A ChAnCE to BE A fAn AgAin

Most of my recent vacation was spent in Tennessee, taking in the majesty of the Smoky Mountains (and sighting a black bear), visiting my wife’s family and engaging in some serious miniature golf.

On the way back, there was a weekend venture to Michigan, again visiting the place where my better half was born and raised and spent her entire life before we met, for a reminder of my own younger self.

Once again we found ourselves in Detroit cheering on the Tigers as they tried to avoid a sweep by the San Diego Padres, and in a single Sunday afternoon all the reminders of why I love sports came flooding back.

You see, most of the time when I go to any sporting event, it’s in the guise of a reporter, perhaps pacing the sidelines, maybe courtside, or up in a press box, but always in an official capacity.

That means following many different behavioral guidelines, including the whole “no cheering” part. Even if you know well the stories of these teams and athletes, after a while it’s easier to follow that mantra.

However, something big gets lost along the way – namely, the simple thrill and emotion of putting fairness aside and rooting for the home team, exclaiming the great plays, lamenting the setbacks, above all hoping that your side has a better number on the scoreboard at game’s end.

Well, this day brought all those feelings back, those that can only be experienced in the stands – in this case, the upper deck of Comerica Park, high above home plate.

Not at first, though. With time to spare before the first pitch, we toured around the entire concourse, greeted at the main entrance by a statue of legendary announcer Ernie Harwell, with displays on Tigers history and unique mementos – jerseys, bats, ticket stubs.

Random Thoughts

Phil Blackwell

the unique smells, like sausages on a grill, and the constant patter of vendors, along with people, nearly all of them wearing some kind of Tigers outfit, so naturally you go into the team store and buy some more – a sun hat for my wife, a cap for me with the orange Old English D.

A few minutes before game time, and I was hungry, so of course there was a hot dog. Alas, I had to forgo a proper beer since I was driving home, but still, tasty.

Then it’s time to play ball, with kids prominently featured as one of them reads out the starting lineup with the professional cadence of a man three times his age.

Oh yeah, the rhythm of the game. With the pitchers and hitters’ clocks, it really flows, makes you pay much more attention, always a good thing – and the Tigers help by turning three double plays to maintain an early lead.

Ah, but in the bottom of the third I agreed to get my wife some food. Naturally in that half-inning the Tigers score twice, ultimately the difference in the game, but that’s part of the experience, too.

They keep us entertained with silly and meaningful things in between the half-innings, all leading up to the ninth when Detroit is up 3-1 – and it starts to rain.

Fans both run up the stands to get dry and cheer the closer as he gets the first two outs, only to have a walk and error prolong the inning – and the tension – until a flyout allows everyone to exhale, leave happy and seek dry ground.

Again, there’s a buzz as we walk out, the people moving along but not in a hurry. And I reflect upon how these few hours recharged my passion, just in time to return to the desk and start writing again.