PEDRO MANIA

The boy in the Dominican Republic would take the heads off his sisters’ dolls and hit them with a broomstick. That’s how the highest paid player in baseball history got started.

“When my sisters came home from school, they’d find them with no head and they would go, ‘Mommy! Mommy!”’ Pedro Martinez says, a smile creasing his soft expression. “I would take anything that was round to play baseball. That’s the passion I had.”

One of baseball’s most dominating pitchers now shows his passion in other ways: wasting no time pitching after getting the ball back from the catcher, supporting his teammates on the bench on days he doesn’t throw and eagerly signing autographs for fans.

“He treats people the way he wants to be treated, no matter if you’re a shoeshine boy or the president of a major company,” says his agent, Fernando Cuza, who has known Martinez since 1987.

And since Martinez arrived in Boston, the already passionate fans seem even more enthusiastic.

They sit in the back row of the Fenway Park bleachers with Dominican flags and placards with the letter “K” that they post on the wall with each Martinez strikeout, just as they did for Roger Clemens. They come to games with relatives, just as Jose Pimental did on April 28 when Martinez faced Detroit.

“Before they got Martinez I didn’t come to the stadium,” Pimental says, sitting with his wife, brother-in-law and nephew. “I go now because Pedro’s here.”

He can also read newspaper accounts of Martinez’s performance, in Spanish and English, in the Boston Globe.

“Other guys would be a little intimidated by all the attention he draws. I think he really likes it,” says Boston pitching coach Joe Kerrigan. “He enjoys the way the fans interact with him.”

The 26-year-old Martinez, last season’s NL Cy Young award winner, was traded from Montreal to Boston in November and signed a six-year, $75 million contract. Yet he remains down to earth, chatting thoughtfully with reporters and apologizing for occasionally bypassing autograph-seekers.

“Obligation?” he says, wide-eyed and incredulous, when asked why he signs so many autographs. “It’s an honor for me. It means some of those guys look at me as somebody really special.”

On a recent road trip, a boy stood with his father in a Cleveland hotel lobby looking for Boston shortstop Nomar Garciaparra. Martinez approached and told them Garciaparra had checked out.

“The kid didn’t know who I was and his daddy told him, ‘That’s the best pitcher in baseball.’ I said, ‘No, that’s not true,”’ Martinez says. “‘But I’ll sign an autograph.”’

On an off day in Boston, Martinez went to Northeastern University’s nondescript field within sight of Fenway, sat in the stands and watched Carlos Pena, a Dominican expected to be a high pick in this year’s draft.

“He said he remembered himself 10 years ago or so as a struggling Dominican player,” Northeastern baseball coach Neil McPhee says. “He said he came to support a fellow countryman.

“It made such a statement about who Pedro is. It was an incredible sight to see the biggest name in baseball being such a real person to a guy like Carlos.”

The next day, Martinez struck out 12 and allowed two runs, four hits and no walks in nine innings of a 2-1, 10-inning win over the Indians. Through his first seven starts, he was 3-0 with a 1.97 ERA and led the AL with 66 strikeouts.

Boston second baseman Mark Lemke, formerly with Atlanta, faced Martinez in the NL.

“What really catches your eye is how small he is,” Lemke says. “You go up against Roger Clemens, even if you’ve never seen him before, and you say, ‘This guy looks overpowering.’ You wouldn’t say that with Pedro until you get in there.”

Martinez, listed at 5-11 and 170 pounds, allowed three earned runs and was 2-0 in his first four starts. He pitched his next two games while suffering from gastritis and allowed eight runs in 11 1-3 innings.

Typically, he refused to blame his illness.

“If I’m able to throw the ball, I’m going out there. My pride is worth more than the money I’m getting paid,” he says. “If I try to cheat on these people, I’ll have to hide my face from everybody and I can’t do that.”

He pitched the first of those poor outings knowing that fellow Dominican Juan Marichal, a Hall of Famer whom Martinez calls “my inspiration from the moment I began to play baseball,” had been in a car accident.

“Those are things that happen off the field,” Martinez says. “I don’t bring anything like that on the field.”

Still, he took time to call his country and learn Marichal wasn’t seriously injured.

“Marichal is more than a friend. He’s somebody really special to me,” says Martinez, who tried to give his Cy Young award to Marichal, who gave it back.

Martinez, whose brothers Ramon and Jesus are pitchers in the Dodgers’ organization, has given a gift to the people of the Dominican Republic, paying for construction of a church in his native town of Manoguayabo. And he plans to set up a foundation.

Meanwhile, he dedicates himself to the game and to satisfying fans who appreciate his hard work even on those rare occasions when he’s less than brilliant.

“Baseball is like bread and butter in the Dominican,” he says. “They understand just as well as the Boston fans. They play the game. They understand I’m not letting them down.”

Not at all.