Life never begins on Opening Day for Royce Clayton. It just keeps repeating itself in ways he must not care for.
The play of the game in the Mets’ first game, the Mets’ first win of 2006 [1], unfolded with Mets up by one: Ryan Zimmerman’s eighth-inning double down the left field line, Alfonso Soriano on first and running all the way. Floyd gets to the ball. Good throw to Reyes. Reyes turns and fires to Lo Duca. Great relay. Lo Duca blocks the plate. Soriano slides. Maybe he gets a hand in there. Maybe Lo Duca tags him. Lo Duca doesn’t hold on but Soriano doesn’t reach back. Either way, he’s out, and either way, Soriano would have had an easier time of it had the on-deck batter cleared Zimmerman’s bat from the basepath.
The on-deck batter was Royce Clayton. The same Royce Clayton who ten years and two days ago on the same occasion, Opening Day, in the same weather, gray and chilly and damp, ran from first to home for the Cardinals with the Cardinals trying to expand a 6-3 lead by one with two out. Ray Lankford doubled. The left fielder — Bernard Gilkey, not Cliff Floyd — handled it and fired it to the shortstop — Rey Ordoñez, not Jose Reyes — who delivered it in a zip to the catcher — Todd Hundley, not Paul Lo Duca. Clayton was out. Then the Mets came up in the bottom of the seventh and completed a historic comeback, from 0-6 to 7-6.
Ordoñez’s 1996 bullet (launched from his knees, it must be recalled; we were there) was the star of that show, meaning, in a way, that Clayton’s role hasn’t changed in a decade. He’s still an unwitting and ineffectual bystander in Met Opening Day heroics at Shea Stadium.
It was a day of renewal and revival and all that “re-” stuff for our guys, the 3-2 winners. Tom Glavine turned 276. Savior Nady leads the world in batting (first Met with four hits in his first game since Richie Hebner, but never mind that, never mind that, never mind that, never mind that). David Wright earned another five magazine covers with another four bases. Aaron Heilman overcame his reluctance and relieved to no ill effect despite throwing like a demoted starter. Anderson Hernandez picked one clean. Carlos Beltran nailed Jose Vidro at second for the final out. Billy Wagner closed out all thoughts of Braden Whatshisname. And SNY, despite having to make an emergency trip to Home Depot for a surge protector (their telecast disappeared for an inning or two, though they were kind enough to entertain us once more with Dave Magadan’s youthful exploits [2]), got through nine.
But I can’t get over Royce Clayton being again where Royce Clayton was ten years and two days ago: home plate, Shea Stadium, emptyhanded, his side’s futility expertly announced for all our enjoyment by Howie Rose (then in his first SportsChannel gig, now in his first official assignment alongside the inoffensive Tom McCarthy).
I didn’t even realize Royce Clayton was on the Nationals. Royce Clayton’s been one of everything: Giant, Cardinal, Ranger, White Sock, Brewer, Rockie, D’Back, now this. He was playing for Arizona when the Mets were scoring 14 and 18 runs on consecutive nights last August and I was surprised to find he was a Snake. He was struck out by Jim Morris in The Rookie. He bounces from one wan outfit to the next with no apparent hope of ever getting close to a World Series. He’s a Major League Baseball player, which is pretty damn cool, but at 36 and on his eighth team and in his sixteenth season, this must be getting old for him.
Life begins on Opening Day, though for some, it just continues.