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Griffin Daily News
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Roberto Clemente
Clemente's Big Hangup
Is Sleep, Sleep, Sleep ...
MONTREAL —(NEA) —
Sleep, that sweet peace, that
ferryboat into worlds anew,
that mop of the mind and
galvanizer of work-weary
limbs.
Sleep, which has engulfed
the wonderment and concern
of Man from Shakespeare
(“We are such stuff as
dreams are made on, and
our little life is rounded with
a sleep”) to Andy Warhol
(who made an eight-hour
film of a man sleeping for
eight hours) to Roberto Cle
mente.
Clemente, Pittsburgh’s star
right fielder, sat slumped
and slumbrous on the wheel
of the batting cage in Jarry
Park here. A bat was held
between his legs. The eve
ning was humid and the sun
dabbed lazy, parting strokes
of orange on the clouds. Be
fore the game, Clemente
would hit some batting prac
tice. sit, play some catch,
sit. That was all.
“I stay in bed all day be
fore a night game, sleeping
and resting." said Clemente.
“I am a very light sleeper.
Anything wakes me up, foot
steps in the hall, a car horn
down below, a faucet drip.
So I sleep and wake, sleep
and wake all night.
“But staying in bed is
nothing new for me. I’ve
done it all my life. When I
was a young boy in Carolina,
Puerto Rico, me and my
three brothers would never
go out to play like the other
kids. If all our work was
done around the house, my
mother would tell us to go to
Ira Berkow
NEA Sports Editor
bed, even in the middle of
the day.”
Clemente is in his 15th sea
son in the major leagues
and. at 34, does not have
many more years left as a
player. His bones, though not
creaky as old door hinges,
do demand care: rest is. his
lubrication.
“I must rest a lot these
days,” he said. His eyes
closed, either to catch a
thought or a few winks. At
length, he went on. “When
I was 25 I would need very
little rest, but now I have a
shoulder that aches, a thigh
that aches, a neck that
aches, and they all take
more time than ever to heal.
“I got to bed after last
night's game at 2 in the
morning. I woke up at 7,
some little noise. But I just
stayed in bed. Later I had
breakfast in bed. Then I
laid back down, and stayed
there all afternoon. I thought
of nothing except rest. I do
not go over my problems be
cause then yon cannot rest
peacefully.
“When I have to get up for
a day game, I am usually
tired. And doubleheaders,
they kill me.”
In the last few years,
Clemente has had several in
juries. Last season, in fact,
he was on the disabled list
from May 25 to June 3. An
athlete’s tools are his mus
cles and bones. They must
be tended to with the deli
cacy of a doctor's scalpel,
a carpenter’s hacksaw, a
stripper’s zipper.
“For a baseball player,”
Clemente, plucking a crumb
from his eye, “the hardest
thing on the body is travel.
It would not be so tiring if all
you did was go from your
home to the ball park every
day. And I cannot sleep on
planes or buses. So on the
road I just get in bed and
stay down there. I also do
not take sleeping pills. They
make me droggy.
“But this season,” he
added, after a breather, “I
have been resting better
than ever.” Is that why, he
was asked, he has been hit
ting so well this season, way
above .300?
“Hitting well?” he said,
rousing himself somewhat.
“This is the worst I’ve hit in
four years.”
(Nmpapt fnterpriM Am.)
7-22-89
THE FIRST TIME: Sam Snead
7 Played With Golf Balls
Instead of Baby Rattles
By LEE
MUELLER,
NEA Sports
Writer
142
Every athlete begins as a
small boy. The day he dis
covers hts first football, or
first baseball, or first golf
club is one of the most im
portant in his life. In the
second of a five-part series,
Lee Mueller describes Sam
Snead’s first experience with
a golf club.
So many morning dews
and crowing roosters have
come and gone now that
Samuel Jackson Snead, at
57, actually does not remem
ber the first golf ball he saw
or the first golf club he
swung.
The two-story farmhouse in
which Snead was born and
reared stood o n 1 y a mile
down the road from Hot
Springs and The Homestead,
Virginia's famous mountain
resort hotel. He was the
youngest of five brothers and
nearly all of them had
worked at the hotel’s golf
courses.
“Hell," says Snead, man
fully, “there was a club or
something around the house
all the time. I played with
golf balls when I was a baby
A Lively Calling
'
■HI ** 'itfii
THE LIFE OF an umpire is turbulent yes, but never dull. At left, Ed Sudol, tries to
avoid the descending spikes of Phillies’ Cookie Rojas, and at right, Tony Venzon takes
practice throws to first base between innings as Mets’ Coach Yogi Berra watches.
Iteproductioa la wfcofc «r to part prohibits except by pefotiutea of Newspaper Enterprise Auociatnrt—Priatol ia U.S.A.
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Sam Snead
like most kids play with rat
tles.
“I guess I was four or five
when I swung a club for the
first time. Nobody showed
me how. I’d have to go out
in a hayfield or a cow
pasture. We always had a
lot of golf balls. Whenever
we’d run out, we’d just go
to the course and find some
more. My brother Jess — he
was the third oldest—worked
on the golf course and he’d
bring them in all the time.
“Our house was painted
white and gray and our front
yard was full of big chestnut
trees. Sometimes at night it
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would rain and the wind
would blow. I'd get up early
the next morning and go out
and pick up the chestnuts
that had fallen.
“After I started caddying
when I was 7,1 made myself
putting greens. I’d sink
tomato cans in the yard and
keep the grass mowed tight.
I remember my first caddy
job. It was a white canvas
bag and luckily all the clubs
were wood shafted, which
made it lighter. The driver
was the same height I was.
“I was about 10 or 12 be
fore I ever played on a
regular course. My uncle
came up to pitch horseshoes
and wound up taking me out
on the goat course. We
called it that because it was
hilly. I did all right.
“About a year or so later,
I bought my first set of golf
clubs. MacGregor some
things. I paid $9.50 for nine
clubs, a bag and nine balls.
Then I taught myself how to
play golf. My family was
always like that.
“There was no praise. I
remember later I’d come
home off the tour where I’d
won two or three straight
tournaments and maybe fin
ished second in another.
They’d ask me how come I
finished second. It was.
‘Dammit, get out there and
work.'
“If you did pretty good,
well, you were supposed to.
But if you boo-booed one.
well, you knowed about it.”
(Newspaper Enterprise Assn.)
7-22-69