente played almost his entire career in the majors, and a tribute to the Pirates' play-by-play announcer back then, Bob Prince. During that activity, Martinez convinced Clemente to manage Puerto Rico's amateur baseball team that traveled to Nicaragua, a key event in his story.
I got to see Clemente very little in Puerto Rico after that charmed year. Claiming worsening injuries during the 150 games that the Major League season lasted back then, the idol played very little winter baseball during his final years. In fact, my last memory of him in the San Juan uniform was when he managed the team circa 1970.
Clemente's remarkable hitting stroke in action.
Of the few games I did not attend that year was the one with his only at-bat, as a pinch-hitter in the ninth inning against the hated Cangrejeros: a long fly ball toward right field which was an out to end the game. Clemente did not show much as a mentor even though he had several of the Pirates' top players under his command that year. If memory serves me correctly, San Juan did not make the playoffs, double the pain for the fan who saw the failure of his hero from the dugout. I recall that Clemente was not a fan of granting interviews, something that was not well-received by Puerto Rican journalists of the time and did not win him many friends. As for me, I never could get his autograph, since he stayed away from fans during warm-ups, which was very discouraging in my development as a youth.
Joaquin Martinez-Rousset unintentionally earned prominence with Clemente in the final days of the star player's life. Editor-in-chief at The Associated Press, Martinez-Rousset was assigned to cover the events at the Amateur Baseball World Series in Nicaragua in 1972, during which the right fielder managed a Puerto Rican all-star team. "I traveled from San Juan to Miami, and in Miami, I ran into Clemente, who was headed to Nicaragua," said Martinez-Rousset, 94, who sat next to him on the plane that took them to their Central American destination. "We talked the entire trip about his adventures and his injuries. He said that he had real injuries, and unbeknownst to everyone, he continued playing." The veteran sports journalist, with whom I worked at several newspapers in his native Puerto Rico as sports editor and in general news, recalled that Clemente was a very complex person. "Clemente was not an overly friendly person. He had his detractors. From what I was told, at Hiram Bithorn [Stadium] in San Juan, some people would sit there just to insult him," Martinez-Rousset said.
I remember tracking Clemente's road to hit number 3,000. In fact, it was an event of incomparable magnitude in Puerto Rico. It was an age in which satellite television transmissions were few and radio was the main medium for listening to baseball via the Gillette Cavalcade of Sports, a regional program aired in Latin America with the voices of Martinez, the current play-by-play announcer for the Miami Marlins, Felo Ramirez and legendary Cuban sportscaster Buck Canel. As he inched closer to the legendary milestone, all Pirates games in which Clemente participated were aired. Clemente was the first Hispanic player to break that barrier, and I had the opportunity to enjoy it live just days before the end of the season and right as they were preparing to end the transmissions, since they were costly and ineffective. "He made it, completely clean, just like he wanted it," Ramirez described when Clemente connected the double that carried him to immortality against Matlack, a lefty who, ironically, had pitched in Puerto Rico for Clemente's Senadores de San Juan.
Martinez vividly remembers the moment of Clemente's accomplishment. After the game, in the locker room, he claims that the player asked him to organize baseball clinics in Puerto Rico as part of his celebration.
Clemente presents gifts to a fan at a charity exhibition game in May, 1972.
"Roberto asked me in the locker room if I could organize some clinics for him because he wanted to celebrate his 3,000th hit with the children of his hometown," the journalist recalled. Martinez said that he also lived with Clemente's moments of humanism in Nicaragua, among them seeing to the care of a legless boy of limited resources. The boy's parents could not provide a prosthetic leg because it was something said to not among the priorities of Nicaragua's then-dictator, Anastasio Somoza. "That was one of the many things he [Clemente] did, where he did not take photographers or cameramen, nor did he tell anyone. He enjoyed it alone. He planned with the woman to take her to the United States and didn't get to see it through. In the stadium that would later be named after him, he met a woman who was eight months pregnant who asked him to take her to Puerto Rico so that her son would be born in Puerto Rico, and Roberto said yes to her," Martinez continued. The boy who had lost his leg died during the Dec. 23 earthquake, but Clemente never found out.
After a forgettable series in Nicaragua, Clemente returned to Puerto Rico to offer the baseball clinics in different places throughout the island. Preceded by great publicity through Martinez's radio and television programs, the clinics were carried out in several municipalities of Puerto Rico. In San Juan, the Summit Hills neighborhood was one of them. Later on in my life, I would find out that Martinez-Rousset and his son, Avelino Munoz Stevenson, both journalists for a moment in their lives, were part of the clinics and an inevitable piece of this puzzle. That Christmas, like all Christmases in Puerto Rico, was a time for family celebration and parties galore. Because I was only 14, I barely celebrated outside the family circle. One of the news stories that cast a pall over that celebration was the devastating earthquake in Nicaragua, in which thousands were left homeless, hundreds died and with which all Puerto Ricans became involved, mostly because of the campaign that Clemente prepared along with various civic leaders and popular artists. Television host Luis Vigoreaux was one of these artists; his weekend programs dominated television ratings in Puerto Rico. Thanks to his involvement with Vigoreaux, and with folk singer Ruth Fernandez, Clemente was able to call upon the generosity of the Puerto Rican people and take aid to Nicaragua. The player argued that his proximity to Nicaraguan people compelled him to cooperate in this manner. Two aid supply collection centers were set up at Hiram Bithorn Stadium and at the Plaza Las Americas shopping mall. Over the first few days, two planes loaded with medications, clothes and food were sent to the Central American nation. The generosity had led to being able to load a third plane, on which Clemente offered to travel. Many urban legends were born of that decision. It was said that Vigoreaux and Fernandez would accompany Clemente in his humanitarian deed. The player said it was his obligation to go with the cargo in order to prevent Nicaraguan soldiers from stealing the supplies, which had been alleged regarding prior relief shipments. Other versions indicated that the player had unrelated interests in taking the flight to a town close to the capital, Managua, mainly to visit someone there.
Volunteers from various places were in charge of loading the planes that would take the cargo to Managua. On Dec. 31, a young Munoz, his brother Joaquin and a third neighbor from the Summit Hills neighborhood were entrusted with moving onto the plane everything that would be taken on that third trip. "We loaded the cargo. First, the medications and medical equipment, then the clothes, and finally, the food," Munoz, who is Martinez-Rousset's son, remembered. "When we were leaving -- it was Dec. 31, we were all headed home to celebrate -- Clemente came and ordered us to empty the plane because the medicines had to come out first, then the food and finally the clothes. The plane had been loaded backward." At that moment, Munoz did not know that the plane was overloaded due to the weight of several dentist's chairs that were donated, plus the tons of medications and clothes. What he did notice was that the aircraft, a DC-7 propeller plane, was leaking oil. "The plane was overloaded," said Munoz, 56, who was a sports journalist for many years. "Clemente was told not to travel, to switch it to a different day." In fact, Vigoreaux himself told Clemente not to travel that night, but nothing changed his mind. "I heard Vigoreaux say it," said Benny Agosto, a longtime baseball man who has been associated with the Puerto Rican Winter League for more than 40 years and who knew Clemente.
New Year's Eve in Puerto Rico had a few peculiarities that were unique to that era. Among them was the live television transmission of the countdown to the start of the new year, with the participation of famous artists. I believe one of those programs was hosted by Vigoreaux himself, and I recall that they made constant mention of Clemente's mission to Nicaragua. My family welcomed every year at the homes of different relatives, where we would go share, celebrate and watch the television in anticipation of the arrival of the new year. One of the most awaited moments was the reciting of poem called "Bohemian's Toast," by Guillermo Aguirre Fierro, a tradition I practice to this today. It was always recited moments after the arrival of the new year, after which we would go back to our home. At approximately 10 p.m., the countdown transmission was interrupted.
Martinez-Rousset awaited the arrival of his son, Edmundo, from the city of Mayaguez, on the west coast of Puerto Rico, on a late evening flight. His son was returning from his studies at the island's top engineering school. "We had gone to visit several neighbors, which was customary in the days leading up to the new year. When we got home, the phone rang. It was my son Edmundo, who got out of a taxi and the driver told him there was a rumor that Clemente had died when his plane fell on the coast across from the airport", Martinez-Rousset described. At that time, he asked his son to return to the airport (then called the Isla Verde Airport) to find out more details. Martinez-Rousset called the director of the AP in Puerto Rico, American George Arfeld, who mobilized all his editors and journalists. "He told me, let's go to the office," Martinez-Rousset recalled. "I sent my son to speak with my daughter's husband, who was the on-duty supervisor at the Puerto Rico Ports Authority at the airport, to try to find out more information for me ... and that was how we confirmed that the plane had crashed." Former major league catcher Manny Sanguillen, then was playing for the Senadores in Puerto Rico, tried to see Clemente before the plane took off, not to convince him not to go, since he was unaware that he was going to fly to Nicaragua, but rather as a response to an invitation to talk from someone he considered his friend and mentor. "Luis Mayoral [sports journalist and a friend of Clemente] came and knocked on my door. He said to me: 'Do you know that Clemente's plane crashed?' I went crazy ... and we never communicated. That always affects me. That's why I don't like talking about that day," Sanguillen told Puerto Rico news daily, Primera Hora.
The somber news host confirmed what was circulating as a rumor: Roberto Clemente had died in a plane crash. "The plane took off and fell immediately to the ocean on the coast across from the Cangrejos Yacht Club in the Isla Verde area. There are no survivors," the news anchor narrated. The New Year's Eve party on television never came back on the air. The countdown was stopped. The "Bohemian's Toast" was never heard. The year 1973 had kicked off unnoticed, and Puerto Rico had lost its favorite son.
By Paul Guggenheimer / The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
http://www.post-gazette.com
If you were a kid growing up in Pittsburgh 40 years ago, you probably feel a little different when New Year's Eve rolls around from the rest of the revelers out there. It was on Dec. 31, 1972, that Pirates Hall of Fame right fielder Roberto Clemente died in a plane crash while delivering relief supplies to earthquake-ravaged Nicaragua.
In those pre-Internet/Twitter days four decades ago, news didn't travel as fast as it does now so most of us didn't hear of the tragedy until the next day, New Year's Day. I was lying half-awake in my bed, trying to ignore the bright, mid-morning sun peeking through the curtains, when my 9-year-old brother burst into my room to tell me what he had heard from one of his neighborhood friends.
"Roberto Clemente is dead! He died in the ocean," he said.
At first it made no sense. Died in the ocean? I figured my little brother was just confused, that some other Roberto Clemente, a Navy pilot perhaps, was the one who died in the ocean. It was probably as much denial as disbelief.
I got out of bed and turned on the radio. KDKA newscaster Ed Shaughnessy confirmed what had seemed too horrible to be true. Roberto Clemente, who just three months earlier had banged out his 3,000th career hit at Three Rivers Stadium, was dead at the age of 38.
Clemente was my favorite player. I remember bringing to my first Pirates game at Forbes Field a homemade sign that said "Happiness is Roberto Clemente." I was sitting down the first-base line hoping he would notice my sign but it was much too small for him to have possibly seen it. That was OK, though, because I was seeing him in person as he made those graceful basket catches in right field. I would attempt, unsuccessfully, to imitate Clemente's unique way of catching the ball when I was in Little League.
The next year, when the Pirates moved to Three Rivers, my dad took me to a game against the Mets on my birthday. The Bucs lost but Clemente hit a home run, pulling back in his patented spring-loaded batting stance and uncoiling a whip-like stroke that sent the ball soaring over the right-center-field fence. It felt like he had done it especially for me.
Now, here I was, struggling to process the idea that I would never see him play again. I spent the rest of that day stumbling around in a fog of depression. I wandered up to the field in Highland Park that had been the scene of many muddy neighborhood New Year's Day football games. But none of the usual gang of kids had shown up. The place was eerily deserted.
That night there was a somber family discussion at the dinner table. I had a sick feeling in my stomach and couldn't eat. I remember asking my parents how God could allow someone like Roberto Clemente to die this way. My mother didn't have an answer but suggested that I say a prayer for his family.
After dinner, I went downstairs, where a black and white television was tuned to the Orange Bowl. It was halftime. I stared blankly at the screen, watching women in sequined outfits twirling batons and gaudily clad band members marching around. "How can they act this way on such a sad day?" I wondered. "They're a bunch of stupid idiots. They're all just stupid, stupid, stupid ... "
Suddenly, the sick feeling in my stomach morphed into a wave of emotion as I burst into uncontrollable sobs. I ran upstairs to my room so that nobody could see the tears running down my cheeks. I got into bed and cried into my pillow. When I finally began to feel drowsy, I remember thinking that the end of the holiday vacation I had been dreading was suddenly a blessing. I was grateful that there would be school the next day. I needed to see my friends and talk about what had happened.
That next day at Fulton Elementary, boys and girls gathered in groups and spoke in hushed tones about Roberto Clemente. It was group therapy. Our teachers indulged us to a point, but then insisted on pressing forward with their lesson plans. I don't remember any grief counseling being available, though some of us could have used it.
The Pirates would return to the field in the spring of 1973 but they were not the same team without Roberto. The players wore a black "21" patch on their uniform sleeves and, while they never used it as an excuse, the shocking death of their team leader clearly affected their performance.
How else to explain why Steve Blass, a National League All-Star pitcher who had won a career high 19 games in 1972, had suddenly lost control and couldn't find the strike zone? How else to account for the fact that a team that had won three straight division titles and came within a game of going to back to back World Series the year before, was on its way to finishing below .500?
The Pirates would bounce back by the end of the decade to win another world championship. They would even find another star right fielder in Dave Parker, the National League's Most Valuable Player in 1978. And I never stopped going to the games.
But baseball has never held the same meaning, the same pure joy as it did in the late '60s and early '70s when Roberto Clemente made me and a lot of other Pittsburgh kids fall in love with the national pastime.
Every New Year's Eve, the memories of the day Roberto died come flooding back. The only thing that is different is that I've stopped asking why he had to be taken from us so soon. Roberto Clemente died the way all great men die, as a hero whose talent was surpassed only by his spirit and determination to help others.
Paul Guggenheimer is host of Essential Pittsburgh on 90.5 WESA, the NPR affiliate in Pittsburgh.
By Mike Bires mbires@timesonline.com | Posted: Sunday, December 30, 2012 8:39 pm
Beaver County Times
PITTSBURGH -- Let the record show that the Steelers’ final touchdown of a madcap season was scored by Plaxico Burress.
How bizarre is that?
There was Plax, taking a couple bows in the end zone with 3:20 left to play after clinching a win that allowed the Steelers to finish a ho-hum 8-8.
The whole Burress dilemma was one of many mysteries in a season of hope that ended in failure.
After re-acquiring Burress on Nov. 20, the Steelers never knew quite what to do with him. It wasn’t until the season finale, Sunday's 24-10 win over the Browns, that coach Mike Tomlin and offensive coordinator Todd Haley finally put him to good use.
In a game in which no Steelers’ receiver was targeted more than three times or caught more than two passes, Burress proved that at age 35 he could still make significant plays.
He caught two passes, each for 12 yards. He also accounted for 12 penalty yards by drawing a pass interference flag against Cleveland star cornerback Joe Haden.
The touchdown was classic Burress, a high ball from Ben Roethlisberger thrown where only a big man could get it.
It was a classic red zone mismatch: Burress, at 6-foot-5, matched up man-to-man against the 5-11 Haden.
Touchdown, Steelers.
Take a bow, Plax.
“It was nice, it was fun,” Roethlisberger said of his first TD pass to Burress since 2004. “He’s got a big body down there and he made a great catch.”
So the question begs to be asked: Where was Burress last week when the Steelers needed to beat the Bengals?
Why did Tomlin choose not to even dress him in a game the Steelers needed to win in order to keep their playoff hopes alive?
Instead, Tomlin dressed five running backs: Jonathan Dwyer, Isaac Redman, Rashard Mendenhall, Chris Rainey and Baron Batch.
Baron Batch?
Are you kidding?
In a game they really had to win, the Steelers dressed Baron Batch instead of Burress, a former first-round draft pick who caught a winning TD for the Giants in the Super Bowl a few years ago.
Unbelievable.
Batch had zero carries and zero catches in last week's 13-10 loss before breaking his arm covering a kickoff late in the first half.
Even dressing Rainey over Burress was a mistake. Granted, Rainey returns kickoffs but it’s not that he’s a game-breaking specialist. In a game the Steelers had to win, Emmanuel Sanders could have returned kickoffs. As it turns out, Rainey didn’t have any carries or any receptions and only returned two kickoffs for 33 and 34 yards.
What a waste of manpower.
Ever since returning to Pittsburgh, Burress was used sparingly. Out of 195 offensive snaps in his first three games, he was on the field for only 19 of them. He didn’t dress in the loss in Dallas. He didn’t dress in the home loss to the Bengals.
In the locker room after Sunday’ win over the Browns, Burress chose not to criticize the coaches for the way he’s been used.
“You know, all I can do is prepare,” he said.
But Burress looked good enough against the Browns that Roethlisberger envisioned him back in a Steelers uniform next year.
“He has plenty of game left,” Roethlisberger said.
Too bad the Steelers didn’t put Burress to work sooner. Like last week.
Beaver County Times Sports Correspondent | Posted: Sunday, December 30, 2012 8:18 pm
Ex-Cincinnati Bengals quarterback Boomer Esiason criticized Ben Roethlisberger.
That’s like France criticizing Germany for lack of military acumen. Even if a valid point gets made, the track records simply can’t be ignored.
Esiason labeled Roethlisberger a “drama queen” because of his reputation, deserved or not, for embellishing injuries.
What’s that matter as long as Roethlisberger plays and produces?
There’s no denying it was a difficult year for the Steelers’ QB. A rough finish despite three touchdown passes in Sunday's meaningless home victory against Cleveland.
A potential MVP season collapsed because of injury. Roethlisberger missed three games and wasn’t the same when he returned, donning goat’s horns for losses to Dallas and Cincinnati, the latter destroying the Steelers’ playoff hopes.
Criticism of Roethlisberger is warranted. He’d be the first to agree. Despite solid personal stats, 8-8 doesn’t lie. Roethlisberger’s two-minute touch abandoned him.
But when detractors scorn Roethlisberger, he doesn’t get the same respect accorded others of his accomplishment level. If Tom Brady has been criticized with the same venom Roethlisberger too often absorbs, I haven’t heard about it.
Roethlisberger is a two-time Super Bowl winner. He is a three-time Super Bowl participant. He engineered a two-minute drill to win Super Bowl XLIII. Brady has won three Super Bowls, but lost two. Nobody’s perfect.
Critics cite supposed imperfections in Roethlisberger’s style. He needs to tweak his game, we’re told. Steelers president Art Rooney II drew upon his vast playing and coaching experience to make that pronouncement.
What, exactly, does Roethlisberger need to tweak? This year, he got rid of the ball quicker. He threw the ball away more. He took shorter drops.
The result: Roethlisberger still got hurt, and the Steelers went 8-8.
Maybe Roethlisberger’s game was fine just the way it was. No tweak needed.
The Steelers are the only team in the NFL that would dumb down a top five quarterback. Yinzer Nation is the only fan base stupid enough to accept it.
Let’s examine the reason for that: The Steelers, and Steelers fans, have never really forgiven Roethlisberger for the transgressions alleged in Georgia and Nevada.
Evidence was flimsy. No charges were filed. But franchise-wise and fan-wise, the attitude toward Roethlisberger has never been the same. Ownership doesn’t want Roethlisberger (or anyone) to be bigger than the logo or the family. Never did. Fans believe Roethlisberger soiled the team’s squeaky-clean image.
That’s insanity, of course. James Harrison got convicted of domestic abuse, and he’s a Heinz Field hero. Alameda Ta’amu put bystanders and police at risk by driving drunk through Pittsburgh’s South Side, but he’s still on the roster. The Steelers haven’t been holier than thou since Ernie Holmes shot at a police helicopter in 1973, yet played five more seasons in Pittsburgh.
Thirteen men started at QB for the Steelers between their fourth and fifth Super Bowl wins. If you want to hate quarterbacks, hate those quarterbacks.
During his anti-Ben rant, Esiason listed the NFL’s top four QBs (Brady, Peyton Manning, Aaron Rodgers and Drew Brees), which certainly delivers a message via Roethlisberger’s omission. Esiason also said that Roethlisberger “has to be a man,” and “not just on Sunday.”
What does that mean? I honestly have no clue.
Esiason seemed most annoyed by Roethlisberger pronouncing that his broken ribs threatened his aorta and thus his life, saying that “everybody across the NFL rolled his eyes.” The Steelers’ doctors didn’t roll their eyes, however. But if Todd Haley can coach football without having played it, I suppose Esiason can pretend to be a physician despite lack of a medical degree. Or a Super Bowl ring.
Mark Madden hosts a radio show 3-6 p.m. weekdays on WXDX-FM (105.9).
SAN JUAN, Puerto Rico – Forty years ago Monday, I was a baseball-obsessed 11-year-old attending a New Year's Eve party near my parents' house when rumors spread that one of this island's biggest stars had perished in a plane crash.
At first word was Orlando Cepeda was the victim, and that would have been a huge loss because the 1967 National League MVP was a popular figure and a future Hall of Famer.
But when it was confirmed that favorite son Roberto Clemente was the one who'd died, an indescribable grief enveloped nearly everybody in Puerto Rico.
Three months before, we had been riveted by Clemente's pursuit of his 3,000th hit, a feat he accomplished on the last weekend of the 1972 season with the Pittsburgh Pirates. He became the 11th player and first Latino to reach the coveted mark, and the residents of this U.S. territory swelled with pride.
Now the source of such joy was gone at age 38, his body never to be found in the Atlantic Ocean.
Throngs rushed to the coastal area near the airport from which the plane had taken off, overloaded with relief supplies Clemente wanted to make sure reached the victims of an earthquake in Nicaragua.
"We headed out to the beach closest to the crash area and it was packed with people. It was devastating news for everybody,'' says former major league pitcher Jose Santiago, a close friend of Clemente. "People were going, 'Are you sure he boarded the plane? Maybe he didn't.' Or claiming, 'Oh, he's got to be alive.' Some would say, 'He's clinging to a rock in one of those little islands out there.' "
In the days that followed, as Clemente's death was accepted as reality, a photo of his 7-year-old son Roberto Jr. kissing a poster with his father's picture became as heart-wrenching and iconic in Puerto Rico as the image of JFK Jr. saluting his father's coffin was in the U.S.
On this latest trip home for the holidays, I have found the usual tributes to Puerto Rico's first Hall of Famer. His name is attached to an arena, a stadium in his native municipality of Carolina and an avenue, as well as this year's winter league baseball tournament.
And yet, while the 40th anniversary of Clemente's 3,000th hit was celebrated with a ceremony in Pittsburgh's PNC Park, the most noteworthy commemoration of his passing is a musical about his life that played in a Santurce, P.R., theater earlier this month.
Baseball is no longer the dominant sport here, with the winter league constantly struggling to draw fans and stay afloat. Clemente's dream of a "sports city'' where youngsters could hone their skills was eventually fulfilled, paving the way for several future pros, but now the facilities are abandoned and in disrepair.
His family prefers the focus be on the way he lived, not how he died. And many Puerto Ricans have moved on.
The island has produced other luminaries, including a third baseball Hall of Famer in Roberto Alomar and a likely future one in Ivan Rodriguez, boxing champions such as Felix Trinidad and Wilfredo Gomez, singer Ricky Martin, Emmy-winning actor Raul Julia and former surgeon general Antonia Novello. Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor, born in New York to Puerto Rican parents, is embraced in this commonwealth as one of its own.
Still, none are revered as deeply as Clemente, whose martyr-like death elevated his stature to near sainthood.
"The country was completely paralyzed by the news,'' recalls Hector Lopez, a childhood friend who remained tight with Clemente. "The holiday season ended. People took down their Christmas trees and went into a national mourning.''
Though he remembers Clemente fondly, Lopez is open about his foibles, saying his friend was tight with money, was paid for conducting youth clinics and planned to charge for use of the sports city, which he envisioned as an athletic academy.
Regardless, four decades after he vanished, Clemente remains the rare elite athlete whose humanitarian deeds are remembered with as much admiration as his accomplishments as a player, which included two World Series titles, four batting crowns, 12 Gold Glove Awards and MVP awards in a regular season and a World Series.
Houston Astros prospect Carlos Correa, the first Puerto Rican to be taken No. 1 overall in the draft, points to Clemente's social activism.
"He was a star but stayed humble, and he was good on and off the field,'' says Correa, 18. "He's a great example for all Puerto Rican players and will continue to be.''
St. Louis Cardinals catcher Yadier Molina, probably the top player among a diminishing Puerto Rican contingent in the majors, has taken up the cause of abused and disadvantaged kids through his foundation. Molina says the chance to live up to Clemente's legacy was a motivating factor.
"He did a lot of things off the field to help people, and he had a lot less (money) than we do these days,'' Molina says. "If he did it, why shouldn't we help others?''
Troubled by the prejudice he experienced in the U.S. as a dark-skinned Latino – which he felt put him two strikes behind in American society – Clemente spoke out against discrimination and was relentless in the pursuit of causes he believed in.
His impact extended through Latin America, where he was hailed as the Latino Jackie Robinson. Since 1973, Major League Baseball has handed out a Roberto Clemente Award to the player who embodies his combination of on-field excellence and community involvement.
Orlando Merced, who played the first seven of his 13 major-league seasons for the Pirates, grew up across from Clemente's house, befriended his three sons and attended school with them. Merced sprung from the sports city and, as so many others here, considers Clemente his hero.
"Roberto Clemente created the dream for many of us to become professional players and to reach the major leagues,'' Merced says. "He opened the eyes of the American teams to the talent that was here.''
The talent has diminished, and Clemente's on-field legacy has receded in the Puerto Rican consciousness. His dignity and devotion to those less fortunate, however, continue to resonate.
As an 11-year-old, my response to losing Clemente was to put together an album of photos clipped from newspaper stories. Since then I've read books and numerous stories about him and also watched documentaries of his life.
I didn't think I would learn much more about Clemente on this visit, and yet a few days ago my father, now a retired physician, told me of the time in the late 1960s when the perennial All-Star came to his office.
Seeking treatment for the back trouble that dogged him for much of his career, Clemente sat among the other patients and patiently waited his turn. It was an ordinary gesture by an extraordinary man, one that made his legend just a bit bigger in my eyes.
By Jamison Hensely
ESPN AFC North Blog
December 30, 2012
My thoughts on the Pittsburgh Steelers' 24-10 win over the visiting Cleveland Browns: What it means: The Steelers (8-8) ended a three-game losing streak and avoided their first losing season since 2003. In what is expected to be coach Pat Shurmur's final game, the Browns (5-11) continued their miserable finish, losing for the third straight time by at least 14 points. Cleveland also failed to complete its first sweep of Pittsburgh since 1988.
Thumbs up: Steelers cornerback Cortez Allen. He forced two turnovers after having a hand in three takeaways last Sunday. His first forced fumble (it came against Browns wide receiverJosh Gordon) set up Ben Roethlisberger's 1-yard touchdown pass to Leonard Pope. Allen's second forced fumble (he stripped receiver Travis Benjamin) led to Roethlisberger's 12-yard touchdown pass to Plaxico Burress. It was a much different story than the last meeting, when the Steelers turned the ball over eight times.
Thumbs down: The Steelers' defense had a chance to become the first defense since 1991 to finish atop the NFL in pass and run defense. But Pittsburgh won't accomplish that feat after giving up 138 yards rushing. This comes against a Browns team that didn't have running backTrent Richardson.
Caught off guard: In a season when the Browns struggled to make the right calls, they surprised the Steelers with a fake punt at their own 25-yard line. Ray Ventrone ran 35 yards on the fake to set up the Browns' only touchdown of the game.
Rough finish: The likely end to the Shurmur era ended with a whimper. The Browns were outscored 96-43 in their last three games, a 17.6-point average margin of defeat.
What's next: The Browns reportedly will fire Shurmur and general manager Tom Heckert. The Steelers face some tough decisions to get under next year's salary cap.
Written by Dustin Gabler / The Pitt News Senior Staff Writer
Nestled in Pittsburgh’s Lawrenceville neighborhood, The Clemente Museum is unlike any other museum in the city — it is by appointment only, located in a historic fire engine house, and it changes more frequently than many museums.
“I add a lot,” said Duane Rieder, the museum’s executive director. “I’m certainly buying things faster than Carnegie. It is just more affordable. A Clemente photograph could range from $500 to $2,000, while Carnegie may be buying a Monet painting for $500,000.”
Rieder began his archive of Pittsburgh Pirates legendary right fielder Roberto Clemente photographs and memorabilia in 1996 when Vera Clemente, Roberto’s wife, gave him about 50 photographs to take back to Pittsburgh from Puerto Rico because they were getting wet in her basement.
Roberto’s wife’s contributions can be seen throughout the museum, which changed from an archive to a museum in 2006. Although Vera Clemente hasn’t loaned Rieder many items, what she has loaned him are some of the most valuable in the building. Her contributions include his two World Series rings, two of his 12 Gold Gloves, one of his four Silver Bats and plenty of personal photographs of the Hall of Famer, who played with the Pirates from 1955 to 1972.
“We don’t have a lot from them [the Clemente family], but what we do have are some incredible items,” Rieder said. “Even the photographs are very personal photos that were never before seen.”
One of the most impressive items in the museum is a pair of Clemente’s cleats from the 1967 season. Only three pairs of cleats that the former Pirate wore are known to exist — one is owned by the Clemente family, one by the Pirates and the last pair by Rieder.
“I bought [the cleats] off his best friend in Pittsburgh, Phil Dorsey,” Rieder said. “They’re just incredible and very rare. Everyone wants to buy them because they are so rare. They sit on the 1971 World Series home plate from Three Rivers Stadium and truly make an awesome exhibit.”
Another exhibit, located on the second floor of the museum, is the Silver Bat display. It is a favorite of Elizabeth Meyer, the assistant director and only other full-time employee at the museum.
“We have baseballs surrounding the bat hand-painted by Duane to look like the [American] flag,” Meyer said. “The white ones are signed by famous athletes, coaches and musicians. I think it’s cool to see Dan Marino, Mario Lemieux, Franco Harris and all of the other notable people who have come through here.”
With items ranging from a 1909 Forbes Field seat, personal letters between Clemente and famed Dodgers’ general manager Branch Rickey Jr. and several of Clemente’s signed bats, it’s no surprise that the several members of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum were thoroughly impressed when they visited in 2006.
“They were here in 2006 and were completely blown away. That was when we were just getting started, too,” Rieder said. “They don’t have a lot of Clemente items. I probably have 100 times what they have.”
Some of the more impressive items that receive little publicity are Clemente’s jerseys, which range from Pirates jerseys to his jersey from the first professional team he played for — the Santurce Crabbers of the Professional Baseball League of Puerto Rico.
To give visitors a more personal experience, several of these jerseys and plenty of the memorabilia are not protected by glass.
“We’re not like typical museums where everything you see is behind glass,” Meyer said. “Of course, we don’t want you to touch the items, but I think it gives everything a much more personal touch.”
The museum is looking to move into the future with a more hands-on approach. While Clemente’s contracts and family photographs attract many older visitors, children like to see more interactive displays.
“We’re working toward making the museum more interactive and user-friendly,” Meyer said. “An audio-visual catch aspect where you can watch Clemente catch, throw and play would be cool. We’d like to be more hip and cool. It would make the museum more interesting to children.”
This New Year’s Eve will mark 40 years since the death of Roberto Clemente, who died when his plane went down while it was taking relief supplies to Nicaragua after an earthquake struck the Central-American country. It’s no surprise that some of the younger generation are forgetting the famed right fielder.
“He’s a phenomenal humanitarian,” Meyer said. “Too often, athletes are celebrities. Kids need a role model. A lot of them choose one based on money but should pick one who’s doing good for the community. I want kids to keep his legacy living on and be excited about him.”
Rieder’s passion for Clemente has grown since being a fan of his as a child. Some will argue that Clemente was the best player to ever play the game. He had a cannon right arm, recorded exactly 3,000 hits and remains the only player to have the traditional five-year waiting period waived before being elected into the Hall of Fame.
Despite those and plenty of other statistics, Rieder won’t argue Clemente’s baseball prowess, but he will talk about his heroism.
“He died the way he lived. He gave his whole life to help people,” Rieder said. “I won’t say he’s the greatest baseball player ever, but without doubt, he’s the only true baseball hero.”
