clubhouse confidential; a yankee bat boy's insider tale of wild nights, gambling, and good times...

8/4/2019 Clubhouse Confidential; A Yankee Bat Boy's Insider Tale of Wild Nights, Gambling, and Good Times with Modern Ba

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Note to the Reader: Tis book is neither authorized nor

endorsed by the New York Yankees.

. Copyright 2011 by Luis Castillo and William Cane.

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address

St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging- in-Publication Data (K)

ISBN 978-0-312-64542-7

First Edition: August 2011

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


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What is wrong with this guy!A giant of a man stands pressing his

face up against the New York Yankees clubhouse mirror, cheekspuffed out until they look like theyre about to explode. When he

leans back theres a smudge of oil where his nose touched the glass.

Baseball cap in hand, hes breathing like he just walked up a flight

of stairs, but the game hasnt even started.

He steps back and I see its Roger Clemens. Hes pitching

today. He screws his cap tight onto his head. His eyes rake over theclubhouse and he begins pacing back and forth. Roger is massive

through the chest, nearly the size of two average men, his legs cut

and muscular as he turns and exits through the tunnel leading

up to the field. I can hear him breathing, the echo of each breath

magnified in the runway.

At first I was worried about him, but then I started worrying

about themthe batters going up against him. For it dawned on

me that this was a new side of Clemens, one I hadnt seen yet. Tis

1

Clash of the TitansRoger Clemens


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2 Clubhouse Confidential

was a side of Clemens that you see only if you happen to be in

the clubhouse during the minutes before he goes out to take the

mound. He had been getting ready, in his own unique way, goingthrough a personal ritual in preparation for the ordeal of pitching.

He had been working himself up into a state . . . and I felt sorry

for the batters who would face him.

Part of my job at Yankee Stadium included picking up bats

and balls for players. During games I was responsible for patrol-

ling the area between home plate and first base. Even now I re-member how I hustled to get upstairs, eager to see what Clemens

would do after that warm-up.

By the time he took the mound on July 8, 2000, the fans were

buzzing and the air was tense with anticipation. It was over eighty

degrees in the sun, but the sweat drizzling down Clemenss face

didnt seem to bother him. Longtime interleague rivals were facingone another: Yankees vs. Mets. Te fans roared with each pitch

and each swing of the bat. Still, Clemens never let the roar of the

crowd distract him. No, he had that focus going, and I knew why.

He had psyched himself up for it. His fastballs popped into the

catchers mitt with a sound like gunshots. Bang! . . . Bang! . . . Bang!

He was pacing himself, breathing hard, but pacing himself for thebig confrontation to come.

Everyone was looking forward to it, too. Because Mets catcher

Mike Piazza had racked up an impressive record against Clemens.

In fact, he came to the plate that night with an intimidating score

of .583 against the Rocketincluding three home runs and a

double. People in the know said Clemens resented Piazzas success

against him.

When Piazza approached home plate, he swung the bat a few


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Clash of the Titans 3

times and the crowd came alive. Ten there was the windup and

the pitcha high fastball headed directly at the batters face!You could

hear a sharp gasp from the crowd. Piazza had no more than a frac-tion of a second to react. His right foot was already off the ground

because he had launched into the swing, preventing him from get-

ting enough twisting force to turn his body away. He only had time

to move his head a few inches to avoid a direct blow between the

eyes. Te baseballunleashed, some said, with an intention to hit

himsmashed into the upper crown of Piazzas blue helmet, di-rectly above his left ear.

For a moment the massive body of the Mets catcher shook, as

if uncertain what to do. Te echo of the Craaaaaackkkkkkkkkkkkk!

that the ball made upon impact with his batting helmet could be

heard all the way down in the Yankees dugout. Te Yankees play-

ers and coaches leaped to their feet to see what had happened. Afew seconds later, the powerhouse who had faced Clemens with

such confidence and dignity crumpled and fell, collapsing over

home plate.

A hush fell over the crowd and for a few scary minutes all

50,000 spectators seemed to be thinking the same thing: this is

a hell of a dangerous sport. Ten, as the fallen player was helpedoff the field, the mood changed. Te buzz of conversation spread

in waves. Everybody was talking about it! Te legendary Mets

catcher had suffered a concussion and had to be taken out of the

game.

Te Mets players were on top of the dugout yelling at Clemens.

Youre an asshole!

Youre fucked up!

Players were upset and reacting. Te Yankees were jabbering


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back at the Mets, too. It was a free-for-all where everybody wanted

to put in his two cents.

Roger Clemens was saying, I didnt mean to do it, and back-ing away from the Mets players. Before you knew what had

happened, the inning was over and he disappeared back into the

shelter of the clubhouse. A few minutes later, he sent over Brian

McNamee to tell the Mets and Mike Piazza I didnt mean to do

it. Brian McNamee was the Yankees personal trainer who later

submitted sworn testimony that he injected Clemens with ste-roids over a dozen times. Tat may seem like an odd choice for

a personal messenger from Clemens to Piazza, but it shows how

close Clemens and McNamee were in 2000.

Te response from the Mets was predictable: ell that asshole

that hes a complete jerk. He meantto do that. Hes a headhunter.

But in reality I thought that Clemens felt bad, and I was con-vinced that he knew that he had made a mistake. I was in the play-

ers lounge and I saw how upset he was when he came inside. Te

media wasnt there to cover this behind-the-scenes part of the story.

He was walking around in the clubhouse and talking to himself out

loud, cursing at himself, telling Mel Stottlemyre what had hap-

pened, wringing his hands, acting moody, and looking like a manwho had just made a major error. Te Yankees used to feel the same

way the Mets felt when Clemens was pitching against us and hit-

ting ourplayers. We were annoyed because he seemed to be running

away from his responsibility by going into hiding in the clubhouse

after his inning of pitching. When hes out of sight you dont know

what hes thinking because you cant observe how hes reacting, and

naturally the Yankees had been upset when he hit one of our guys.

But when we saw his reactionin the Yankees clubhouse, when he


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was finally on our sidewe realized that he was acting like a ner-

vous man. He was muttering sorry comments like, I didnt mean

to do it!Tree months later things got even worse. It was Game 2 of

the World Series between the Yankees and the Mets. More than

anything else, what fans had come to see that October night was

the rematch between Clemens and Piazza. By now these two had

a history between them that went deeper than statistics and num-

bers. It was a history of blood and violence, and fans came to thearena to see how it would unfold.

In quick succession, Clemens struck out the first two Mets

batters, imo Perez and Edgardo Alfonzo, which brought up

the main event: Mike Piazza. When he stepped up to the plate

the future Hall of Fame Mets catcher facing the future Hall of

Fame Yankees pitcherI happened to be on bat boy duties thatday and was in the dugout. Piazza looked relaxed and ready for

business, swinging the bat around to show off his massive arm

and neck muscles. Te Rocket was looking intense and focused on

the mound, psyched and ready to rumble. Rogers face was red,

the muscles of his arms clearly visible in the lights. He was con-

centrating and breathing hard, just as he had done on that daythree months before, when he had psyched himself up in the

clubhouse. He was here to face his rival and finish this business

between them.

Te Mets catcher took a few warm-up swings and stepped into

the batters box. An air of excitement and anticipation snapped

through the crowd, and you knew what they were thinking. Tere

wasnt one man, woman, or child whose eyes werent trained on the

green diamond. Te chatter wasnt the usual noise you hear at


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Yankee Stadium; to night it was mixed with hope . . . and a real

sense of fear.

After three sizzling pitches by Clemensand two missed swingsby Piazzathe count stood at one ball, two strikes. Tere was a

brief pause. A cool breeze ruffl ed the long brown hair visible behind

Piazzas helmet. Clemens got set, nodded at the catcher, and wound

up for the pitch. Piazza raised his bat a few inches higher and got

ready to swing. In the next instant, Clemens unleashed an inside

fastball and Piazza swung hard and connected, the ball strikingthe bat close to his hands. Smuuuuuuuunk!I looked up. What in the

name of Babe Ruth was that!It wasnt the typical sound of ball hit-

ting bat, which I knew so well I could hear it in my sleep. Pop!Its

supposed to sound like a goddamn Pop!Tis was something en-

tirely different.

Te ball was hit foul, but upon impact Piazzas bat splinteredinto three pieces of different length. He had already started run-

ning toward first. While he was on the move, a small piece of bat

landed behind home plate and a second piece flew out toward foul

territory. But the largest fragment, the barrel, tumbled end over

end toward the pitchers mound, where Roger Clemens was stand-

ing. It moved so fast that it looked like a white blur. Rogers reac-tion was instantaneous. He actually fielded the bat, picking up the

piece of barrel, which he apparently thought was the ball, and

thenupon realizing his mistakeflung it into foul territory . . .

almost hitting Mike Piazza in the pro cess!

In the next moment, all hell broke loose.

But before I tell you about that, I have to add a comment from

my perspective down on the field. None of the fans could see Cle-

mens as clearly as I could. I had never noticed an expression like


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that on his face. In fact, he looked disgusted, and to me that was

one of the most telling things about the whole incidentthat

look of disgust, as if he had been dragged down into some kindof dirty business by having come in contact with the bat.

Piazza, who had also been confused by the splintering bat,

couldnt believe what had just happened. He was convinced that

Clemens had thrown the bat at him! He slowed and moved off

course, approaching Clemens, saying, Whats your problem? A

gentleman through and through, restraining himself from harsherwords, Piazza must have been thinking, What the fucks going on?

First you hit me with a baseball and now you throw a batat me!

Not acknowledging Piazza, Clemens walked toward the home

plate umpire and said, Give me a ball.

But there was no way Clemens could walk away from this one.

Tat carelessly flung piece of bat had started a big to-do that wouldhave an impact on Roger and the rest of the team for months after-

ward. Both benches poured onto the field, cleared of all players.

Everyone was fussing and cursing. Umpire Charlie Reliford stepped

forward to keep Clemens and Piazza apart.

With noticeable control of his emotions, Piazza returned to the

batters box and the game continued. But as soon as the inning wasover, some spectators booed, and Clemens did a speed walk toward

his dugout, apparently eager to escape all the commotion.

From an insider perspective, having worked with Roger, I can

tell you what really happenedand why. Te whole thing was

the result of his competitiveness. It was his intimidation factor

against other teams. As if he were saying, If you step into that

batters box youre going against Roger Clemens. . . Youre not

going against an average Joe. But theres another side to it also,


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in addition to his competitiveness and his desire to win. Every-

body knows the facts about what happened that day on the field,

but nobody in the media knows what happened when Clemenswent downstairs into the clubhouse and felt guilty. He was nervous

backstage. You could see it. He was holding his head, he was on his

chair in the locker room, he was in the trainers room, he was back

and forth all over the place, as if he couldnt find a spot where he

could get away from himself and what he had done. He was walk-

ing around and he wasnt acting like himself. Tose incidentswhen he hit Piazza in the head, and when he threw the bat put

him off his game. Suddenly, Roger wasnt acting like a warrior

anymore, he was acting like a little girl, and he was moaning, Oh,

my God, what did I do!

Its never as black and white with Roger Clemens as the media

might lead you to believe. Hes more than an aggressive headhunterwho thinks only of himself and his reputation. You cant under-

stand him unless you consider both sides of his personalitythe

raw aggression as well as the contrition and guilt. Tis combina-

tion of opposites is what makes the real Roger Clemens.

Before every game the Yankees air the national anthem, and all

the players stand on the field. Sometimes, though, a player is late

getting to the ball park. o remedy this problem, Joe orre made

up a rule:


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It was the managers way of creating unity and making sure that

everyone was on time and responsible. He would use this money

at the end of the year to take the coaches out to dinner.On off days, when he wasnt pitching, Roger might get a mas-

sage and order something to eat. So when he came back to work

he was still in a relaxed frame of mind. Sometimes there would

be a memo posted up on the door of the clubhouse to let players

know what time they had to report in front of the dugout for the

national anthem. Roger Clemens would be late a good 80 percentof the time.

When he arrived late, he would go into orres offi ce in full

uniform like a schoolboy reporting to the principal s offi ce. He

would leave three hundred-dollar bills on the managers desk, and

then he would take his time walking up to the dugout. After the

national anthem was over he would approach orre.Hey, Mr. , I left three hundred bucks on top of your table.

I know a couple of other guys were late so I ll pay for them, too.

Joe orre would give him a sour look.

Dont make that a habit.

But the funny thing is that having to pay these big fines never

seemed to teach Clemens a lesson. He was like a lot of the ath-letes Ive known: theyre late more often than the average person.

I dont know why that might be, unless maybe its because theyre

so confident of their physical stamina that they think they can

get to places faster than they really can. Clemenss lateness might

be a sign of arrogance, but it might just as easily be a sign of over-

confidence. One thing I know for sure is that it was this kind of

confidence that made Clemens such a menace on the field.

orre would shake his head.


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Ill let you off this time, he would say. But next time you

have to be here. Dont make this a regular thing because then

everybody will get used to it and just leave money on top of mydesk and wont take the rule seriously.

Forget the impression you may have of Roger Clemens as an

aggressive, inconsiderate person. Not only was he considerate enough

to pay for teammates who were late, but if you were in the same

room with him, like I was hundreds of times, youd see that he

was a friendly guy with an almost sweet disposition. Yes, he wascompetitive during games, but when he was off the field he was

like your fun-loving kid brother. Tats the best description I can

give of him. Like your little brother. Youd have loved him.

Teres no question that inside Clemens lives a little kid just

waiting to come out and have fun. ake, for example, what hap-

pened one fall day in September 2003. Its always a tradition inbaseball on each team where the rookiesguys playing their first

full season in Major League Baseballget hazed during their first

year. Its called Rookie Dress-Up Day. Tis practical joke is sched-

uled for the last road trip in September. Rob Cucuzza, the Yan-

kees equipment manager, searches the Internet weeks in advance

and orders costumes. I would see Robbie sitting at his desk, hairuncombed, sleeves rolled up, focusing on the task of finding some-

thing crazy- looking. People thought he was working. He would

spend hours setting up this prank, and Clemens would take a more

active role in the planning than other players. He used to walk into

the offi ce sometimes when I was in there, and say, Hows the cos-

tumes coming along? Did you guys get them yet? Robbie would

show Clemens a couple of pictures of what he was considering.


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clubhouse confidential; a yankee bat boy's insider tale of wild nights, gambling, and good times...

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