9701100471
DETROIT FREE PRESS
970408
Tuesday, April 08, 1997
METRO FINAL
1C
MITCH ALBOM Free Press Sports Writer
Copyright (c) 1997, Detroit Free Press
CLEANUP MAN: CLARK'S SHOULDERS CARRY LOAD
Some things you do for love, some you do for tradition. In frosty weather,
with the season already a week old, and the team -- let's be honest -- not
expected to win as many as it loses, those who came out for Opening Day at
Tiger Stadium on Monday afternoon did it for tradition. They did it because
their folks did it. They did it because they love the first pitch, the organ
music, because some rituals you keep alive, even if, for the moment -- with
empty seats and an alien roster -- they don't make much sense.
This is how baseball absorbs its bumps in the road, the sagging summers
known as "rebuilding years." It relies on nostalgia. The addictive joy of a
hot dog in the bleachers, the feigned importance of keeping score with a
pencil.
The romance of the cleanup hitter.
You know what I'm talking about. Waiting for the No. 4 man to step to the
plate. Counting on a big wallop. Looking for the fourth name in the morning
box score, checking to see whether the numbers -- at least one run, one hit
and one RBI -- suggest a home run.
Everyone else in the lineup gets a number, "batting second . . . batting
fifth . . . batting ninth . . ."
The cleanup hitter gets introduced by his job description. "Batting
cleanup . . ." The very words suggest hope.
Which brings us to the locker in the back of this suddenly young and
unfamiliar Tigers clubhouse. For the first time on an Opening Day, the locker
bears No. 17, for Tony Clark.
This is your big name, folks. This is your marquee. This is the guy, Tony
Clark -- long, lean, strong, a little knock- kneed, with the easy gait of the
basketball player he always has been -- who could fill the seats and be the
story for 1997.
Never mind that he spent most of Monday striking out. We're talking
potential here. Like lightning in a storm. It's the anticipation that makes
you watch.
"Right now, he's probably only 50 percent baseball player, and 50 percent
natural athlete," says manager Buddy Bell.
This, about a guy who hit three home runs in his first five games.
Bo gambled on a hoops player
Now it's true, Clark may not be a baseball player for all time, but he is
one for this time, a young man chosen, seven years ago, for his pure
athleticism by Bo Schembechler, who, as a former football coach, was used to
making talent fit the position, not the other way around.
Schembechler took Clark in the 1990 draft despite the fact that Clark was
an avowed basketball player, committed to playing college ball for the Arizona
Wildcats.
"Are you crazy?" the critics wailed. "He could wind up in the NBA! The
whole pick could be wasted! He might never be a baseball player!"
That was all true. But Schembechler relied on the game to work its
snake-charming magic. And it did. Tony Clark is all baseball now. It has been
months since he has even played a pickup game of hoops. And when asked what he
would watch on TV if he had to choose between a baseball game and a basketball
game, he doesn't hesitate.
"I'm watching baseball now. I can learn something from it. I can spot
something in a pitcher I may face, or maybe I see something a hitter is doing
that might work for me.
"Yeah, I might switch to the basketball game for the last two minutes to
see who wins, but that's it. I'm all baseball now, not basketball.
"My hands used to get sweaty if I went more than a day or two without
shooting."
He holds out his palms for inspection.
"See. No more sweat."
You look at Clark, who politely stoops over for shorter interviewers (and
at 6-feet-7, who isn't shorter than Clark?) and you see a blend of Grant Hill
and Cecil Fielder. Like Hill, he is serious, focused, young, 24, and just
coming into his own (with his Magic Johnson-like facial hair, he even looks
like Hill). And like Fielder, he will be judged, ultimately, by the
productivity of his stroke, how hard, how well and how timely he hits the
ball.
"I see my job as making sure I bring the other guys around when it counts,"
he says. "As long as I bring them in, I'll be able to sleep at night."
Spoken like a true cleanup hitter.
As baseball goes, he's just a baby
Now, don't get me wrong. Clark is no more polished than a lamp in the
attic. He needs work. He needs guidance. Mostly, he needs at-bats. He is
pretty much working on a half-year of real baseball experience. But in that
half-year -- 100 games to be exact -- he hit 27 homers and drove in 72 runs.
If you extrapolated those numbers for a full season, it would be 43 homers and
116 RBIs.
You see why the Tigers are excited.
And why they hope fans will be, too. Let's face it. With Fielder gone, the
man who knocks the most balls over the fence and sweeps in the most runs is
going to be the biggest draw for this team -- especially given its projected
soft pitching. Besides, doesn't everyone love the cleanup hitter?
"I'm not thinking about the attention I'll get," Clark says. But he seems
well-suited for it. Personable, intelligent, good with kids. And for those
who were tired of watching Cecil's waistline push the outer limits of his
uniform? Well, Clark is the Slim-Fast version.
Opening Day is gone. Wednesday, the Tigers return to reality, small
crowds, cold afternoons. But baseball is nothing if not hope. And Clark, like
all cleanup hitters, is the personification of hope. So you check his box
scores, you follow his growth chart and the summers pass. Today you're doing
it for tradition. One day, maybe, you're doing it for love.
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
BASEBALL; GAME; TIGERS; TWINS; HOME OPENER; TONY CLARK; COLUMN