Too Early — Baseball Bench Coach

October 11, 1972, the fifth and deciding game between the Pittsburgh Pirates and Cincinnati Reds for the National League Championship. As a 13-year old boy I am sitting next to my parents in Riverfront Stadium’s green seats beyond the right field wall, Row 13, Seat 13. Pirates lead 3-2 going into the bottom of the ninth. The next half inning is my favorite moment in sports. Johnny Bench of the Reds starts the frame with a home run that goes over the head of the Pirates’ Roberto Clemente and lands directly below my seat. The crowd goes absolutely crazy. In fact, the 18-year old girl sitting on the other side of me turns and kisses me on the cheek. We stand and cheer throughout the rest of the inning, which ends with a wild pitch by Bob Moose of the Pirates as George Foster crosses the plate with the winning run. The Reds win the Pennant!

Yet, less than 3 months later, the baseball world would mourn as this favorite moment of mine was the last game the great Clemente ever played. On New Year’s Eve in 1972, Roberto Clemente died in a plane crash in an attempt to deliver aid to earthquake victims in Nicaragua. He was only 38 at the time, yes way too early! His career as a player is one full of the highest achievements. Clemente played in 18 MLB seasons and was an All-Star in 15 of them. He was the National League MVP in 1966 and won the NL batting title in four seasons. Clemente was the most elegant right fielder this game has ever seen. He won a Gold Glove for 12 straight seasons between 1961 and 1972. His Pirates were the World Champions in the early part of his career (1960) and near the end (1971, when he was named the World Series MVP). On the last day of the regular season in 1972, he reached his 3,000th career hit.

It’s just not the numbers Clemente left, but the memories. Cubs fans talk about his long home run as a young Pirate in 1959 at Wrigley Field that just missed becoming the only batted ball to hit the manual scoreboard. During the 1971 World Series, we marveled at his fielding a base hit down the right field line, pirouetting, and cutting down Oriole base runner Merv Rettenmund as he attempted to reach third base. And how about those National League All-Star Game starting outfields in the 1960s: Clemente in right; Mays in center; and Aaron in left! I know all Pittsburgh sports fans will never forget Clemente. His jersey, #21, remains one of the best selling Pirates jerseys almost 50 years since he left us. In touring the Steelers’ home stadium, Heinz Field, about ten years ago, I saw that Clemente was memorialized at the 21-yard line marker in the concourse, and I smiled. My wife, whose favorite player to this day is Clemente, shed a tear. His memory lives on.

Roberto Clemente’s untimely death is one of the most tragic stories of an MLB player leaving us during his playing career, but certainly not the only one. A few weeks ago, on July 1, Tyler Skaggs, a pitcher for the L.A. Angels, was found dead in his hotel room in Texas. The Angels were there for a series against the Rangers. Skaggs’ story is similar to so many other pitchers who suffered setbacks before coming into his own. He had Tommy John surgery in 2014, and wasn’t able to return to pitching until 2016. He started 10 games for the Angels in ’16, 16 starts in ’17, and 16 starts in ’18. This season he was firmly planted in the Angels rotation, posting a 7-7 record with a 4.29 ERA in 15 starts.

Skaggs’ former and current teammates have grieved his death and paid homage to it. On the day after the news his dear friend, pitcher Patrick Corbin, now with the Nationals, changed his jersey to Tyler’s #45 in his outing against the Marlins. Mike Trout and Tommy LaStella, Angel teammates, wore #45 at the All-Star Game in his memory. On July 12, the first Angels home game since Skaggs’ death, his mother threw out the ceremonial first pitch, all of the Angels wore his #45, and the team responded with a combined no-hitter against the Seattle Mariners in a 13-0 rout. After the game the Angels (and maybe another angel) removed their jerseys and placed them on the pitching mound to remember and celebrate their departed teammate.

The list is too long to remember all of the others who passed during their MLB playing careers, so forgive me if I just mention a few. Thurman Munson, the Yankees’ catcher for 11 seasons (1969-1979), died during an off day in the 1979 season when he was practicing landing his airplane in Akron, Ohio. Munson’s achievements are outstanding, a career batting average of .292, 3 Gold Gloves, 1970 AL Rookie of the Year, and 1976 AL MVP, but his leadership meant even more to his beloved Yankees. He was the “Captain” during their three consecutive World Series appearances (1976-1978), the first Yankee honored with that title since Lou Gehrig. Yes, too early.

I recall being in St. Louis in June 2002 and hearing the news that Darryl Kile, the ace of the Cardinals pitching staff, had died of coronary disease in a hotel room in Chicago. The Cards were in Chicago that weekend to play the rival Cubs, but that rivalry was quickly cast aside as the players and fans of both cities mourned Kile’s loss. Darryl played for three teams during his twelve year career (Astros, Rockies, and Cardinals) but is most remembered by being the stalwart of the staff that led the Cards to three playoffs in the early 2000s. He had a wicked “Uncle Charlie”, a big-time curve ball that would baffle opposing hitters.

One player on the list of departed who brought a tear to my eye is Chico Ruiz, a utility infielder who played for the Reds and Angels. You might not even remember the name, but he was a player with a big personality my late brother and I used to talk and laugh about. Ruiz was one of those guys who just added enough to a team to stay on the roster. He was most known for stealing home in a Reds victory over the Phillies in September, 1964. At the time Philadelphia had a 6 ½ game lead in the NL with less than 2 weeks to play. The play, deemed the “Ruiz Curse”, triggered the Phillies’ late season demise, as they lost the NL pennant to the Cards on the last day of the season. In February 1972, Ruiz died in a car crash in San Diego. He was just about ready to go to spring training for his third team, the Kansas City Royals.

On July 16 of this past week 39 years ago, my brother passed away at age 27, way too early. That day is always difficult for me, but somehow this year I felt comforted. You see, about a week ago at Wrigley Field, I met “Jim”, the nephew of my brother’s all-time favorite Red, Wally Post. Jim and I felt like old friends, and shared stories of the Reds through the years. He told me that his Uncle Wally hit the first home run ever at Dodger Stadium, and used to joke that he hit a ball 500 miles (not 500 feet) since it landed in a coal car of a train outside of old Crosley Field headed to Kansas City. I know my brother was laughing with us too.

Until next Monday,

your Baseball Bench Coach