Even as a minor leaguer, Roger Clemens was a man on a mission

By Jeff Pearlman

Courtesy of HarperCollins, LLC

From the book, THE ROCKET THAT FELL TO EARTH: Roger Clemens and the Rage for Baseball Immortality by Jeff Pearlman. Copyright © 2009 by Jeff Pearlman. Published by arrangement with HarperCollins, LLC. All rights reserved.

* * *

In the summer of 1983, there could be no greater baseball opposites than Roger Clemens and Ronald Davis.

Having signed for $121,000 with Boston shortly after winning the College World Series with Texas, Clemens was a Red Sox bonus baby, the highly touted prospect who -- with a mid-90s fastball and Bob Gibson's snarl -- was all but guaranteed a major­ league future.

Having signed for $4,000 with Detroit after going undrafted out of tiny Delta State (location: Cleveland, Mississippi), Davis was a Tigers nobody, a moderately competent first baseman who -- boasting a Swiss cheese bat and Steve Balboni's swiftness -- would be lucky to attend major league spring training in his lifetime.

The only thing the two men seemed to share was geography: On a July night in 1983 both ballplayers were standing inside Chain O' Lakes Park in Winter Haven, Fla., for a Florida State League game between the Class A Lakeland Tigers and the Winter Haven Red Sox.

Up until that evening Roger Clemens was everything the Boston franchise had dreamed of. He had joined Winter Haven in late June while the team was on a road trip to Fort Lauderdale, and after spending his first day becoming acquainted with his teammates, he had thrown a brief bullpen session. The performance was one that most of Winter Haven's players still remember.

Cliché be damned, the ball seemed to explode from Clemens' right hand like some sort of nuclear weapon. With each grunt and release, Clemens unleashed a bullet that slammed into catcher Billy Joe Richardson's glove. Ooof­-pop! Ooof-pop! Ooof­-pop! Standing nearby were a handful of Clemens' new Winter Haven teammates, mostly low­grade talents with thin résumés and futures selling medical supplies and teaching third grade. They were there to see the hyped new kid, to hope, in a common jealousy that runs through minor­ league sports, that he wasn't as good as advertised.

Damn. He was even better.

Fastballs that hit 96 mph on the radar gun. Pinpoint control. A sadistic slider. "It was beyond belief," says Pete Cappadona, a Winter Haven pitcher. "I remember talking to Tom [manager Tom Kotchman], and we just looked at each other and I said, 'He ain't gonna be here for very long.' "

Clemens pitched just four games and 29 innings for the Class A Sox, compiling a 3­-1 record with a 1.24 ERA and -- most amazing -- 36 strikeouts and zero walks. "Class A pitchers walk loads of people," says Daniel Weppner, a Winter Haven reliever for a team that finished 49­-84 and in last place in the Northern Division. "It's what they're sup­posed to do."

Following his debut start, a five- inning, nine- strikeout, 3­-0 cakewalk over St. Petersburg during which he fanned the first five hitters ("Besides having my first child," says Richardson, "my greatest thrill is having caught Roger's first pro start"), teammates began chalking a K on the dugout wall every time Clemens set someone down on strikes. "That's something fans do, not players," says Mark Meleski, a Winter Haven infielder. "But he made fans out of us all."

They were there to see the hyped new kid, to hope, in a common jealousy that runs through minor­ league sports, that he wasn't as good as advertised. Damn. He was even better.   --

Clemens stayed in a room with a kitchenette at the rickety Winter Haven Holiday Inn and was perpetually accompanied by a brown briefcase that contained scouting reports of opposing teams' hitters. He would eat a couple of meals with teammates at Sally's Shrimp Boat, where alligators would swim to the deck in search of food, and have an ice cream or two at Andy's Igloo. Otherwise -- yawn. "He kept to himself and was always respectful," says John Michael Roth, a Winter Haven outfielder. "You could tell he was focused on one thing, and that was moving up the ladder as quickly as possible."

Yet here Clemens stood, in the center of Chain O' Lakes Park, making his fourth start and focused on something beyond personal glory. Two days earlier, in a game against the Tigers on the road, Mike Brumley, Clemens' friend and former Texas teammate, was playing shortstop for the Sox when Lakeland rallied. With Davis on first and one out, a Tiger named Reggie Thomas hit a hard shot to Winter Haven second baseman Chris Cannizzaro, who fielded the ball cleanly and threw to Brumley. Initially thinking the ball had reached the out­field, Davis found himself hung up between sliding and not sliding.

"So I made my body roll into second, and I took Brumley out really hard and flipped him over," he says. "I certainly wasn't trying to hurt the kid."

As he jogged off the field, Davis heard the jawing from the Winter Haven dugout. "You'll get yours, you son of a bitch!" Clemens screamed. "I'll see you in two f------ days!"

Now Clemens was pitching against the Tigers, anticipating his chance for revenge. In the first inning he struck out the leadoff hitter, Chris Pittaro. He struck out the second hitter, Lorenzo Arce. He struck out the third hitter, Virgilio Silverio. In the second inning he struck out the cleanup hitter, Thomas, and the fifth hitter, Rondal Rollin. "Roger was just throwing BBs," says Cannizzaro. "They couldn't touch him." As he squatted in the on­ deck circle, preparing to hit, Davis thought about the warning that his manager, Ted Brazell, had issued before the game: "Watch out tonight. Clemens will be coming after you."

When Rollin was retired, Davis, a left- handed hitter, walked up to the plate, took a couple of practice cuts and dug in. Born and raised in tiny Laurel, Miss., Davis had long dreamed of escaping his small town to play professional baseball. "I loved the chance to meet the people from different countries -- the Dominicans, the Mexicans," he says. "People heard I was from Mississippi and they'd ask if we had paved roads." Though he was a good enough college player to be named a Division II All­-American, Davis was more space filler than prospect. "I knew what I was," he says. "I had my limits."