Loyalty to myself

Had a long night last night, after dinner, wine and desert. My brain then went into hyperdrive. I’m not incapacitated, not incarcerated, not imbibulated, more like in….con…sleepulated. Definitely not incoherent. Probably hypercoherent.

 

Hypercapitulated at this point in my unspoken employment slash life goal dilemma. Fierce loyalty is all I have.

 

Perchance this:

 

Roger Clemens began his career with the greatest franchise in the history of sports, the Boston Red Sox. He pitches with them for 13 years and becomes a mystical legend in a land where they used to burn witches. He wins three Cy Young Awards, the prize given to the best pitcher in the league. He deserved at least four more. He is the heart of the Red Sox. He is the very icon of stalwart tenacity.

 

Then a new general manager, the executive on every baseball team that makes or breaks careers, decides to bust his balls. Roger’s career is over. He’s through. The Red Sox, more specifically, Dan Duquette (the GM and new sheriff in town), decide it’s time for him to leave.

 

In my personal history, I list these things:

 

Abraham Lincoln was shot dead. (Confluence of events that begged both sets of great grandparents to emigrate to America)

 

John Fitzgerald Kennedy was shot dead. (Confluence of events that led to my mom and dad marrying)

 

Martin Luther King was shot dead. (Further raised the political awareness of mom and dad beyond JFK)

 

My uncle Bart died at the age of 18. (Made me feel mortal at the age of 10)

 

My paternal grandmother, Ester Lily, died of lung cancer way before she should have left us. (Showed me how sad my dad could be)

 

Dominic, Phillip, Al, Terry, and Budda died in one horrifying head on car crash that crushed us in college. Budda’s big body exploded through the windshield, over the incoming car, and tumbled 300 feet from the impact point. They thought for hours that there were only four dead people in that car. They say he probably died halfway through that hellish somersault. (Proved to me that I could be incapacitated by sadness, and that no one should ever, ever drive drunk)

 

Eddie and Doug died back to back. That was so hard for people I am still close with from former employment. (Proved to me that those with whom you work can be a family worthy of love)

 

Mary Beth and I obliterated God’s gift. (Proved to me that I made a horrible mistake)

 

Deborah and I did the same in a more volatile way. (Proved to me that I made a good decision)

 

Gramps died and Natalie and I were never the same. (Proved to me that death alters life)

 

And Roger Clemens left the Red Sox. (Proved to me that loyalty is a huge part of life)

 

Forgive me if this grief is wanting in perspective. But if hope, optimism, admiration, and faith are the brawny, vigorous and unfaltering hallmarks of what we admire and adore, then grief is the emotion I felt when Number 21 moved on to a different team.

 

Roger goes to the Toronto Blue Jays and makes a ton of cash and puts up stellar numbers. He proved the evil GM sheriff wrong. He wins two more Cy Young Awards. But he feels empty inside, he wants to win, he wants to be with a franchise that is almost as good as the Red Sox in terms of history’s lore.

 

So he goes to the Yankees for a few years. And wins another Cy Young Award. (By the way, I propose, in all due respect to the descendants of Mr. Cy Young, that they change the name to the Roger Clemens Award.)

 

Two championships later, he retires.

 

"I've heard people say that he pitches from anger. Whatever makes him tick, he has it down. It's within his own will. And it's pride," says Debbie Clemens, Roger's wife, on ESPN Classic's Sports Century series.

 

I want a wife like that someday. And I want to testify similarly on her behalf.

 

The dude is 6’ 4”, 235 lbs. He has tenacity confidence and aggression sans a Napoleon complex. He doesn’t need to make himself look tall by acting like a big man.

 

Then he unretires because a team, in his home town of Houston, Texas, wants him to help them win.

 

Roger Clemens is 41 years old. He was given up as a has been 8 years ago. He has 5 wins and zero losses for the Houston Astros as of this moment. It is still only May 1, so his performance in April is phenomenal. Not just for a man that age in a game filled with 25 year olds, but because he is by and far the best in the sport.  He is going to go down as perhaps the best ever thrower of a baseball in the history of this planet. To me, that is like a God. And for what we value as a society, that ain’t small potatoes. He’s doing it better than ever, at that age, in his beloved hometown. Surrounded by friends and family. What is to be surmised by that?