"It was definitely something that's indescribable," Clevinger said. "I won't forget it." Watch video
CLEVELAND, Ohio -- As the daunting, white gates came into view, Monica Ceraolo turned to her boyfriend and presented him with an obvious question.
"Do you know where to go?" she asked.
Mike Clevinger had no clue. Even the most nuanced map couldn't assist him at this point on Wednesday afternoon, with his mind morphed into a mangled mess of confusion, anxiety and exhaustion.
It didn't matter, anyway. Clevinger didn't have a player ID card. The 25-year-old with a major-league debut on his itinerary that evening couldn't step foot in the ballpark even if he knew the location of the team entrance.
Ultimately, the couple crossed paths with an Indians staffer, who guided them through the Reds Hall of Fame and museum and into the visitor's clubhouse at Great American Ball Park.
Mike and Monica have grown accustomed to chaos. This day merely represented another episode in an unforgettable whirlwind of a month for the couple and their families. It was a day stocked with stress, jitters, vomit and wrong turns. It was also a day that produced lifelong memories.
"What he's waited for his whole life"
Clevinger chopped a pitch toward first base in the fifth inning of Wednesday's affair against the Reds. Joey Votto collected the baseball and stepped on the bag as Clevinger rumbled toward him.
"Why is he always hitting it to Votto?" asked one family member.
A cluster of Clevinger's relatives sat about 20 rows behind the Indians' dugout. Other relatives who didn't make the trip from Jacksonville called around to local bars to determine which watering hole could show the game.
"This is the craziest thing," Monica said. "I've never even seen him put a helmet on."
Clevinger wasn't sure how he'd fare at the plate. After the game, a reporter noted his pair of hard-hit balls to first. Clevinger, taken aback by the observation, actually thanked the reporter. The long-haired hurler -- Clevinger has sported long, brown locks since his youth, save for a stint at The Citadel -- was more concerned with his pitching.
That concern originated on Monday evening, when Triple-A Columbus manager Chris Tremie called Clevinger to inform him of his promotion to the majors. The news left Clevinger at a loss for words, which left Tremie uncertain about whether the pitcher understood the message. So, Tremie dialed Clevinger again five minutes after their first conversation, just to confirm.
"That's what he's waited for his whole life," Monica said. "That obviously takes a minute to process."
Clevinger placed his first call to Monica and his mother, Karen, who were together in Columbus. When the FaceTime call popped up on Monica's phone, Clevinger's face was red. She feared the worst.
"I thought something terrible had happened," Monica said. "I was like, 'What's going on?' He's like, 'I'm pitching against the Reds!' Then, it was just waterworks after that."
Monica and Karen shared tears, laughter and a few glasses of wine. Clevinger tossed and turned all night before he boarded an early flight to Cleveland from Indianapolis.
'Business as usual' ... kind of
Every relative received the same bulletin: Clevinger's hotel room was off limits until 12:30 p.m. on Wednesday.
"Strict orders," Karen said.
Sleep has been a foreign concept to Mike and Monica this month. Monica gave birth to their daughter, Penelope, on May 2. Mike's promotion only further hindered his ability to sleep.
At precisely 12:30 p.m. on Wednesday, a horde of relatives "bombarded the door," Mike said, before they all went out to eat.
"They gently woke him up," Monica said, laughing. "Anytime he wakes up, he's in a panic, like, 'What time is it? Did I miss anything?'"
The right-hander has developed a bit of a reputation for his frenzied manner. During spring training, Tribe manager Terry Francona quipped that Clevinger, often pacing and visibly amped for an outing, looked like he was ready to pitch Game 7 of the World Series. On Wednesday, Clevinger -- outwardly, at least -- exhibited a calm demeanor.
"He looked like it was almost business as usual," Francona said. "I'm sure on the inside it probably wasn't."
It certainly wasn't before the game. About 45 minutes before first pitch, Clevinger's nerves grew so overwhelming, he started to vomit. He spent a half hour on his knees, throwing up. He nearly missed his pregame treatment session. By the time he took the mound, though, he felt confident.
"I got the nerves out of the way," he said. "That calmed me down."
Monica attempted to help with a series of encouraging texts.
"I just told him, 'No matter what happens, being here is your dream come true.'"
'Something that's indescribable'
Clevinger admits his eyes weren't on the baseball. After all, he doesn't have eyes in the back of his head. Still, he managed to reach his glove behind his back and pluck a sharp grounder bound for center field. He then threw to first for the out.
"He's so good at those plays," said Monica, who noted how Clevinger played third base at The Citadel. "He's so quick with his hands."
Clevinger breezed through the first five innings against Cincinnati, as he yielded only one run. His family chatted about his potential pitch count as he polished off the Reds in the fifth.
He offered his throng of supporters plenty of reasons to cheer. He could hear his Aunt Charlie screaming from her seat. Only Penelope, who slept through most of the game, couldn't hear Charlie.
Clevinger departed after 5 1/3 innings. He ran into trouble in his final frame, but his family greeted him with a standing ovation.
Several relatives, including Karen, sported pins on their shirts. Each pin displayed a photo of Clevinger from 1999, when the youth played for the Indians in Little League. In the photo, Clevinger, his long, brown locks resting on his shoulders, dons a Chief Wahoo cap and a white T-shirt with a script Indians logo as he showcases a four-seam fastball grip.
After Clevinger's debut -- the Indians emerged victorious in 12 innings -- he and his family ordered food at the hotel. He downed a few beers, "enjoyed the moment and soaked it in together."
It was a day -- and month, really -- full of firsts, full of apprehension, full of unknowns. Monica received advice from other players' wives, who suggested she "take a phone charger, take [a ton] of pictures and savor every single minute."
[?] [?] [?] [?] #SpringTraining pic.twitter.com/E2FDq1HkIy
-- Michael Clevinger (@Mike_Anthony13) March 2, 2016
When Clevinger trotted out onto the diamond to warm up before the game, he headed toward the Reds' bullpen in center field. Tribe first baseman Mike Napoli grabbed him and pointed him to the visitor's bullpen in the right-field corner.
Clevinger tried to play it cool. "I was just checking it out," he told Napoli.
"He works so well under pressure," Monica said. "Every single time, it blows me away. That's how he was during birth. He literally had me laughing during labor."
The Clevinger clan stayed for Thursday's game. They gathered outside of the Indians' clubhouse after Cleveland completed its four-game sweep and waited for the man of the everlasting hour.
Thursday was easier for Clevinger. He visited with his family. He spent time in the weight room. He relaxed on the couch in the center of the clubhouse, phone in hand, as he kept one eye on a TV that showed the Cubs-Brewers game. He scrolled through his interactions on social media. He said all of the recent support "still gives [him] chills."
"It's been unreal," Karen said. "It's like one good thing after the other. We have to pinch ourselves sometimes. A beautiful, healthy little girl and then the call-up."
Monica and Penelope will return to Columbus. The rest of Clevinger's family will retreat to Jacksonville.
Clevinger will pitch on Monday at U.S. Cellular Field in Chicago, another new setting. He'll likely ride on the team bus to the ballpark to avoid any entry snafus. He'll do his best to avoid another vomiting venture. He might even have some feeling in his legs this time around.
Everything should be a bit more smooth moving forward. You only get one debut, after all.
"It was definitely something that's indescribable," Clevinger said. "I won't forget it."