It was 36 years ago this past Friday that Roger Clemens made his major league debut, starting against the Cleveland Indians at Municipal Stadium.
For some ardent fans who studied such things, the arrival of Clemens -- just 11 months after he had been drafted in the first round out of the University of Texas -- was A Big Deal. Clemens came with some advance notice, having dominated in college but in that era, the pre-internet age, he was largely anonymous.
Baseball America was still in its infancy. It wasn't until 1982 that ESPN began televising the College World Series and even then, few households had access to cable.
"Outside of the people who knew him and saw him in college,'' said former Red Sox catcher Rich Gedman, now the hitting coach at Triple-A Pawtucket, "no one knew who he was.''
Within the organization, there was significant anticipation. Most players on the major league roster knew of him and his potential. But the advance hype surrounding Clemens' major league debut failed to inspire a rush on the Municipal Stadium ticket window: a crowd of 4,004 was on hand that night.
Still, even then, the players could tell.
"We had heard so much about him coming up,'' recalled former Red Sox infielder Jerry Remy, then in his second-to-last season in the majors. "We were all kind of eager to see him pitch. You could tell right away that this guy was someone special. Now, you had no idea at that time that he was going to turn into what he was going to turn into. But he was different than everybody else -- he was big, he was strong, strong legs and he had a nice delivery. You could see all of this.''
Remy wasn't in the starting lineup that night, but pinch-hit and got into the game later. But he watched from the dugout and made sure to pay attention to the then-21-year-old rookie on the mound.
"Certain guys, you can tell right away that they're going to be good,'' he said. "And he was one of those guys. He was just a kid, but he was built like a man. As far as hit stuff, it hadn't reached its peak it would later on, but you knew he was going to be someone special.''
Remy doesn't recall any particular conversations with Clemens that night, but as confident as the pitcher was, a certain amount of anxiety was inevitable.
"That had to be a nerve-wracking experience,'' Remy said. "Everything goes through your mind -- all the things you watched on TV as a kid, all the things you heard about in the minor leagues. And now, here you are, boom, on a major league mound for the first time. You're almost in like a fog when you're going through it. I don't think anybody goes through their first game or their first few games without being a little shaken up by it. I can tell you it's hard to relax. It's scary."
Clemens had reason to be a little extra nervous. He was born in Ohio and his family still lived there and they were in attendance.
Even then, at least internally, the advance billing was considerable. The Red Sox had some other good young starting pitchers such as Al Nipper, Oil Can Boyd and Bruce Hurst already on the staff, but it was clear that Clemens was in another class altogether. He had the potential to be an honest-to-goodness ace.
"Here was the big gun, someone we hadn't had,'' said Remy. "Here comes the guy everybody had been waiting for. Everyone feels the pressure, but with him, it was that extra burden of 'Here comes the savior.' ''
Clemens, however, was not ace-like that night, never mind the savior. He allowed five runs -- four earned -- in 5.2 innings and while some of the hallmarks of his future greatness were evidence -- an overpowering fastball, a formidable, physical presence on the mound -- the results would take some time. The Red Sox, on their way to a thoroughly forgettable 86-76 campaign that year, would go on to lose that game, 7-5.
But some of the intangibles that would help Clemens win seven Cy Young awards and 354 games? Yeah, they were on full display.
"There was a presence about him,'' said Gedman, who caught part of that game. "He didn't have the control yet. But he still had this fierce tenacity, this competitiveness. He had trouble at times controlling his emotions and he would overthrow.''
Gary Allenson, who was more established than Gedman, was given the responsibility of starting behind the plate and guiding the rookie that night. But Gedman, like Remy, watched with extra curiosity from the visitor's dugout.
"It was the beginning of a wonderful career,'' said Gedman, "but of course none of us knew that at the time. You saw some things. You saw some positives.''
Gedman recalls that, even as a rookie, Clemens was an inquisitive teammate.
"He was easy to talk to,'' said Gedman. "He would ask questions. He wanted information. His drive to win was second to none, even very early in his career.''
But makeup is one thing and ability is another. And Clemens had plenty of the latter, too, as Gedman discovered that season.
"The thing I remember most is that he had velocity that we didn't see much in Boston,'' Gedman said. "If you think about his pitches then, he had a really good fastball, a really good slider and an average curveball at the time. His command wasn't the greatest but it was pretty good. And that's not abnormal. In today's game, you'd watch him and say he burned a lot of pitches early. He hadn't learned to be efficient.
The arrival of Clemens marked the beginning of a new era for the Red Sox. The previous October, Carl Yastrzemski, the face of the franchise for the previous two decades, had retired. In 1984, the team was in transition. The three starting outfielders -- Jim Rice, Tony Armas and Dwight Evans -- were all in their 30s, but an emerging nucleus, led by Hurst, Boyd, Gedman, Marty Barrett and Wade Boggs were in place.
Clemens would finish his 1984 season with respectable numbers (9-4, 4.2) and finish sixth in AL Rookie of the Year balloting. His second season cut short by a shoulder injury and subsequent surgery. But in 1986 Clemens returned with a flourish, nearly capturing pitching's Triple Crown and winning both the AL MVP and Cy Young awards.
And to think it all began that otherwise nondescript night at what used to be called "The Mistake by the Lake,'' in front of just over 4,000 fans.
"There aren't too many guys where, when you come to the ballpark, you know you've got a good chance to win,'' said a wistful Gedman, who has remained close to Clemens. "It happened early with him. There was just something about him. The fastball, the ability to repeat certain pitches. And the fastball was 98 mph, but it looked like it was bowling ball. Stuff like that. You're thinking, 'This is not normal.'
"And there was an intensity there. He seemed so mild-mannered any other time -- until the day he was going to pitch. Then he was a different guy, like a different animal out there.''
Remy, whose career would end because of chronic knee woes in spring training of 1986, has always wondered what it would have been like to play behind Clemens more.
"There was a lot to look forward to,'' he said. "It was like watching Pedro (Martinez) a little bit. Different kinds of guys, but similar results.''
________________________