MINNEAPOLIS – One more time: Why is this man retiring?
Why would anyone walk away from something they do this well, that pays this handsomely, that affords this level of adulation? Look, there is nothing sadder than an athlete who loiters too long upon the stage, who only leaves when someone curls a cane around his waste, vaudeville style. We don’t want to remember superstars as shells.
But Roger Clemens at 41 isn’t a shell. He isn’t simply a rumor of what he used to be. He isn’t Willie Mays stumbling helplessly after fly balls in the Oakland sun. He isn’t Joe Namath tasting a mouthful of turf in a Rams uniform, or Johnny Unitas getting pounded out of his powder blues, or even Michael Jordan, grounded and humbled, reduced to a 40-year-old jump shooter.
“He’s amazing,” Joe Torre marveled yesterday, after his Yankees reclaimed homefield advantage in this AL Division Series, beating the Twins 3-1 inside the Metrodome. “For a guy his age, to still be a power pitcher, to still have the command he has . . . it’s just remarkable.”
Once again, Clemens reminded the world that this season wasn’t merely a sentimental farewell tour. Yesterday, in front of 55,915 Minnesotans just itching to melt the plastic bubble topping their ballpark, with an offense-challenged lineup desperately needing him to watch their backs, Clemens turned in what may prove to be his signature performance as a Yankee.
Two days after the Yankees needed Clemens acolyte Andy Pettitte to drag them back into the series, they begged Clemens to nudge them a step closer to the ALCS. They called it the “Texas Two-Step” afterward, the way this terrific Lone Star twosome helped right the Yankee ship. And as wonderful as Pettitte was in Game 2, Clemens – his rep as a big-game dog buried long ago – may well have trumped his protege in Game 3.
He threw 99 pitches, 71 of them for strikes, and it’s virtually impossible to be more precise than that. He gave the Twins just one run, when A.J. Pierzynski clubbed Clemens’ lone mistake over the blue Baggy wall in right. Whenever the Twins tried to mount a threat, Clemens buried them in old-school Rocket fuel, blowing three fastballs past an overmatched Matt LeCroy to end the first, three more past pinch-hitter Mike Ryan in the fifth, each time with a runner dancing off third.
His 99th and final pitch, which Cristian Guzman punched weakly to short to end the seventh, was clocked at 90 mph. Not bad for a 41-year-old. Not bad, in truth, for many 21-year-olds.
“I felt awfully good out there,” Clemens said.
And looked better than a man staring at a pension ever should look. Everyone sees it. Everyone knows it. Earlier this season, in California, Reggie Jackson was chiding Clemens. “What if you go 19-9 this year? What if you have a 3.20 ERA?” Clemens told Jackson that if he wanted to find him next May, he’d have to look on a golf course. “And the tee time won’t be before noon,” Clemens said.
“That tells me he’s ready to be a daddy,” Jackson said yesterday. “I’d like him to come back. But I like his conviction to his family.”
But Clemens swears his family isn’t the only reason why he’s fixing to seek the good life. He’s done everything he’d ever wanted to do in baseball, he insists. He’s won his two World Series rings. Won his 310 games. Reserved his wall space in Cooperstown. Collected all those Cy Youngs.
“I’ve accomplished,” he said, “everything there is to accomplish.”
So the rest of us are left to wonder: Would we walk away from this? Could we? People who’ve never thrown 97 mph as a kid – and 90, with that heartbreaking splitter, as a geezer – can’t know what it’s like. We’re like Yankees GM Brian Cashman, who discovered in his jacket yesterday a ticket stub from May 21, in Fenway Park, the day Clemens won his 299th game. We collect souvenirs and memories. The guys who do it do something else.
“Guys like that,” Jackson said, “take their aura out there with them.”
And take it home with them, too, for good, when they figure it’s time to say goodbye.