Corey Clark: Florida State loses a giant with the passing of Mike Martin Sr.

Mike Martin was the face of Florida State baseball for 40 years.

He won more games than any coach in the history of the sport. He coached scores of All-Americans and hundreds of professional baseball players.

But he always made sure the diamond didn’t define who he was as a person.

His faith and spirituality were always present. His kindness and approachability – after a win or a loss – were just a part of his overall state of being. He was a fierce competitor. Fierce. But when the game was over, whether his team had won or not (and they won a WHOLE lot more than they lost), he was as polite as he could be to fans and reporters. He was gracious with everyone.

The face of Florida State baseball, the leader of the program for four decades, the lifelong Seminole, passed away on Thursday. Mike Martin was 79 years old.

Somewhat fittingly, it happened on FSU Day at the Capitol — a day when Seminoles come together to celebrate the university’s many accomplishments.

Few, if any, have been more worthy of celebration than Mike Martin Sr.

I grew up an FSU fan, as many of you know. But I didn’t actually meet Mike Martin until I started working for the Tallahassee Democrat in 2007. Over the next dozen years we developed a warm relationship. He liked my sarcasm. I liked how often his teams won, and that he gave me a chance to go to Omaha four separate times. It was mutually beneficial!

There are a few images that jump to my brain immediately as I write this.

First and foremost, and this is one I’m not sure I’ll ever forget, was on a Sunday afternoon. His team had just won another game. And after the kids were done running the bases (an annual tradition at Dick Howser Stadium), my son, Brady, and my wife at the time, Shanna, were waiting for me to finish up in the press box.

Brady must’ve been 4 at the time. Maybe 5. And he was in the outfield chasing birds. Just he and Shanna. It was maybe 45 minutes after the game had ended.

And then Martin strolled out of the dugout and into the outfield, walking to his car that was parked beyond the left-field fence. I watched the scene play out. I was hundreds of feet away in the press box, but I could see Martin talking to Brady and Shanna, and then pointing out another bird with Brady. He even chased one with him.

Keep in mind, he had no idea this was my family. He had no idea who these crazy bird-chasing people were! And he was just as kind as he could be to them.

So, as he started walking back to his car, I called him on his cell phone.

“Hey Corey,” he said.

“Hey 11, what did you think of my son?”

“Is that your boy?” he said with a laugh.

“Yep. Just out there chasing birds and being a nuisance.”

“Well, he is a good-looking kid. He can run, too. Does he play ball?”

It always came back to ball, didn’t it?

But just the kindness when no one was watching — or he thought no one was watching — is something I’ll always remember.

A few years later, I saw him out at dinner at a local restaurant.

I think I was still at the Democrat, but I might’ve moved over to Warchant by then. Either way, I had known him for about 10 years at this point. And while I was a beat reporter and then a columnist, and I was supposed to be objective, we had been friendly long enough that I didn’t mind walking up to the table to just say hello.

He made a point of introducing me to everyone at the table. He didn’t say, “This is Corey from the Democrat.” Or, “This is Corey, he covers the team.”

He simply said, “This is my friend, Corey.”

I don’t know why that sentence touched me the way it did, but it has stuck with me to this day.

The legendary Mike Martin didn’t think himself above me, even though he certainly was in accomplishments, awards, fame and tax brackets. He didn’t think of me as some pompous columnist, either, though I certainly can wear that hat occasionally! He thought of me as his buddy.

That meant a lot. More than I can properly articulate right now.

I’m from a generation of journalists that were preached to about not being friends with the people we cover. Trying to stay objective. Trying to be neutral. That’s the job. That’s our role. Especially when you have to be critical at times.

But when it comes to this man, I don’t care.

I know his lovely wife, Carol, went public with 11’s battle with dementia in October, and that was a very painful story to read.

This is a painful column to write.

But I consider myself lucky, truly, that I got to cover the last dozen years of Mike Martin’s career. I got to cover his last trip to Omaha, which was the most improbable run of them all. And I got to be there when he walked out of that stadium for the final time. With Carol on his arm.

Just like it had been for the last 58 years.

I’ll always remember that image of the patriarch and matriarch of Florida State baseball getting into the car and driving away on that Omaha summer night.

Just like I’ll always remember that smile. And that huge laugh. And him celebrating that home run by J.D. Drew in Omaha or the walk-off winner by Drew Mendoza vs. LSU in Baton Rouge.

And him chasing those birds with Brady.

Mike Martin was a great baseball coach. But that doesn’t define who he was.

Not even close.

He was a son, a father and a husband, and he was the biggest Seminole fan you’ll ever meet. He loved this school like it was part of his family. Heck, after 47 years in the garnet and gold (as a player, assistant coach and head coach) it WAS his family. And he loved it with all of his heart.

That’s what I’ll remember the most about Mike Martin. Just how much this university, that stadium, the fans, the garnet and the gold, how much it all meant to him. He always talked about how lucky he was to be the head coach at Florida State. Even after he won 1,000 games … two times! … he talked about how lucky he was to be in that dugout representing FSU.

The truth is he had it backwards. Florida State was the lucky one. To have him representing it for over four decades the way he did.

I count myself lucky to have actually gotten to know the man for as long as I did. He was truly a class act. And he is going to be remembered around these parts forever.

Rest in peace, 11.

Sincerely,

Your friend, Corey.

Contact senior writer Corey Clark at [email protected].

Talk about this story with other die-hard Florida State football fans on the Tribal Council.