Rocket boost: Moment of mutual admiration

By Jackie MacMullan, Globe Staff, 9/1/2003

The walk to the dugout was exceedingly slow, and deliberate. Roger Clemens sought the refuge of his teammates with his head bowed, seemingly unaware of the thunderous roar that rumbled over the ballyard he once called his own. Yes, there was a smattering of boos (and a couple of belligerent bellows), but as the New York Yankees' Hall of Fame pitcher walked off the Fenway Park lawn in the bottom of the seventh inning yesterday, perhaps for the final time, the sendoff from his former brethren was overwhelmingly gracious and appreciative.

It was as it should have been. Forget for a moment, as 34,482 fans were able to, that Clemens was wearing a Yankee uniform, and holding tight to an 8-2 lead in the rubber game of a pivotal series. Forget for an instant that the Red Sox desperately needed a victory, as a lazy summer gives way to the crisp urgency of fall, and the division race suddenly has a familiar, deflating look to it. Forget, too, Clemens's missteps of the past, be it Bayou Mama's, having to carry his own luggage, Velvet Elvis, or his final season in Boston, when he was said to be in the "twilight" of his career.

For this one snapshot, those details were superfluous. For this one, final, sentimental journey, there was no need to rehash the negatives.

It was here Clemens established himself as the most dominant pitcher of his generation. It was on this mound he struck out 20 Seattle batters in 1986, etching himself a permanent spot in Red Sox lore. It was here he won three Cy Young Awards, and nearly brought our city a World Series.

As the center field scoreboard reminded Red Sox Nation as Clemens took his leave, Boston is "proud and grateful for the 192 times he brought victory to the Boston Red Sox."

The fans applauded him as he walked down the dugout steps and wiped his face with a towel. They continued to applaud him as he gravitated toward pitching coach Mel Stottlemyre, and began lamenting the walk he had just given up to Gabe Kapler that chased him from the game. As he debated the merits of his decision to throw a high fastball over his breaking ball, the crowd maintained its rhythmic clapping, waiting for him to acknowledge its willingness to salute a man who wears the uniform of the Sox' most bitter and hated rival.

Yet the pitcher was not yet tuned in to their energy. He was, it appeared, almost oblivious to their plea for recognition.

"Too locked into my work," Clemens said afterward. "I was still talking to Mel about my pitching breakdown. I don't like to leave in that situation, with unfinished business."

Just enough time elapsed to wonder if Clemens was snubbing his former home. Was he planning on imitating the proud, stubborn Ted Williams and refusing to tip his cap? His teammates and his coaches, sensing that the moment was now, implored him to soak in his surroundings.

"Zim [former Sox manager Don Zimmer] came over and said, `They're cheering for you,' " Clemens said. "Then Joe [Torre] came over to me and said, `Get out there.' "

But Clemens needed another moment to collect his thoughts, to process what was unfolding. He fervently had hoped he would have an opportunity to publicly thank the Red Sox fans who had so passionately supported him for more than a decade. But now that the moment had come, he was, just for an instant, at a loss in terms of what he should do.

He walked back up from the dugout and looked at the thousands of people in their Nomar shirts and Pedro caps, and remembered what it was like to pitch for people who not only knew how many strikeouts he had, but what pitches he used to get them. These people had memorized his statistics, his press conferences, the names of his children.

And so Clemens tipped his hat to them -- all of them. He tipped it to the bleachers, to left field, then right field. He waved to everyone he could in Fenway Park, like a grand marshal in a parade, then retreated to the tunnel that led to the Yankees clubhouse.

"That's when I got pretty emotional, on the way back down through the tunnel," Clemens said. "I stopped and collected myself before I got upstairs, because I knew people would be waiting for me up there."

He accepted the congratulations of old neighbors, former teammates, his wife, Debbie. He stopped and blinked away a few tears when he saw visiting clubhouse manager Tommy McLaughlin, who was just a kid when Clemens began his Red Sox career.

"I could see it in Tommy's eyes," Clemens said. "I had so many memories with him. I told him, `Tommy, I can remember when you were chasing bananas down for me in-between innings.' I told him, `Thanks, it's been great. I've been real blessed.' "

His 100th career win at Fenway was a solid effort that featured only one real troublesome inning -- the third -- when he gave up an infield hit to David McCarty, a double up against the bullpen to Doug Mirabelli, then threw a pitch in the dirt that was generously scored as a passed ball. He escaped having given up just two runs. In all, Clemens was charged with four runs in 6 2/3 innings, and was the winning pitcher of this critical 8-4 Yankees victory.

He could not understand why anyone thought the people of Boston would respond in any way other than they did yesterday.

"I wasn't surprised," Clemens said. "I've always gotten that kind [of reception] if you followed me around town."

He did not grab a handful of dirt from the Fenway mound as he left the park. He didn't pull out any blades of the sparkling emerald grass, nor did he tuck a baseball into his bag to remember this day.

Sometimes, the memory itself is all you need.

Jackie MacMullan's e-mail address is macmullan@globe.com.