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"No one knows what eet is. They cant find anything. I run, I throw, I move eet hurts. Eet goes away and come back. Someday eet hurt . . . someday no. If eet doesnt cure, I quit baseball ... No fool around."
"Playing baseball, Roberto Clemente conjured a vision of some African prince standing waste-deep in the surf and brandishing a spear at a retreating slave ship. Majestic. Indomitable. Perhaps his loss sounded the first real death knell over the game in this city. Without him, pennant races or no, its excitement has somehow waned. Others make diving catches; he made them one-handed, sliding across the field on his rear end, or at his knees, so self-assuredly that to see him do it a thousand times was to be certain he would not drop even one. Others deftly retrieve baseballs from the outfield walls; he snatched barehanded and flung them back like so many arrows. Others swing hard; he swung as mad suicides leap from cliffs. And all of these things he did effortlessly, no strain to muddy the esthetics of his skills; no caution to soil his craft. In time, most have forgotten his injuries and his battles with the press and the pride that drove him, and even that he died in an airplane trying to help people who needed it desperately. What has been remembered, and will be, is this: For a generation, no one played the game of baseball with more dignity or grace, and that when Roberto Clemente died, the people of an island and a city were truly saddened. A stamp in his honor could not be more fitting. Id like to be there in that sleepy town tomorrow morning to get the very first one."

Roberto Enrique Clemente Walker was a Puerto Rican professional baseball player who played 18 seasons in Major League Baseball (MLB) for the Pittsburgh Pirates, primarily as a right fielder. On December 31, 1972, Clemente was killed when his Douglas DC-7 airplane, which he had chartered for a flight to take and deliver emergency relief goods for the survivors of a massive earthquake in Nicaragua,
"No one knows what eet is. They cant find anything. I run, I throw, I move eet hurts. Eet goes away and come back. Someday eet hurt . . . someday no. If eet doesnt cure, I quit baseball ... No fool around."
"If you pitch me inside, I will hit the fucking ball to Harrisburg."
"Roberto Clemente doesnt care too much for New York. Says there are too many people and everybody is in too much of a hurry. He had one ride on the subway with Felipe Montemayor as his guide and they got lost."
"Im no fighter. Besides, Willie is too big. And he is a real nice man. All those big fellows—Ted Kluszewski, Gil Hodges, Frank Howard—theyre nice fellows. I saw Howard get mad only once. He picked up an umpire by his ears and held him like a puppy!"
"This boy can do everything. In a couple of years, Ill bet hell be a star."
"Clemente played every winter game hard – to win. He played 150-plus big league games plus spring training. It had to be tough for him even though it was in front of his home fans. To see him come there and work so hard was very impressive."