My Sports Memory: The Legend, Roberto Clemente

Jennifer Rivera
Sports Journalism
Mini Project #1

I didn’t grow up in a home of athletes. My father always criticized the competitive throwing of the pigskin and wrote it off as some barbaric ritual he wouldn’t even bother to psychoanalyze. His sport of choice was fencing; my mother’s, Judo. Together, our family enjoyed cycling. We arent the rough-and-tumble kind.

But growing up in Puerto Rico I couldn’t help ignore two things: baseball and boxing. Much to my father’s dismay, my brother often visited friends on “fight-nights” just to catch a glimpse of national boxing stars like Wilfredo Benitez. In fact, even my mother wanted to watch when Benitez fought, but this annoyed my father, who always had a somewhat elitist streak when it came to sports.

Even now, I can only venture to guess why he felt so strongly about sports. Perhaps there's a hidden childhood story, of a scrawny boy from the Bronx who couldnt catch the ball. Perhaps he picked up his elitism somewhere in medical school (he certainly didnt pick it up on the streets of the Bronx). His only explanations about his feelings led to the prideful, chauvenistic, macho attitudes that team sports and sports in general often promote. He hated mainstream sports almost as much as religion.

Being from such a small island, it can sometimes feel difficult to stand into international light but thanks to people like Roberto Clemente, Puerto Rico came to be globally recognized. No athlete has ever compared to Clemente in my mind. Not only did I read about him in school, I heard about him at home, he was and still is a nationally omnipresent figure of pride.

Roberto Clemente’s family Vera, his wife and their three sons, Roberto Clemente Jr, Luis Roberto and Roberto Enrique lived very close to ours. The youngest son, Roberto Enrique would often play with my oldest sister, Marla. Although much of the interaction between our families happened long before I was born; little bits still come up in conversation when we are all together during Christmas or Easter.

Time and time again I’ve heard stories about Roberto Enrique and my oldest sister. My mother still talks about the huge crush Clemente's son had on Marla. His dad was a legend, even before his untimely death. Not only was he known as the “greatest right fielder to play the game,” my family remembers him as a humble character, who always made himself available to his fans, to the people with whom he related with.

Unfortunately this very trait might be to blame for his death. As any islander, Clemente knew the wrath of seasonal hurricanes that often devastated homes throughout. That’s probably why he felt it was his duty to help Nicaragua after they were hit by an earthquake. On December 31, 1972 a plane packed with food, clothing and medical supplies crashed before ever arriving in Nicaragua. Clemente literally vanished, leaving Vera and his three sons who were no older than six at the time.

Although wont ever be a family of athletes, even my father recognized the great Roberto Clemente. Clemente transcended sports and became a true hero in the hearts of Puerto Ricans, and Hispanics everywhere. So when I think of sports, I first think of Clemente.