“Roberto Clemente was right next to [Jesus Christ].”
These words were spoken of baseball great Roberto Clemente in the eponymous documentary on him that premiered last month on the History Channel. The feature-length film, directed by David Altrogge, covers the Hall of Famer’s Puerto Rico roots, meteoric rise to MLB stardom, and tragic death at the age of 38 in 1972 while performing characteristic charitable works.
From the quote, you could gather that the career-long Pittsburgh Pirate was also a man of faith, and this is indeed the case. He was a devout Catholic from his youth in the Caribbean, where his formative years were spent in deep connection with his family and his sport of choice.
However, the words in question are not in reference to faith at all, but—ironically—to Clemente’s singular presence in the mind of fans as a figure larger than life, and an exemplar of Black and Latino excellence. In short, the “Clemente” film is about anything but the driving spiritual force behind everything he did.
It really is a remarkable thing. In 105 minutes of runtime, covering everything from family travails, athletic training, social justice work, and the ever-present battle against racism and anti-Latino sentiment—not to mention nearly two decades of professional achievements—the movie does not mention religion in any depth. It is hinted at, with wedding scenes in a church and the sign of the cross in later scenes, but the idea that his outsize commitment to his family, to Puerto Rico, and the downtrodden at large was at all inspired by his faith seems alien to the film. This, I would say, renders the documentary a kind of secularized hagiography unworthy of “the Great One.”
To its credit, Altrogge’s work does well to highlight Clemente’s importance to the game of baseball much like Jackie Robinson, as the Puerto Rican was the first Latino to win a World Series as a starter, win a league or World Series MVP award, or be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Also explored is his identity as an Afro-Latino mistreated by the White baseball establishment and misunderstood by his African-American peers.
Especially poignant is the recounting of Clemente’s prescient motivation to represent Latinos well both on and off the field, as he believed they would soon join the Big Leagues in greater numbers. (Today, they make up roughly 30% of MLB rosters.)
The Clemente many fans do not know—the fiery interview subject and public commentator, with a chip on his shoulder and a point to prove—is also food for thought, the ultimate rejection of “shut up and dribble,” to mix a sports metaphor.
As far as baseball is concerned, there is relatively little treatment of his specific accomplishments during the first third of his 18 seasons on the field. The film instead focuses on his unorthodox style of play and jumps almost immediately from his debut on a struggling Pirates team in the 1950s to their first World Series appearance and championship with Clemente in 1960.
Perhaps “Clemente” needed a little more time to flesh out the real man, the whole man, whose mission was about more than just social change or cultural pride. While these were among his passions, along with the nation’s pastime, it seems anachronous to make a mid-20th-century man of God into a spiritually aloof celebrity of our own times.
The new History Channel flick is deserving of a watch, if not merely because it is the only work of its kind on one of the greatest athletes of all time. It is important to hear the testimony of his family, friends, and admirers and to remember his name now more than ever. I can only hope, though, that when the time comes for a feature-length treatment of Clemente, he is not reduced to his earthly pursuits.
Nate Tinner-Williams is co-founder and editor of Black Catholic Messenger.
