My first baseball glove was a Roger Clemens edition Rawlings. It was a hand-me-down from my cousin Will, and by the time I first felt its floppy rawhide over my sweaty palm, Roger was only a few years away from eating his way out of Boston. But I didn't care. He was The Rocket. And every time he took the mound, my heart hung on each strike, waiting and hoping to see the next "K," the next small proof of his greatness I was witnessing.
When Dan Duquette let Roger leave for the Toronto Blue Jays after the 1996 season, the Boston public was torn. Half angrily hung onto nostalgia, and cited the second to last game he pitched for Boston, when he struck out 20 batters for the second time in his career, as cause to believe he would have turned it around. The other half was content to see him leave, choosing to believe Duquette, who notoriously suggested Clemens was entering the twilight of his career.
I was devastated. As soon as I read the headline in The Boston Globe that Roger had signed with the Blue Jays, I threw my glove into the deepest recesses of the garage. Roger had been a Red Sox since the day I was born. And now he was a Blue Jay? It didn't seem possible. See, in Boston the Red Sox aren't just a team, they are an integral part of life. The fans live and die with them. When they won the World Series in 2004, countless people in Massachusetts simultaneously proclaimed, "Now I Can Die In Peace!" and truly meant it.
The loyalty of the fan base is both a blessing and a bane for the athletes who play there. When they succeed, they are worshiped (see Tom Brady). And when they leave or fail, there is a deep hurt and an eternal, bitter feeling of scorn and resentment toward them. Just ask Johnny Damon about it. Until 2005, he was one of the most beloved players in Red Sox history. Then he left under similar circumstances to Roger, and now he'd be lucky to find a pub in Boston willing to serve him a beer.
As fans, we are spiteful because when we put our heart and soul into these men on this field, we expect them to do the same for us. The late Will McDonough of the Boston Globe may have summed up the animosity toward Roger best, when he famously called him "The Texas Con Man." Clemens had earned the love of the Boston fans. All he had to do was stay, and he never would have lost it.
Watching Roger after he left was painful. He was like the ex-girlfriend who lost twenty-five pounds and found a new, better looking, richer beau. Every chance he got to make Boston regret dumping him, he took full advantage.
Roger focused all of his anger on rebuilding his career. He adopted the intense workout regimen he's since become famous for, developed a split-fingered fastball to counter the loss in his velocity, and went on to win four more Cy Youngs and two World Series rings. Worse yet, he won both rings and one of the Cy Youngs as a member of the Red Sox' arch rival, the New York Yankees.
The pain was eased in 1997 when Pedro Martinez arrived in Boston, bringing with him a dazzling changeup, blazing fastball, and the kind of media friendly persona so rarely seen in Boston. And the pain was further eased in 2004 and 2007 when the Red Sox won the World Series. But no matter what happens, one needs only to realize that no player has worn number 21 since Clemens left to see that Boston could never truly move on from Roger. Even as he piled up record after record, and Cy Young after Cy Young for other teams, each accolade was only a reminder of what could have been.
Until now.
The recent steroid allegations cast a new light on Roger, one that potentially burns a scarlet asterisk next to each of his accomplishments since he left. Could he be a cheater? If so, then all of the guilt and regret we felt as we watched him become the greatest right handed pitcher of the modern era while wearing a non Red Sox uniform, gets washed away.
His former trainer, Brian McNamee (with Clemens in photo) says that he cheated. And it's really so good to hear that. Even if it turns out to be false in the end (which seems not to be the case at this point), it feels so good, like finding out that the ex-girlfriend who seemed so much better off, actually lost the weight through liposuction and a tummy tuck paid for by the new boyfriend. You hope they have a great life together and everything, but no matter what happens, now you take comfort in the knowledge that you had her first.
The same goes with Clemens. Boston had him first. He won three clean and unquestioned Cy Youngs and an MVP there. The steroid allegations, for what they're worth, simply wipe out everything he has done since.
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