Former Philadelphia Phillies “Whiz Kid” and Baseball Hall of Fame pitcher Robin Roberts died last week.
The same news cycle as Lawrence Taylor’s statutory rape accusation and the most recent update on an erstwhile Tiger Woods’ paramour. The contrast couldn’t have been more blatant.
Roberts, 84, who used to coach USF and had called Tampa home since 1977, was one of the game’s good guys. No scandals, no police blotters, no swagger. A college-educated (Michigan State University) gentleman who happened to be uncommonly good at being a professional athlete. He was married to Mary Roberts for more than 50 years.
Roberts was to Philadelphia during the 1950s what Mickey Mantle was to New York, Ted Williams to Boston, Stan Musial to St. Louis and Ernie Banks to Chicago. I know; I grew up in Philly. Roberts was — in a city notorious for booing Santa Claus — never booed by baseball’s most unforgiving, fickle fans. He got the ultimate pass in the city of brotherly mug. That’s a virtual canonization.
He won nearly 300 games, mostly for Phillies’ teams that weren’t very good. He won 20 games or more six years in a row. One year, 1952, he won 28. He once pitched 28 straight complete games — and, no, that’s not a typo. He was his own “closer.” He seemingly started every All Star game for a decade. His number (36) was retired (1962) before he did.
He was on the cover of Time magazine in 1956. He was that big.
And that humble. To be in his unassuming company was like being with a retired librarian talking about all those great writers. Only he was one of his calling’s greatest. He loved a good, back-in-the-day reverie, but he could also speak emotionally about one of his favorite causes: the Tampa-based Gold Shield Foundation, which assists families of slain police officers and firefighters.
I got to interview him a couple of times in 2003, with the publication of his biography, “My Life.”
Of his life in the steadfast lane, Roberts matter-of-factly offered this. “The ‘innocence,’ if you will, is real,” he said. “I was the kind of guy who went to the ballpark and then back to the hotel. I’m not pulling punches. That was my way of living.”
And what a singular life. I was fortunate to have finally met him, however briefly.