Witness to a death

At least once a year I am lucky (or unlucky) enough to be in court when some case or matter of notoriety is being heard. It's not uncommon to see TV crews outside of the courts that I frequent. Sometimes I'm actually in the courtroom where the matter is being hard. Yesterday was just such a day.

While waiting to see the judge, I sat through the hearing on an injunction to halt the demolition of what remained of Tiger Stadium. For legal reasons that aren't terribly exciting or dramatic, Judge Edwards agreed with the City of Detroit and the Economic Development Corporation that complete demolition should not be further delayed. In essence, the court seemed convinced that because there appeared no likelihood of any sources of funding that could save the stadium and the costs to keep her standing were mounting, that the rest of the building should be scrapped.

Tiger Stadium was a site for so many of my fondest childhood memories. But I said goodbye to it 10 years ago when I walked out of it for the last time.

Leaving a piece of her shell standing for a yet additional indefinite amount of time seems pointless. Perhaps the people in this area that have strong feelings about the stadium issue, one way or another, can move on and devote time and resources to improving other sites within the city. Lord knows that Detroit needs all the help she can get.

More on Mark "The Bird" Fidrych

For the first time in years a celebrity death has really touched me. I don't know why, but the death of Mark Fidrych last week has bothered me. I'm not talking about being sad in the sense of, "Aw, gee, that's too bad. He was a swell guy." I mean I've actually felt sad, some twinge of real grief.

My best guesses as to why I've been bummed are: 1. Mark was a pretty decent guy; 2. he represents a special part of my childhood. I never met the Bird, but friends of mine did and they raved about how great and gracious he was. Pretty much everyone in the media that dealt with him had good things to say. He was also that person -- caught up in something even bigger than himself -- that draws in a kid. His magic rookie season is the sort of thing that really captures a little boy's imagination. He must have captured mine and remained there in the recesses of my mind all those years.

Whatever the case may be, he's been on my mind. I was happy to find there is a little video clip of his 5-1 win over the Yankees in 1976. Pay attention to his excitement and embarrassment over the crowd's reaction. It's really cool. There are some great outfits on the fans, too.

God bless you, Mark. Thanks for being part of my childhood.

http://detroit.tigers.mlb.com/media/video.jsp?mid=200904144137207

The Bird is the Word

It's funny how there are watershed years in life; periods in which amazing things happen, life takes a different course, memories get cemented.

1976 was the first year like that for me. It was America's Bi-Centennial, which was celebrated with vigor in school. A bit of American pride post-Viet Nam and post-Watergate was restored. We celebrated my 5th birthday early by going to Disney World during the Fourth of July holiday. I got my first bike. Baseball became a passion.

Why did I fall in love with baseball that year? Mostly because my Uncle Bob loved baseball and he took me to a lot of Detroit Tigers games. On the grander scale, I fell in love with the game because of rookie sensation Mark "The Bird" Fidrych. He electrified Detroit like no athlete since. Even Hall of Famers like Isaiah Thomas, Steve Yzerman and Barry Sanders did not capture the attention of people in this city -- and across the country like The Bird.

Fidrych was a helluva pitcher. I was too young to remember what he did as a pitcher, the record books say he was 19-9, with a 2.34 ERA, and completed 24 games. He was the Rookie of the Year, starting pitcher in 1976 All Star game and was number 2 in Cy Young voting. Unfortunately a shoulder injury (later found to be a torn rotator cuff) wrecked his career.
The memory I do have of him is being at a game that year with my uncle. I don't know who the Tigers played or what the score was, but I know Fidrych pitched and I know they won. Tiger Stadium was packed to the rafters. It was about as loud as I ever heard it. On the way out of the stadium, we stopped behind the lower deck fence, right next to the right field foul pole. Uncle Bob threw me up on his shoulders so I could see the Bird come out up the dugout to a standing ovation. I remember him off in the distancing waving to the fans with his cap, standing on the top step of dugout as the fans went wild. The roar of the crowd shook my body, hurt my ears. But it was great.

One of the Detroit newspapers had free iron-ons that said, "The Bird is the Word" and my grandma got two copies of it and a packet full of white t-shirts. The first iron-on came out backwards but the second worked. I wore both shirts until they were filthy.

As his career disintegrated and new heroes came and went, the Bird slowly faded from glory. But he never vanished. The Detroit Tigers and Fidrych always maintained great relations and Mark, being a great, humble guy, came back to Tiger Stadium for special events. He mingled with fans, signed autographs, was great with the kids. There's not a Detroit Tigers fan that was alive in the 70's that didn't love Mark Fidrych, even 33 years after his amazing rookie year.

Sadly Mark Fidrych passed away yesterday at age 54. According to the press reports he was found dead around 2:30 p.m. from an apparent accident that took place while he was working under his truck. Besides the tragedy of him passing away, the eerie thing for me was that I was at the Detroit Tigers game yesterday afternoon with my Uncle Bob, mom and my daughter. I saw a new Tiger wearing no. 20, pointed him out to my daughter and said, "Kiddo, no. 20 was the number of my favorite player when I was a little younger than you, Mark Fidrych." This was before word had gotten out that Mark had died. His was the only number I noticed yesterday. He was the only player from my past, my childhood, that I mentioned or even thought about. Odd.

Mark will be missed. My thoughts are prayers are with his family and friends.

Goodbye to an old friend -- Tiger Stadium

Some of the best memories of my life were made in Tiger Stadium. I saw game 3 of the 1984 World Series. I'll never forget sitting on my uncle's shoulders after Mark Fidrych pitched a gem of a game in 1976, and came out of the dugout to a standing ovation. So many hours were spent there watching exciting baseball, bonding with loving friends and family (and sometimes even complete strangers.) Win or lose, I never had a bad day in that park.

In 2000, Comerica Park -- what a sterile, boring name -- replaced old Tiger Stadium as the home for the Detroit Tigers. Comerica Park is a beautiful modern building that has little charm and none of the intimacy of the old stadium. It has good sight lines and plenty of room for people's bigger butts. It's a great place to see the game but not necessarily feel or experience it. At Tiger Stadium, you felt like you were right there, almost part of the action. The crowd noise could be deafening. Comerica Park is an aesthetic experience, Tiger Stadium a visceral one.

The old girl has sat empty for the better part of a decade. Plans to convert Tiger Stadium to other uses have all fallen through. She stands on "the corner" rusting and decaying. Like a kind master does with an old sick dog, the City of Detroit is finally putting her down. Demolition started yesterday. What will take her place -- probably just another vacant lot in the city -- is still unknown.

As sad as that is, I will not miss her. I said goodbye to the old stadium a few weeks before she closed for good in 1999. As I walked down the ramp from the upper deck for the last time, I ran my hands along her walls and rails. A lump in my throat nearly choked me. A tear or two welled in my eyes. I'm a sentimental fool and that old building meant a lot to me.

But she's gone. There's no life in her anymore; she's like an ailing old friend kept alive by tubes and machines. It's time to pull the plug. It's time to let her go. I would rather remember her as she was than watch her slowly collapse into a pile of rubble at Michigan and Trumbull.

It looks as if demolition might be halted; she may be granted a brief reprieve. But, I've already let go. Those of you that loved her should let her go, too. Tiger Stadium will never again be what it was, regardless of whether she is spared the wrecking ball. So, I will move on with fond memories.