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<UID>
8702060057
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
870802
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, August 02, 1987
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>
SEE ALSO STATE EDITION page 1D
</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1987, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
THERE'S NO SPLITTING HAIRS ABOUT GIBSON'S INTENTIONS
</HEADLINE>
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</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
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NEW YORK -- Whiskers look good on a soldier. They suggest a mind locked on
battle, on the hunt, not on trivial matters such as keeping a face clean. Like
dirt stains and bloody knees, the beginnings  of a beard somehow say to us:
"effort." Nasty. Raw. Not to be trifled with.

  It is therefore fitting that Kirk Gibson is at his grubby- faced best these
days, looking like he just washed up on the beach.  The Tigers are in a
crucial stretch of the season -- a 10-day, seven-game tango with the
first-place Yankees. And after two of those games, Gibson's stats read: nine
at-bats, four hits, three runs,  three RBIs.

  "Are you getting started on something?" he was asked Saturday before the
Tigers stomped on New York, 10-5.
  "I hope so," he said, sounding as  if he doesn't just hope it, he's
counting  on it. "This . . . would be a good time."
  Let's modify that. This would be a perfect time. For one thing, the Tigers
will need everybody to win the AL East. For another thing, such young players
as Matt Nokes and Mike Henneman, who have been excellent so far, may be ripe
for those mini-slumps that inevitably strike  rookies. And besides, Gibson,
quite simply, is overdue. He has played pretty  well so far. That is not
enough. He knows it. He gets paid to play better.
  "This season has been hard and easy," he admitted. "Easy because we're
playing well, we're right in there, but hard because  I haven't hit a groove
yet. I usually find a groove by now. I just have to stay relaxed until it
comes."
  Tigers fans would love to see that happen. True, Gibson is the kind of
player you embrace  with one arm and push away with the other. He can be
charismatic, annoying, exciting, crude. His contract negotiations in 1985
brought him new critics, as has his good-but-not-great performance since  he
signed.
  But like him or not, this is undeniable: when the going gets competitive, a
fire is lit inside Kirk Gibson's belly. You walk by him, you smell smoke.
That smell isn't after-shave  Before  Friday's game he said: "I'm psyched
for this series." He hit a home run and two singles. Before Saturday's  game
he said: "I'm pumped." He knocked in two runs, including the game-winning RBI,
and gave the day its most exciting baserunning. You smell something?
 "Hey, I think we're the better team," he said when asked about the Yankees,
who now lead Detroit by two games. "We just have to play hard  and prove it."
  Hard? Well. That's an appropriate word. Gibson knocked in the Tigers' first
run Saturday by singling hard off of Dennis Rasmussen; and we mean that
literally. The pitch was heading back at Rasmussen's kneecap before he
finished the follow- through. Smack! Ouch! It bounced off and away. Gibson
safe at first. One run in.
  That was in the first inning. In the sixth, Gibson would chop a ball that
Don Mattingly would throw home in a failed attempt to catch Tom Brookens.
Gibson safe at first. Another run in.
  But it was in between that Gibby had the most fun of all. Fifth inning.  A
wild pitch by Pat Clements that ricocheted high into the air. The bases were
loaded and Gibson was on second, and you don't often score from there on a
wild pitch --  but what the hell? As Gibson rounded  third, the ex-football
player seemed to take over. No stopping, no halting, give him a linebacker to
run into. ("Did you wait for a sign by third base coach Alex Grammas?" Gibson
was asked afterward.  "I didn't even look at him," he admitted.)
  Why bother? He charged toward home and slid in safely, as the ball smacked
off his body. He bounded up in a cough of dirt, shook a fist and yelled. As he
 ran into the dugout his hat flew off and he fell into a sea of high-fives.
  Hello, boys! It's Mister Whisker!
'This is gonna be fun'  "Hey, we want to hammer these guys!" Gibson said in
the clubhouse  afterward. "We want to put it to them. I want to put it to
them. My adrenaline gets pumping. . . . What can I say?"
  He grinned. Other players were showered, changing. He remained inside the
soiled  socks and sweaty undershirt.  Dirt? Fine. Get a bucket and cover him.
"I love this kind of competition. This whole team does. That's why I think
it'll be us, New York and Toronto, right down to the  finish. 
  "I was talking to Don Mattingly when I was on first base (Friday) night,
and I said to him, 'Man, this is gonna be fun.' I said to him, 'You guys ain't
going anywhere. We're all gonna be  right here.
  "Hey, they believe they're gonna win it, we believe we're gonna, Toronto
believes they're gonna. That's what's so great about this division.
  "People say, 'Aw, if we were in the West  we'd be in first place.' Bleep!
We don't want to be in the bleeping West! This is where it's at, this is where
the competition is! Right here. We all know we've  got talent. Now we'll see
who's got the  heart."
  He paused, grinned, and took a deep breath, like a man enjoying the smell of
a distant fire.
  "You gonna shave now?" someone asked.
  "What for?" he answered.
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