8602120080
DETROIT FREE PRESS
860919
Friday, September 19, 1986
METRO FINAL
1F
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1986, Detroit Free Press
SHOWDOWN IN EAST LOOKS LIKE A GHOST TOWN IN WEST
I am very ready. I have my Tigers cap and my Tigers glove and my
oversized T-shirt that says YANKEES GO HOME! across the front. I am sitting
outside Tiger Stadium, making tiger noises. I am prepared for war. I am very
ready.
"GOT YOUR TICKETS?" I yell to a passerby.
"Huh?" he says.
"You should have planned ahead," I say.
I have my tickets. Had them since April. Even back then, everybody
knew this Tigers-Yankees series in September would determine the AL East.
Didn't we all circle it on the calendar? Didn't we?
"GIBSON VS. GUIDRY!" I yell.
"Huh?" says a passerby.
"You should have planned ahead," I say.
I am a person who plans ahead. I knew back in April that the men in
pinstripes would be tough. Detroit. New York. One of them would win the
division. I knew that. I predicted that. So did almost everyone else.
Where is everyone else?
I guess they couldn't get tickets.
Too bad. They will miss the pennant race atmosphere tonight at Tiger
Stadium. They will miss the screaming. They will miss the Wave. They will miss
the playful chants from the bleachers, like, "DIE, YOU NEW YORK SCUM!"
They will miss it all. But I will be there.
"MORRIS VS. MATTINGLY!" I yell.
"Huh?" says a passerby.
LaPoint and Laga will be there I turn my Tigers cap around like a
catcher. I am ready. Very ready. In order to be this ready, I stopped reading
the newspapers on Opening Day. I stopped watching television. This way, I am
fresh now in mid- September. This way, every angle tonight will be clear and
new.
"FIRST PLACE IS OURS!" I yell.
"Huh?" says a passerby.
I lean back against the gate. I am surprised no one else is here yet. I
have been here since last night. I do not look good. I do not care. I am
going to be the first in for this big game.
The others will be sorry. They will all get here at once, and the traffic
will snarl. Soon there will be mobs of fans waving pennants and posters and
fighting to get in. Some will be waving rubber knives. Those will be the New
York fans.
I already will be inside. The first one to see the best pitching in
baseball against the best offense in baseball. Detroit vs. New York. For
everything.
"PITCHING OVER HITTING!" I yell.
"Huh?" says the passerby.
Poor slob. I'll bet he has no tickets. He won't see Dave LaPoint pitch. He
won't see the slugging Mike Laga. Or newcomer Dave Engle.
"LANCE PARRISH FOR MVP!" I yell.
"Huh?" he says.
Hmmm. Must be a Yankees fan. I knew they'd come. One thing you gotta give
the Yankees. They have tradition. Guys like Bobby Meacham and Butch Wynegar.
Oooh. Rich traditon.
"LOOK OUT, MR. PINSTRIPE!" I yell.
"Huh?" he says.
Just wait. The Tigers will show George Steinbrenner a thing or two about
championship teams. The Tigers will show Lou Piniella a thing or two about how
to manage the big ones. I'll bet Sparky Anderson is inside the stadium right
now. He probably slept here last night to study the lineups. Yeah. I'll bet
he did.
"SPARKY FOR PRESIDENT!" I yell.
"Huh?" says the passerby.
Is everybody deaf around here?
And then there still were none
The sun is making the turn. Only a few hours now. I wonder where everyone
is. There must be a hell of a traffic jam somewhere.
Good thing I planned ahead.
I'll bet the NBC truck is around the corner. Right now Vin Scully is
putting on his makeup. And Joe Garagiola is reviewing tape, for when one of
these teams makes the World Series.
I'll bet Dan Petry has 25 wins by now. Didn't Sports Illustrated predict
him to win the Cy Young? Sure, it did. I'll bet Kirk Gibson is having the year
of his life. Didn't Sport magazine predict him as MVP? Sure, it did.
I'll bet Lou Piniella has really turned the Yanks around. Didn't we say
he would? Sure, we did.
Yankees, Tigers. For all the marbles. Tonight.
Be still, my pittering heart.
I am a lucky man, to be here on the threshold of history. When you plan
ahead, you stay ahead.
Yessiree.
Dum de dum da . . .
You know, I'm getting a little hungry. Maybe I could go for some peanuts.
There's a guy right across the street. And there's no line. . . .
Wait a second. What am I saying? I'm not giving up my spot. Whoa. Uh-uh.
No way, Jay.
"RIGHT HERE!" I yell. "THIS WEEKEND! THE SHOWDOWN! THE BEST IN THE EAST!"
"Oh, is Boston in town?" says a passerby.
Boston. Ha! What an idiot.
COLUMN