8601150559
DETROIT FREE PRESS
860407
Monday, April 07, 1986
METRO FINAL
1F
MITCH ALBOM
Tigers '86
Copyright (c) 1986, Detroit Free Press
SOOTHSAYER SEES NY, LA, KC. . .
I go to the attic. I reach into the box. I take out the glass ball and
bring it downstairs. It is dusty. I blow on it and the dust coughs up in my
face.
"What about the Tigers?" you say.
"Patience," I say.
I close my eyes. I begin a chant. Something from India. Or maybe the theme
song to "Gilligan's Island." One or the other.
"What about the Tigers?" you say.
"Hummmmmmmm," I say.
Suddenly an image appears inside the glass ball. I see New York. I see
Dwight Gooden. I see him walking off the mound and being congratulated by his
teammates. I see a movie producer offer him a cigar. I see David Letterman
beg for an interview.
I see signs "New York Mets! NL East Champions!" I see a riot at Shea
Stadium. I see two men in ski masks. I see them kidnap Mr. Met, the team
mascot. I see police cars. I see a headline: "CROOKS TO CITY: PAY OR WE PITCH
HIM."
"Yeah, but what about Detroit?" you say.
"Hang on," I say.
A new picture emerges. I see the Dodgers and the Reds playing on the
final day of the season. I see a tie score in the bottom of the ninth. I see
Pete Rose chewing his fingernails. I see Tommy Lasorda chewing a dinner roll.
I see Don Rickles sitting in the dugout next to Lasorda, saying, "Pinch-hit
for Niedenfuer, you hockey puck."
I see Lasorda motion down the bench. I see a handsome blond batter come
out. I see the crowd gasp. I see he is bleeding from the stomach. I see his
bat. It says "Wonderboy." I see him hit an 0-2 pitch halfway to Redondo Beach.
I see a seven-figure movie deal. I see the Dodgers win the NL West. I see all
this.
"What about Detroit?" you say.
"Just a moment," I say.
Another image. I see Kansas City. I see Steve Balboni at bat. I see him
hit a home run. I see him do it again. And again. I see Royals manager Dick
Howser reward him with a fresh bag of Doritos. Every time. "Five home runs!"
Howser exclaims. "Five bags!" Balboni exclaims.
I see the Royals jumping into each others' arms. I see George Brett
spitting out his wad of chewing gum, he's so happy. I see Kansas City over the
Seattle Mariners to win the AL West crown. I see all this.
"I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT DETROIT!" you say.
"OK, OK," I say.
I rub the ball. I close my eyes. I begin a new chant. Something from a
Hindu religious ritual. Or maybe "Da Doo Ron Ron." One or the other.
The glass goes cloudy. And then . . .
I see pitchers. And more pitchers. I see curveballs and fastballs and
sliders. I see Jack Morris and Dan Petry. I hear them say, "Nothing to it." I
see Frank Tanana and Walt Terrell and Dave LaPoint. I hear them say, "Piece of
cake." I see the Tigers winning game after game, 2-1, 2-0, 3-2, 3-0, 3-1.
"Do they beat the Yankees?" you say.
"A moment, please," I say.
I see Kirk Gibson clout left. I see Kirk Gibson clout right. I see Larry
Herndon return to form. I see Lou Whitaker maintain form. I see Mike Laga find
a form.
"But the Yankees . . . " you say.
"One more moment," I say.
I see Sparky Anderson taking a hard line. I see players angrier. I see
them playing better. I see fewer errors. I see improved relief pitching.
I see newcomer Darnell Coles having a decent season. I see newcomer Bill
Campbell surprising people. I see newcomer Dave Collins not playing that much.
"But the Yank--" you say.
"Please," I say.
I see Detroit in the thick of September. I see Toronto close. I see
Baltimore not close enough. I see Cleveland next. I see Boston struggling. I
can't see Milwaukee.
"STOP IT!" you say. "WILL THE TIGERS BEAT THE YANKEES FOR FIRST PLACE OR
WHAT?"
I wiggle my fingers. I close my eyes. I grab the ball and squeeze. A
smile comes to my lips. I begin a new chant. It sounds vaguely like "Hello,
Detroit."
"Will they? " you say.
"Yep," I say.
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