The ups and downs of the great Roberto Clemente, from Puerto Rican birth to Nicaraguan death. His personal struggles against insecurity and prejudice, his professional accomplishments (3000 hits) and difficulties (the injury-proneness predominates), are recalled by everyone from his mother and old teachers to scouts, coaches, and former teammates out of the cassette. It's very colloquial, very anecdotal: says Pirates' trainer Tony Bartirome, ""It used to really piss me off when the writers called Clemente a hypochondriac. . . .Well, any man that can hold the Pirates' all-time record for games played in no way can be a hypochondriac""; Efren Bernier, a Puerto Rican lawyer and friend, tells the story of the time, during the 1971 World Series, that Roberto told off the press (the star huffed, ""This is the first time I've ever been able to have all of you together in one room, and I want to tell all of you that you're a bunch of good-for-nothing bums!""). A combination of ""arrogance and gentleness,"" is the way Wilfrid Sheed sums up Clemente in his foreword. This is honest and accurate; it will win no awards; it is not class, as was Roberto. But it will serve to remind us of the man and the player, missed by all the baseball world.