9909270117
DETROIT FREE PRESS
990927
Monday, September 27, 1999
METRO FINAL
1A
Photo RICHARD LEE/Detroit Free Press
Bleacher Creatures: Fanis in Tiger Stadium's upper bleachers do the
wave Sunday at the Corner's second to last game. Page 8A.
MITCH ALBOM
TIGER STADIUM: FINAL ECHOES; SIDEBAR ATTACHED; SEE RELATED ARTICLES,;PAGES 8A, 8B, 1C, 1D
Copyright (c) 1999, Detroit Free Press
BALLPARK BELLE BECKONS LAST FANS
SHE AWAKENS today as she always has, her lid open to the sky, her grass
stretching for sunlight. But this time, there is something in the autumn air,
something final, something sad. Like a fading belle of the ball, she seems to
sense it, yet ignores it. This will be the last morning of her baseball life.
She knows it. She inhales proudly and raises her blue and white chin to the
morning light.
"Are you ready?" the city seems to ask.
"Ready," Tiger Stadium sighs.
Her walls are fading, her greasepaint chipping, her insides have indeed
decayed to, as a critic once charged, "rusted girders." Her tunnels are poorly
lit, and her cramped elevators creak at a pace fitting only to something that
goes back to 1896. Her narrow hallways often smell of decay, decay mixed with
sausage grease and caramel corn.
"Only a few more hours now," the city seems to say.
"Only a few more hours," Tiger Stadium sighs.
In a few more hours, she will greet her guests for the last time. Naturally,
she will try to look her finest. The sand between her bases will be smooth as
a dune. Her fresh white lines will show you fair grass from foul. At the
designated hour -- not before, not after, her routine being, after all, her
trademark -- she will open her gates, her hinges will unbolt, her turnstiles
will tumble, and her seats will be wiped. She will once again bear nearly
50,000 loved ones in her lap.
And she will go through these motions as if today were no different than the
other 6,900 times or so she threw the city a baseball party. Never mind that
the "final out" this time will really be the final out, that her glorious,
workmanlike era ends around sunset -- and when the lights go out, they do not
come back on, not tomorrow, not next month, not next season.
Never mind. A good hostess does not burden her guests with sadness.
One last time, have a good time, she beckons.
"People will be coming soon," the city seems to say.
"Soon," Tiger Stadium says.
The good, beautiful and unique
All of her eccentric features will be on display this afternoon, like a school
pageant or a museum exhibit. You will note them. Good and bad. The annoyances
that you chalk up to age, the long concession lines, the snarling hallway
traffic, the girders that completely block the view from some seats, the rusty
bleachers, the trough-like urinals in the men's bathrooms. All there. Why
pretend?
"We had some laughs with those obstructed-view seats, didn't we?" the city
recalls.
"We did at that," Tiger Stadium says.
But the good, the beautiful, the unique, that, too, will be on display one
last time. The rightfield "porch" that hangs over the field, that has robbed
so many outfielders of easy fly balls (they stand helplessly underneath,
gloves poised, and then, thwack! -- some fan catches it for a home run
souvenir.)
And the radio booth, where Ernie Harwell, Paul Carey and so many others have
plied their trade, behind home plate, hanging down like a pinecone, so close
to the field that players have heard their name broadcast during their
at-bats.
The flagpole, in dead center, which is in play if you hit it. The dugout
roofs, where a crazy fan named "The Brow" used to dance. And the bleachers, at
times loud, at times drunken, but still symbolic of a place where real people
can see professional sports without needing to hook onto a corporate sales
package.
"Do you remember all the highlights?" the city asks.
"Remember?" Tiger Stadium says. "Why, I remember everything."
She remembers when the site was Bennett Park, then Navin Field, then Briggs
Stadium. She remembers when the Tigers were no-hit in their first American
League contest ever. She remembers a game when only 404 fans showed up. She
remembers Babe Ruth hitting a 626-foot home run and Dizzy Dean shutting out
the Tigers to win a World Series for St. Louis.
She remembers Ty Cobb getting his 4,000th hit. She remembers Hank Greenberg
returning from four years in the Army and hitting a home run in his first game
back. She remembers Lou Gehrig ending his Ironman streak on her field, the
disease that would ultimately kill him finally, too strong to let him play the
game he loved.
She remembers armed troops surrounding the stadium in 1943, after a race riot,
and she remembers celebration in the streets when the Tigers won the World
Series in 1968 -- helping soothe the boil of yet another race riot.
She remembers Mark Fidrych talking to the ball and Kirk Gibson yelling at the
skies and Frank Tanana's bubblegum flying from his mouth after he pitched a
shutout to put the Tigers in the 1987 playoffs.
She remembers everything -- all the baseball, and everything else. She puts it
all on display today. A million memories in the walls and seats.
"There'll be a lot of pointing from fans," the city says. "A lot of them
saying, 'That's where Al Kaline hit those homers . . .' and 'That's where the
Joe Louis fought his heavyweight fight . . .' and 'That's where the Lions had
their football field . . .' and 'That's where the Three Tenors sang opera
....' "
"I don't mind," Tiger Stadium answers softly. "I like pointing."
Echoes of fans
Back in the '60s, Brian Wilson, the lead singer of the Beach Boys, wrote a
poignant little song called "Keep An Eye on Summer." It was pure California
surf, about teenage lovers parting as the weather began to cool. It included
this verse:
As we look to the future
Though it be through a tear
Keep an eye on summer
All year.
The idea is that you never grow cold as long as you remember warmth, that you
never become a jaded adult as long as you can revel in a youthful memory.
This afternoon, in the last home game in the last year of the century, that
will be the idea. Wherever fans sit today, inside, outside, the expensive
seats, the cheap seats, the porch or the street, they will be looking not only
at the present, but at the past. And they'll be listening not just for the
echoes of Tiger Stadium's history but for their own.
And that is how a city intertwines with a stadium, and that is why closing a
stadium is not the same as closing a bank. Those echoes -- your echoes -- will
be in there today, somewhere, in the mix of cheers, beers, a national anthem,
an American League, a scoreboard, a pennant, a hot dog, a Coke, a two-run
double, a bases-loaded strikeout, a kid with a glove, an old man with a
scorecard, sausage grease, caramel corn, rusted girders, peeling paint.
So one more time, we do what we do around here. We go to Michigan and
Trumbull. We see a baseball game. We share a time and an experience and a
place, a truly special place.
"How many people do you expect today?" the city asks.
"Expect?" Tiger Stadium says. "Why, I expect everyone."
In some way, everyone -- at least everyone who has ever sniffed her
greasepaint -- will be there. Keep an eye on summer. And no doubt, the grand
old lady on the corner will be in your view.
MITCH ALBOM can be reached at 313-223-4581 or albom@freepress.com. Listen to
Mitch's radio show, "Albom in the Afternoon," 3-6 p.m. weekdays on WJR-AM
(760).
GREAT MOMENTS AT THE CORNER
June 28, 1990: South African leader Nelson Mandela thrills 49,000 listeners by
retelling his life during apartheid.
THE LAST GAME
Tigers vs. Royals: 4:05 p.m. today. No tickets left.
TV : Channel 50.
Weather: Cloudy and 78; rain possible after dark.
Aftermath: An hour-long ceremony after the game.
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
END;TIGER STADIUM;MAJOR STORY