Great Article on Rocket!

[#1Coneyfan]

http://www.nypost.com/sports/yankees/37718.htm

SCORE one for the Marlboro Man.

Go ahead, light one up. Dig into that porterhouse. Pour yourself a
Scotch. Make mine a double. Neat.

The Marlboro Man made a comeback yesterday, before a full house at
Yankee Stadium.

When last he was seen, millions around the country wanted to have him
caged and, if possible, "gentled," for want of a better term, for the
attempted impaling of Mike Piazza on the stump of his own ruined bat.
Roger Clemens survived that tempest and yesterday, he survived a bunch
of teapots known as the Royals, posting a 7-3 victory in the season
opener.

In the process, he overtook Walter Johnson as the all-time American
League strikeout king, but then, not even the Big Train could hope to
hold off a Rocket.

"Great nickname," is about all Clemens could come up with yesterday when
asked what he knew about Johnson, whose career mark of 3,508 K's Clemens eclipsed with a ninth-inning strikeout of Joe Randa, who waved feebly at a split-fingered fastball in the dirt.

But for a man like Clemens, that was all the talk that was necessary.

John Wayne didn't say much either, but he got things done in the
fantasyland of Hollywood, much the way Clemens gets them done on the
playground known as Yankee Stadium.

For a change, let's hear it for a guy who plays hard, plays mean, and
plays to win - and doesn't give a damn whether you like it or not.

"It was a great day," he said. "It's always a great day when you win."

Clemens is the man this country used to be: tough, unabashedly self-
centered, oblivious to his own arrogance, and willing to do anything to
win. Sometimes, he'll even follow the rules, provided they don't get in
his way.

Every game is the seventh game of the World Series. Every at-bat is a
mini-war. To Clemens, it's not how you play the game, and there is no
honor in losing.

"I still enjoy the competition, I still love the one-on-one every time a
hitter steps in there against me," Clemens said. "I laugh when guys talk
about big games. To me, they're all big games."

For the first two centuries of this country's history, this was all
considered acceptable behavior, especially on the athletic field, but
over the last 20 years or so, men like Clemens have been pushed aside by
men more like the player he sawed off in Game 2 of the 2000 World
Series.

You know the type: sensitive, reasonable, communicative, more concerned
with Doing The Right Thing that with winning the damn game.

The Oprah-ization of America was on display for all the world to see
that night last October, when Clemens broke Piazza's bat in two and
threw the barrel at him, leaving the Mets' catcher standing on the
first-base line a pathetic figure, trying to fight a war with just a
stick in his hand.

"Dude, what's your problem?," Piazza asked of Clemens, who was too busy
foaming at the mouth to respond.

This was universally accepted as the proper way to deal with a conflict,
even if it was for the world championship of professional baseball.

Clemens became the demon that night, Piazza the victim and you know
what? Four days later, Clemens and his teammates were swigging from a
champagne bottle while Piazza was wondering how painful it would be to
have a tattoo removed from his ankle.

Don't get me wrong here.

If you want to chill, have a few beers, and bond with a guy, Piazza's
your man. But if you want to win baseball games, you've got to go with
Clemens.

You'll never catch Roger Clemens doing Tai Chi, or sipping Chai tea, or
hugging a tree.

He's more likely to strangle the bald eagle the Yankees hire to swoop to
the pitcher's mound during the pre-game ceremonies every year.

The mound, after all, is Clemens' territory. His Marlboro Country.
Invaders are not welcome.

In an era of ballplayers who come to the park by limousine with
portfolios under their arms, Clemens still plays baseball the old-
fashioned way. Hard. Sometimes dirty. You'll never see him laughing,
with his arm draped around the neck of the opposing shortstop during a
brawl. Nobody wearing the other uniform is his friend.

Until, of course, he starts wearing it, too.

That, perhaps, is Clemens' one concession to the modern age, the
ultimate allegiance only to the highest bidder. And, of course, to
himself.

For the first 15 years of his career, Clemens hated New York as only a
man born in Texas - and with a baseball career fated to die in Boston -
could.

Then, he put on a Yankee cap, cashed a George Steinbrenner paycheck and,
bingo! He's singing "I Love New York." It's a virtual certainty that
when his likeness goes onto the wall in Cooperstown, it is wearing a
Yankees cap.

He is the kind of man who won the West, but with a contemporary twist.
Any clubhouse in which he plants his flag is home.

But that is OK, because for now, Roger Clemens' home is in the Bronx.

"It didn't take me long to feel like a part of this team, no, sir,"
Clemens said. "The day Joe [Torre] called and told me I was traded here,
I felt like a part of it, right from the get-go."

Now, he's been a part of two championship teams and who is going to bet
against him being a part of a third, and maybe even a fourth?

Yesterday's effort was not one of Clemens' most overpowering - five
strikeouts, seven hits, one a laser beam of a home run by Jermaine Dye -
but it was another bit of evidence that sometimes tenacity and toughness
and intensity can pass for greatness.

And then there's longevity, too, which is all part of the package. At 38
years old, Clemens is still hitting 96 on the radar gun, while his
contemporaries, men like Dwight Gooden, have retired, or worse, have had
to resort on junk and finesse and trickery to get hitters out.

If it comes down to that, Clemens will get out, the same way he will
know it's time to leave if, when his turn to pitch comes up, he doesn't
wake up feeling like he wants to shove the business end of a bat down
some hitter's throat.

"I came in as a power pitcher," he said, "And I expect to go out as
one."

From the Marlboro Man, how could anyone expect anything less?

[Chris]

Then, he put on a Yankee cap, cashed a George Steinbrenner paycheck and,
bingo! He's singing "I Love New York." It's a virtual certainty that
when his likeness goes onto the wall in Cooperstown, it is wearing a
Yankees cap.

Not true, Clemens battled, got booed for over a year, compared to a lower class of pitcher for over a year.
he worked hard to gain the respect of the majority of Yankee fans, and the media.


All in all a great article

[Ansky39]

whoops, i didn't see your post, and just posted the same article.... anyways, to chip in, i liked the artiucle, and gotta say, rocket is growing on me more and more... he's a throwback, he's a bull, he's the man... he's our ace of aces, and i'm damned proud to call myself a converted rocket fan..

[UWSgirl]

I guess it's a good article, I felt like the writer was forced to write a nice article about Clemens and he insisted on sneaking insults in as well. I definitely disagree with this description of the Piazza incident:

Clemens broke Piazza's bat in two and
threw the barrel at him, leaving the Mets' catcher standing on the
first-base line a pathetic figure, trying to fight a war with just a
stick in his hand.

[#1Coneyfan]

Ansky great minds think alike

chris I agree that it took some time for Rocket to earn his pinstripes. I think he was truly accepted by the fans when he climbed up onto the roof of the dugout to shake everyone's hand in the '99 postseason. He was on some program watching a tape of that moment commenting on it and laughing at how the fans lifted the three championship shirts out of his back pockets.