Ed Lynch’s worst nightmare is a balding, middle-aged man who supports his wife and three children selling building products from behind the counter of his father-in-law’s lumber yard. His name is David Clyde.
Not so long ago, Clyde was the hottest young pitcher to come out of Texas since forever. But all that remains from his baseball career are friends, a faded jersey, a handful of other keepsakes and a collection of stories that should make Kerry Wood deposit his meal money into a savings account.
“Maybe things would have turned out different the Rangers had taken a long-term position with me, rather than going for the short-term gain,” Clyde said recently, taking a break from his duties at McCauley Lumber. “Think what the Rangers could have had. They brought in Nolan Ryan. If they could have had Ryan and me . . . my Lord.
“(The city of) Arlington wouldn’t have had to build ’em a new park. It would have already been built. But all they thought about was the short-term gain, and look how it turned out.”
Clyde, the first pick in the 1973 draft, went straight from Westchester High School in Houston to Arlington Stadium. He had a huge financial impact on the Texas Rangers’ franchise, which had relocated from Washington only two years earlier.
But while the exploitation of Clyde’s box-office appeal allowed major-league baseball to gain a foothold in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area, it deprived the teenager of the chance to become a consistently effective major-leaguer. It remains a how-not-to manual for player development.
Lynch, the Cubs’ general manager, was determined not to take such shortcuts with Wood after taking the recent Grand Prairie (Texas) High School graduate with the fourth pick in the 1995 draft. Wood showed quickly that he could handle most hitters, starting two combined no-hitters in his first full season as a pro. But he had 55 minor-league starts under his belt before joining the Cubs April 10 in Montreal.
Twenty-nine of those starts came last season. He was thriving (10-9 with a 4.57 earned-run average and a .181 opponents batting average between Double-A Orlando and Triple-A Iowa) as his parent club suffered through a last-place season, which had begun with a nightmarish start. But Lynch never seriously considered calling on Wood to make things more interesting.
“In retrospect, it could have been tempting, but it would have been at the expense of the kid,” Lynch said. “He was too important, too good of a prospect at that point, to take any chances of upsetting his development for some instant gratification.”
What would Wood have meant for the 1997 Cubs?
“He might have been able to help us, to create some interest, to show people we’re not complete idiots,” Lynch said. “But the only thing that mattered to us was, is he ready? The consensus last year was he was not ready.”
Clyde certainly wasn’t ready when he began his career. The 18-year-old lefty gave the Rangers their first sellout in his major-league debut. He beat a Minnesota Twins team built around Hall-of-Famer Rod Carew, striking out the side in his first professional inning.
But while Clyde helped owner Bob Short pay his bills, arguably keeping the financially strapped franchise from having once again to relocate, nothing ever again would come easily for him. The selling of his box-office appeal came with this personal price tag: two broken marriages, a battle with drinking and an end to his big-league career at age 24.
Clyde finished with an 18-33 record. He had received a $65,000 bonus to sign, which at the time was reported at $125,000. He never free agency or salary arbitration and earned less that $200,000 over the course of his career. He does not receive a pension, as he was 27 days short of the four-year tenure then required to qualify when he called off his last comeback attempt in 1981.
There were big expectations for Wood long before he tied the major-league record with 20 strikeouts in his fifth major-league start. But no amateur prospect ever has come with greater expectations than Clyde. The statistics he produced at the top level of high school baseball in Texas look like something out a Chip Hilton book.
In his senior season at Westchester, Clyde was 18-0 with an 0.18 ERA. He threw 14 shutouts and five no-hitters. He struck out 328 in 148 1/3 innings. Over a four-year high school career, he won 53 games, threw nine no-hitters (two of them perfect games) and struck out 843.
“Oh, did I like that kid,” legendary scout Hugh Alexander said. “He had a smooth, good delivery; it looked like he had been pitching for years. He had a good, good fastball and a very good curveball. The thing you remember about him was that he was so stylish. I just watched him pitch and said to myself, `Here’s a kid who can’t miss.’ “
Clyde asked the Rangers for jersey No. 32, because it was the same as his idol, Sandy Koufax. He received a telegram from Koufax on the day of his major-league debut. He has it framed and displayed at his house northwest of Houston, along with two aerial photos of Arlington Stadium.
They were taken the day the telegram from Koufax came: June 27, 1973. The Rangers, who went 54-100 in their first season after deserting Washington, had drawn only 22,114 to their ’73 opener. They turned away an estimated 100,000 fans from their suddenly stuffed ballpark on the occasion of Clyde’s first start, then drew another 33,010 when he faced the White Sox five days later.
“People have to understand that what happened to me was a business decision,” Clyde said. “I was a sacrificial lamb. . . . I made Short a bucketful of money.”
In an era before earned-run averages began to resemble the frequencies of AM radio stations, Clyde was hung with a 5.03 ERA as a rookie. He went 4-8, allowing more than a hit per inning and striking out only 20 more than he walked. But fans kept coming to see him pitch.
The Rangers’ attendance in 1973 was 686,085. It broke down like this: with Clyde pitching, an average of 18,187; without Clyde pitching, 7,546.
Whitey Herzog, whose background was in player development, was the Rangers’ manager when Clyde came to the big leagues. He promised Clyde’s mother he would take care of him, but he was fired before he could keep his promise. Short hired Billy Martin in September 1973, days after the Detroit Tigers had fired him.
At the news conference to announce the change, Herzog made a public plea on Clyde’s behalf.
“Right now, I’d like to see Clyde sent home for the winter,” Herzog said. “His arm is dead, but there is no way Short would let that occur.”
Including his senior season at Westchester, Clyde pitched 241 1/3 innings in 1973. Wood, who turned 21 on June 16, has yet to pitch 155 innings in a season.
Clyde’s first pro season ended with the Rangers 57-105.
“There have been many nights when (italics) I (end italics) didn’t want to go watch them,” Short said at the time, “and I get a free seat.”
Things picked up for the Rangers under Martin, but the 1974 season brought permanent damage to Clyde. Martin, never a nursemaid, wanted Clyde sent to the minor leagues midway through the ’74 season. When Short vetoed the move, Martin sent the 19-year-old kid to the bullpen. He rotted there, going 31 days between appearances at one point. He went more than three weeks without even warming up in the bullpen.
“I got caught in a power struggle between ownership and Billy,” Clyde said. “Billy didn’t want me there. I started that year 3-0, but then I couldn’t get into games.”
Clyde lost his last nine decisions in ’74. He worked only 117 innings, leaking confidence all the way. Major-league hitters adjusted to his fastball, and he never developed a consistent enough curveball to keep them off-balance.
Off the field, Clyde ran hard. Veterans like Bill Sudakis, Jim Fregosi and Mike Epstein had introduced Clyde to the late-night perks of his new celebrity, and Duke Sims continued the education. It was not unusual to stay out until 3 a.m. before day games, even if it meant playing with a hangover.
“Nothing was ever done to help me fit in,” Clyde said. “I was away from home for the first time with older players. . . . It was a grown man’s world, and I guess I was expected to be a grown man. But that’s life.”
Short sold the team. Clyde finally got a chance to pitch in the minor leagues. But that was in 1975, and by then probably too late. He won 12 games in Double A that season and was promoted to Triple A in 1976. Shoulder surgery ruined that year, and he spent the next season back in the minors. Clyde returned to the big leagues with Cleveland in 1978, but ’79 may have been the worst year of his life.
In the span of a few months, Clyde suffered through the breakup of his second marriage–the first, to his high school sweetheart as a 19-year-old, had lasted only a year–and he was on the disabled list first with symptoms resulting from a fast lifestyle and then a back injury.
When Clyde was hospitalized during the spring of ’79, the Indians said he was being treated for a “nervous stomach.” That was a euphemism for alcoholism.
“The doctors told me my stomach was like raw hamburger,” Clyde said. “They told me I was killing myself. It let it get out of hand.”
He underwent a second shoulder surgery in 1980, which basically finished his career. He should have been at the peak of his career, but instead he was getting ready to make the move into management at McCauley Lumber.
Clyde had nothing to do with professional baseball in his first decade away from the sport but has since mended his fences with the Rangers. He has made the 225-mile drive to Arlington for occasional old-timers games and last month participated in activities surrounding the 25th anniversary of his debut.
“I hear people talking about the David Clyde syndrome, and I think, `How many people have something named for them?’ ” he once told Sports Illustrated. “I’m not the first kid who got used, and I won’t be the last.”
Like anyone else who follows baseball, Clyde is intrigued with the possibilities for Wood. He doesn’t resent the success his fellow Texan is having.
“Kerry Wood is great for baseball,” Clyde said. “I wish him the best. The Cubs obviously took good care of him. They took the long-term view, not the short-term gain. That’s just good business.”
