<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8702240494
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
871118
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Wednesday, November 18, 1987
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL CHASER
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1987, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
TRAMMELL MISSES MVP, BUT THE BIG PRIZE IS HIS
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
The first question is whether Alan Trammell deserved it. The answer is
yes. "Most valuable player" is a funny phrase -- it means different things to
different people -- but if you spent time around  the Tigers this season, you
know Trammell, the shortstop and cleanup hitter, was oozing the right stuff.

  The second question is whether George Bell deserved it. The answer is yes.
You needed only  see the box scores this summer to know that Bell, the
outfielder and cleanup hitter, was winning a lot of games for his Blue Jays --
and winning, after all, is baseball's truest test of value.

  The  third question is: How do two who deserve an MVP award both win it?
The answer is, they don't. One does. And one comes in second. I'm not sure
what the actual MVP trophy looks like, but if Solomon were  doing the voting
instead of sports writers, it would have been carved in half.
  It wasn't.
  Bell won.
  "Sure, I'm a little disappointed,"  Trammell, who finished second Tuesday
-- 12 first-place  votes  to Bell's 16 -- said on the telephone from
California. "But George is very deserving. He had an excellent year. . . . "
It was a very good year
  Second place. Trammell said he had spent the  day golfing, trying to take
his mind off the vote. Still, he'd hurried home to wash up, to await the phone
call, to make plans to fly to Detroit.  "We'd left the calendar open the next
few days . . . " he admitted.
  It was strange to be talking with him in November. The skies outside were
dark and cold. It was raining. Tiger Stadium had been deserted for more than a
month. Talk of baseball at  this juncture seemed almost disorienting, like
planning a Hawaiian vacation during a snowstorm.
  Yet Trammell's voice lit a wick of memories. What a year this guy had been
through. There was the  news, back in March, that he was going to be the
Tigers' new cleanup hitter ("I think it's just one of Sparky's experiments,"
he said back then, not sounding very happy about it). There was the hitting
streak he began in May and ended in June -- 21 games -- the singles and
doubles and home runs smacking off his bat as if pre-destined.
  There was the weekend series against the Yankees in Detroit in August, in
which he and the Tigers really turned the season into high gear. And, in late
September, the birth of his daughter, Jade Lynn. I remember that because we
were both in the clubhouse in Toronto,  and Trammell had just gotten the call.
He was walking around in his purple Lakers T-shirt and his underwear, smiling,
not really sure what to do.
  "TRAM HAS SOMEBODY TO COOK FOR HIM NOW!" screamed  trainer Pio DiSalvo. 
  "You had a girl, Tram?" asked Kirk Gibson.
  "Yo, congratulations," said Larry Herndon.
  There were all those diving plays at shortstop, the magic flips to Lou
Whitaker  for yet another double play. And, of course, there was that final
weekend against Toronto, that glorious slice of baseball pie, in which
Trammell's single with the bases loaded in the 12th inning won  the
next-to-last game of the season. One day later, he was a champion, along with
all his  teammates, drenched in champagne, his voice gone from screaming:
"This is unbelievable! . . . It's so great!"
A  winner in defeat
  But now Trammell, who hit .343 with 28 home runs, was answering questions
about disappointment, about second place. "It seems the voters didn't
overemphasize the final week of the  season," someone observed. (Trammell had
gone 9-for-27, Bell a shocking 2-for-22).
  "That's the way it should be," Trammell said. "You take the whole season
into account."
  "Had you won, what  would it have meant?"
  "Well, it would have been overwhelming, to see your name alongside some of
the great names in baseball. But, you know . . . it didn't happen. I feel
honored to be considered  the second-best player in the American League this
year. . . . "
  "Did you expect to win?" 
  "No," he said, finally. "I think that George did a better job of carrying
his club. He was exceptional  in home runs and RBIs. I do a lot of things
well, but I'm not really exceptional in any one thing."
  Except maybe class.
  You can argue forever about playing shortstop versus playing left field.
About Bell's pure numbers versus Trammell's inspiration. In the end, you come
back to this:
  Two deserve it. One wins it. And in a few days, most people will forget
about it. But there is a scene  that neither of them and few of us will ever
forget: that final out on that October Sunday afternoon, when Trammell and his
teammates leaped  into a pile, drunk with glee, winners of the AL East. And
Bell and his Toronto teammates could only watch.
  The fans had a cheer for Trammell that day. 
  It went, "M-V-P! M-V-P!"
  Somehow, the results of the actual voting don't have much effect  on that.
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
COLUMN;REACTION;MVP;VOTE;ALAN TRAMMELL;LOSS
</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
