“Daddy, what is that?”
I look out the passenger side window as my daughter and I cruise down I-75 on our way to a baseball game at decade-old Comerica Park. She’s pointing at a crumbling, dilapitaded building that looms just above the freeway wall, a reminder of the neglect that is so prevalent in our city.
“That’s Tiger Stadium, or what’s left of it,” I reply, switching my eyes back to the road. “That’s where your Dad and Papa used to watch the Detroit Tigers.”
“They used to play baseball in there?” There is, understandably, a noticeable tinge of bewilderment in my daughter’s voice as she watches the stadium drift into the distance.
“Yep. It was one of my favorite places to go. Whenever we got tickets to a game, I was so excited that I couldn’t sleep the night before.”
“That’s silly.”
“Maybe. But I was about your age when I started going, so the team and the stadium took on mythic proportions.”
“What are ‘mythic proportions’?”
“Uh, nevermind. Think about it this way: You know how you get really excited whenever you and I go to a baseball game? That’s how I used to act. My favorite part was walking up the ramp and seeing the field for the first time; how the bright blue and orange seats juxtaposed with the deep green of the grass. It never got old.”
“Dad – stop using big words.”
“Sorry, honey. I can’t help it. Where was I?”
“Juxtaposition.”
“Oh yeah. There are so many memories I carry with me about ‘The Corner’. The bleacher creatures. The close proximity to the field. The hot dogs. Oh, the hot dogs.”
“Were they better than Comerica Park’s hot dogs?”
“Ten times better. The vendors used to carry a steaming tin and lather your dog with mustard if that was your preference. The hot dogs at Comerica Park are crap.”
“Dad! You’re not allowed to say that word, remember?”
“I know, but that’s the best way to describe the difference.”
“So if this place was so great, why are they finally tearing it down?”
“It all comes down to money, and someday you’ll realize this. But, really, we just outgrew it. The seats were too tight, the facade was peeling, and there were many seats situated directly behind a pole. That’s not the best way to watch a baseball game, but that was its charm, I suppose.”
“What is your favorite memory of Tiger Stadium?”
“That’s easy – going to the last game with my Dad.”
“What was it like?”
“It was one of the best days of my life, right up there with the day you were born and the day I married your Mom.”
“I think Mom might not want to know that you rank a baseball game up there with your wedding day.”
“It wasn’t just a baseball game. It was a long goodbye to an old friend. Every Tiger wore an old-time Tigers’ number that day. Rob Fick, who wore Papa’s favorite player’s number — Norm Cash — hit a grand slam over the roof in right field. I don’t think I have ever heard a stadium get that loud. It was like an explosion.”
“That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“Ah, but it was. An old Tigers radio announcer named Ernie Harwell conducted the post-game ceremony while old and current Tigers lined the field. Then they took down the flag and transported it to the site of the new stadium. At the very end, they shut off the light towers one-by-one until only one was left shining. Consequently, that was the most quiet I had ever heard a stadium. Everyone in attendance stood and stared as Harwell ended his speech with, ‘Farewell, old girl. You will be missed.’ I know I wasn’t the only one who got emotional that night.”
“Dad, do you want a Kleenex?”
“No, I’m okay. Really.”
“Well, we’re here. Ready to go in?”
I step outside and glance back through the buildings of downtown Detroit and watch the wrecking ball take another chunk out of Tiger Stadium. Even though we’re here, I’m not sure Comerica Park will ever be here.
“Dad, I can hear your inner monologue. You’re turning into one of those old guys who won’t embrace change.”
“I am?”
“Yes, you are. And you need to get over it. I understand that you feel a special kinship with Tiger Stadium, but this is going to be my Tiger Stadium. Someday I’ll bring my kids here and tell them stories about when you and I used to go to games. You wouldn’t want to ruin that for me, would you?”
“No, I suppose you’re right.”
“I usually am. Now let’s go get one of those crappy hot dogs.”
32 To Go 