Pig Poop

It was the summer of 1969 and a the days were filled with sunshine and the sound of kids playing in the yard. Under the back stairs of a brick, two story flat was a makeshift fort that acted as cover for the make believe soldier, cowboy, Indian or outlaw. Imaginations ran wild for me in those days and my biggest daily accomplishments involved staying out of trouble.

Being the second oldest of four boys, there was always something going on around the house during the summer. Baseball games in the back yard with tennis balls so we wouldn’t break any windows. Basketball in the driveway. Antagonizing our 100 pound German Shepherd who watched over us like a body guard. Oh, to be 8 years old again…but not just that. To be 8 years old in a time when being “outside” and playing games was the entire meaning of life.

Dad worked hard and long hours but he always found some time to hang out with us. Throwing the baseball, building an ice rink, playing floor hockey in the basement or taking us to the Drive-In Movies on Friday nights. So we nearly jumped through the roof when he came home with front row seats to a Detroit Tiger Double-Header. Now I’m not talking about these wimpy Day/Night double headers. This is a time where they played the first game, took 20 minutes to towel off and rehydrate before taking the field again for game two. The good old days.

Dad packed my older brother, my younger brother and me into the car with our tiny little baseball mitts and headed down to the ballpark. This would mark my first EVER professional sports event. I was 8 years old and it was time. Not like today when people lug their 8 month olds down to a ballpark in 90 degree heat and humidity….(Dumb-Asses).

The excitement was increasing with every mile we drove. Closer and closer to the place that my favorite team played their games. The defending World Champion Detroit Tigers and my first visit to Tiger Stadium on the corner of Michigan Avenue and Trumbull. It doesn’t get any better than that when you’re 8 years old.

We arrived at the stadium and dad stopped to buy a program before we headed to our first row box seats. I remember the feeling of euphoria as I stepped out of the concourse and experienced that ocean of green for the first time. I had never seen anything like it. The chalk painted foul lines leaped out and the brown dirt infield was a vision of perfection. These were the days of the manual score boards but they were still beautiful in the back drop of green that just swallowed me up.

My team was stacked with players who had received their World Series Rings for their upset victory over the St. Louis Cardinals in 1968. Norm Cash at first base, Dick McCaullif, Dick Tracewski, Bill Freehan, Willie Horton, Jim Northrup and Mickey Stanley.

Their opponent for the day was the Cleveland Indians with Jose Cardinal, Ken “the Hawk” Harrelson and Duke Sims. Game one had right hander Earl Wilson going up against righty Steve Hargan. My Tigers would score 4 runs in the first two innings and skate to a 6-1 victory.

In game two, things would look tougher as Pat Dobson would go up against Louis Tiant who was always a challenge. The Indians would win the game while hitting four home runs, one of which was hit by Tiant. However in this game there was another incident that would be embedded in my mind forever. As we sat in our seats just behind the on-deck-circle, one of the Tiger hitters fouled off a weak bouncer towards the third base side. My dad stood as the big hop was headed directly to him and just as he was about to nab the most excellent souvenir from our very first baseball game, sure handed third baseman Don Wert reached up and nabbed the ball out of the air. (This was during a time when they DID NOT throw balls to kids in the stands).

It was a long day and it was time to go home. I had experienced what, to me, was the Holy Grail of my childhood. I had loved sports as a 6 and 7 year old, but now that I was 8 and had been to my first ballgame, I knew that sports had captured me. Tiger Stadium was part of my childhood.

Forward through life some thirty years later. It was a beautiful evening on September 27th 1999 when the Detroit Tigers would play their last game at my childhood friend. I was at the stadium with my older brother and two lifelong friends and we basked in the magic, the memories and the special feelings that we experienced in that ballpark. The Tigers won in a meaningless game in the standings but it wasn’t meaningless to the 52,000 plus people who jammed themselves into that old ballpark.

In an after game ceremony, every Detroit Tiger player who was still alive and had played on that field was announced for the last time as they took their position. There was cheering and clapping and lumps in the throats of everyone there as we all thought back to those warm summer nights of our childhood. Willie Horton trotted out to left field with tears running down his cheeks. Horton grew up in Detroit and his childhood dreams came true when he manned the left field corner. Al Kaline received an explosive ovation as he looked up at the crowd from Kaline Corner in right field.

Just the other day, demolition began on the ballpark that introduced me to my love of sports. Built in 1895 and home to four World Series teams. Tiger Stadium was also home to three Detroit Lions Football Championships during the 1950’s. The “Corner” as hall of fame announcer Ernie Harwell often refers to her, as also been the backdrop of several movies for Hollywood. Most recently, Billy Crystal’s “61″ was shot at Tiger Stadium.

Do not mistake me for some idiotic fanatic who wanted to “preserve” Tiger Stadium and turn it into some kind of ridiculous monument. It was time for that old girl to be laid to rest. The wrecking ball is exactly what was needed for development….and Detroit could sure use some positive development these days.

I just wanted to pay a little tribute to one of my friends growing up. One of my BEST FRIENDS!!! Bye Friend.