Tunnel Vision
A photo of the ticket stub from my first Tigers’ game on June 24, along with the ticket from the other game that season that my mom and I went to, and the ticket from the April 17, 1988 game against the Kansas City Royals when George Brett hit his out-of-the-park home run.
Today, June 24th, is a very special date to me. It was on this date 36 years ago that I attended my very first Tigers game.
It’s funny how, even after all these years, I can trace my love affair with the Detroit Tigers, and with the sport of baseball as a whole, back to this day in 1984. Obviously, the experience of this childhood first left an indelible mark on my memory, and like other raw emotional responses that tend to stand up to the test of time, this was also one of those cases of “love at first sight”.
Maybe it’s because the Major League Baseball season was suspended this spring due to COVID-19, so there hadn’t been the tradition of opening day to look forward to. Maybe it’s because there weren’t those chances to catch that first game of the season once the weather started turning nice. Maybe it’s knowing that you can’t even turn on the TV to watch a game when winding down in the evening or piddling around in the garage. Maybe it’s because this was something special that I had shared with my mom, who unfortunately passed away a few years ago. For whatever reason, this year just feels different, and it is with a renewed sense of appreciation, and a somewhat heavy heart that I look back at my special day this time around.
The Roar of ‘84
Now anybody who knows anything about what was going on in Michigan during the summer of 1984 knows that the Detroit Tigers were well on their way to clinching their first championship since 1968. The Tigers came out of the gate extremely hot, starting the season 9-0, and with a club best 35-5 record after their first 40 games. They would lead the A.L. East from wire-to-wire before beating the Kansas City Royals in the A.L.C.S. and eventually going on to defeat the San Diego Padres in the 1984 World Series.
Despite all of the hoopla, in mid-June I was seemingly that last holdout who had yet to get caught up in all of the excitement being generated by the Tigers great play. Sure, I had watched a few games on TV and listened to the play-by-play by broadcasting greats George Kell and Al Kaline, and certainly I had been seeing the headlines and box scores in the newspaper, however, my 11-year-old self still lacked the deeper, personal connection to what was going on. But all of that was soon to change, and like everyone else in the state of Michigan, I would soon find myself jumping feet first onto the proverbial bandwagon, or when it comes to the ’84 Tigers, maybe it would be more fitting to say that I would soon catch the wave.
It was a Sunday, and the Tigers had a matinee game against the Milwaukee Brewers, who at the time, were still part of the American League. My mom and I had taken an Indian Trails motorcoach down with a group of people from mid-Michigan. The bus had picked us up at the Y.M.C.A. on the south side of Lansing, and after the approximate 1.5 hour drive down to Detroit and exiting off of the Lodge Freeway, the bus made the short trip over to the stadium where it deposited our group near one of the main gates for the ballpark.
For those of you who are too young to remember, or for anyone who never had a chance to visit the old Tiger Stadium, let me try and describe the scene to you.
As you approach the stadium, your initial thought is that there is no way that this imposing, industrial looking building could house a baseball field within its dull blue and grey walls. Frankly, the urban setting and warehouse-like exterior would lead you to believe you were entering a Ford factory, and not some hallowed cathedral where throngs of fans had gone to worship former Tigers greats like Ty Cobb, Mickey Lolich, Mark Fidrych and Hank Greenburg. This of course just added to the magic of the place, which I will explain in due time.
As we funneled through the ticket turnstile and made our way into the underbelly of the stadium, my senses were immediately overwhelmed with a popery of new sights, sounds and smells – the combination of which, would imprint on me like a unique fingerprint whenever I would later call up those memories of any of my many visits to the old stadium. First there was the sight of the controlled chaos, as patrons snaked their way through the crowded concourse on the way to their respective gates. As we made our way through the masses, I remember marveling at the steel and concrete superstructure suspended high above my head, and how I could make out the individual rivets dotting the surface of the exposed I-beams. I remember hearing the low, rumbling hum of the crowd, occasionally broken up by the bark of a vendor selling programs or bags of peanuts, or an announcement over the stadium’s P.A. system. I remember the dank, almost pungent odor of the closed-in concourse against which I recognized the more familiar, and much more pleasing smells of hot dogs and popcorn. And because smoking in public was still commonplace back then, every once in a while I would catch a whiff of some old guy’s cigar.
Eventually, we emerged from the shadowy darkness of the lower level concourse to ascend a long, slightly inclined ramp located on the backside of the stadium. Traversing this ramp only did more to add to my confusion, as there was still no evidence of any baseball field, and from my second story perch, I could now see a bunch of fancy sports cars parked down below us in a compound surrounded by more of the same ugly, concrete looking walls. I was told that this was where players parked their cars, but again, this provided little to no context, as it really didn’t look any different than the crowded streets I had seen outside of the stadium.
As we reached the upper level concourse, my mom paused a moment to get her bearings, and after surveying the various directional signs, we were on the way to our gate. I would soon find out that our seats were in the upper deck down the third base line, somewhere up behind where the Tigers’ bullpen was located and near the spot where the grounds crew kept the rain tarp.
As we walked up to our gate, that is when all of the magic really started to happen. Just thinking about it now still gives me goosebumps. I’m not even ashamed to admit to you that I am actually starting to tear up a little as I begin writing this part.
One of Tiger Stadium’s most well-known and endearing features, the thing that made it both so unique and at the same time such an odd venue in which to watch a sporting event, is its double-decker grandstand. Unlike most other ballparks, Tiger Stadium’s upper deck extended around the entire circumference of the park, creating two distinct decks stacked nicely on top of one another. While this unique architectural feature allowed for fans to be closer to the action, the series of steel beams and girders needed to support the upper deck and roof created a lot of obstructed view seats. And for sections of the upper deck, it required that spectators walk out a short steel gangplank to get from the concourse out to an opening in the upper deck, and to the network of aisles and steps that would take them to their respective seats.
As we stepped out onto the gangplank, I could see the crowd in the lower deck down below us. Much of the crowd was shrouded in shadow, but there were sections of the stands that were being bathed in sunlight, originating from some still undetected source. The further we continued down the gangplank and toward the angled underside of the upper deck’s infrastructure, the more intense the contrast between light and dark became, the darkening shadows creating a backdrop against the bright light that was now filling the small rectangular opening directly up ahead of us.
There, as I walked on, holding my mom’s hand, excitedly anticipating what awaited us on the other side, the next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. As we emerged from the tunnel opening and into the bright sunshine, my entire field of vision was instantly filled with the most vivid colors. There was the bright green checkerboard pattern of the manicured grass field below, framed like a piece of art, surrounded by blue walls and a dark brown warning track that had recently been watered down. There were sections upon sections of blue and orange colored seats, most of which were just now being filled up by spectators making their way into the park. High, billowing white clouds floated across the light blue sky above, and down below the bright home whites of the Tigers players made them pop out against the playing surface as if they each had an intense spotlight trained on them.
It was a breath-taking scene to behold, and an image that I will likely never forget.
Let Me Root, Root, Root for the Home Team
The Tigers went on to beat the Brewers by a score of 7-1. The ace of Detroit’s pitching staff, Jack Morris, was on the mound that day and got the win. Tigers’ catcher Lance Parrish, who would become my all-time favorite player, and utility outfielder Rupert Jones both hit home runs to lead the Tigers’ offense.
My autographed Lance Parrish baseball next to a commemorative Elias Brothers’ collector’s mat and my Detroit Tigers’ home cap.
Before leaving the park we stopped at a souvenir stand and my mom bought me a mini wooden bat with the words “Detroit Tigers” burned into the barrel. The small wooden bat would become one of my most cherished childhood keepsakes, along with my autographed Lance Parrish baseball that I would pick up at a card show a few years later.
While this wasn’t the only Tigers game that I ever went to, or for that matter, even the only game in 1984 that I attended (my mom and I would actually return later in the 1984 season to watch the Tigers play the New York Yankees on a Friday night in September) it was my first, and without doubt, certainly the most special.
A sample of some of the baseball cards and other collectables from my Lance Parrish collection, including one of the 3D holograph Slurpee coins.
After that first trip to the ballpark, I was hooked. That following summer I started collecting baseball cards, completing a set of 1985 Fleer cards the old-fashioned way, one pack at a time. Even though I really hated drinking large quantities of Slurpee, I suffered through dozens of the icy cold drinks to collect complete sets of the 3D holograph coins that 7-Eleven used to include in an insert at the bottom of their paper Slurpee cups, first completing a set of MLB all-stars, and then a special set that commemorated the 1984 World Champion Tigers. I also collected everything to do with Lance Parrish that I could get my hands on, and devoutly followed my baseball idol’s career game by game, at bat by at bat, even after he left the Tigers and signed with the Philadelphia Phillies, and then with the California Angels, before bouncing around several other teams and eventually ending his career in 1995 as a member of the Toronto Bluejays.
It’s not lost on me that my love of sports architecture, especially the old, quirky ballparks, probably stems from that first visit to Tiger Stadium. There was so much to love about the old ballpark, so many unique features that made you appreciate all of the history that contributed to its perfect imperfections (thanks to John Legend for the clever phraseology). Some of these had to do with the fact that at one time, Tiger Stadium was a multi-purpose stadium that served as the home of both the Detroit Tigers and the Detroit Lions. My grandma used to tell me stories about how they’d go down to Tiger Stadium each year to watch the annual Thanksgiving Day game between the Lions and the Packers, and when I’d be sitting there in the stands during a Tigers game, I would find myself looking up where the old football press box was still perched above the right field upper deck, and then down at the field to imagine the likes of Bobby Lane and Bart Star scrambling around the old gridiron that used to run from the left field wall to the right field foul line. There was the flag pole in center field that was “in play”, which I’m sure, was another carry over from Tiger Stadium’s multi-purpose origins. Of course, there was that section of the right field upper deck that hung out over the playing surface below, where if you got to the park early enough for BP, you could look straight below you to watch outfielders from the visiting team using the spikes of their cleats to scratch out games of tic-tac-toe on the warning track in between shagging down fly balls. One of my other favorite things to do at Tiger Stadium, a sort of game within the game, was to sit way up near the top of the lower deck, look up at the pigeons sitting on the steel girders supporting the upper deck, and bet which spectator down in front of you was going to get shit on first.
Over the course of the next 15 years I would have a chance to attend dozens of games at Tiger Stadium. Sometimes, I would get out of work and on a whim decide to drive down for some random weeknight game, still wearing my shirt and tie from the office. I’d buy a $12 general admission ticket to check out some different vantage point in the park that I had yet to experience. I watched good Tigers teams, and teams that were not so good. I witnessed the powerful Tigers of the early ’90s completely rout their opponents, and I was there nights when those same teams struggled to put up a single run, would get frustrated and someone would start a bench clearing brawl.
I saw most every American League team play at least once, and after inter-league play was introduced in 1997, I had a chance to see the St. Louis Cardinals when they visited Tiger Stadium during the 1999 season.
I saw Cal Ripken Jr. and I saw Ken Griffey Jr. I saw Bo Jackson play back when he was still doing the whole dual-sport thing, playing for the Kansas City Royals in the summer, and then turning in his baseball stirrups for football chin straps to suit up for the Los Angeles Raiders in the fall.
Cecil Fielder standing atop the old Tiger Stadium from the Starting Line-Up “Stadium Series” collection.
Including the Rupert Jones home run during that first game, I was in the stands to see at least three, possibly four (and as many as five) out-of-the-park home runs, a feat that only happened thirty or forty times in the entire history of the stadium. I attended a game with my friend Mark Haskell in 1988 when George Brett of the Kansas City Royals hit a line-drive home run that was still rising when it cleared the right field roof, which we had a perfect view of from our seats down the third base line. I know I saw Cecil Fielder homer over the much harder to reach left field roof on at least one, possibly two different occasions. And although I can’t remember for sure, I may have also seen Mark McGwire hit one over the left field roof while he was still a member of the Oakland A’s, and before he had set, what at the time was the new all-time single season home run record, as a member of the St. Louis Cardinals.
I was also lucky enough to catch not one, but two batting practice balls off of former Tigers’ slugger Mickey Tettleton when my buddies Chad Smith, Jerry Platte and I went to a game for Jerry’s birthday. We had gotten first row seats in the upper deck next to the right field foul pole, and as we looked out over the mesh railing and surveyed the field below, there was a group of about three Tigers’ players, including Tettleton, who were completing the last of their batting practice session.
After Tettleton hooked several foul balls into the section adjacent to us, the usher yelled over to everyone in our section that there were three or four balls just sitting there for anybody who wanted to make the short walk over to get them. The three of us looked at each other, and after a momentary pause, I volunteered to go over to the other section to try and snag one of the balls.
While it is true that the upper deck completely covered the lower deck, as was previously stated, not all sections of the stands perfectly aligned with one another, and at the right field corner, the last section in foul territory jutted out slightly from that next section over, which is where Chad, Jerry and I had our seats next to the right field foul pole. As a result, getting over to this adjacent section from where we were sitting required that you walk all the way back out to the concourse, since it was impossible to just follow the rail around the corner to this other section.
As it turns out, I was the only adult besides a group of about six kids, who of course, all started sprinting at the mere mention of yet unclaimed, batting practice balls. By the time I was able to make my way over, all of the souvenirs had been accounted for, but since I was already there, I thought I would hang out for a few minutes — just in case another ball was hit up that way. As I stood there waiting, I struck up a conversation with the usher in that section. He was telling me about how he had been working Tigers games for more than thirty years. He started recounting all of these cool moments in Detroit Tigers history that he had been there to witness in person, many of which were things that had all happened well before my time. I of course appreciated this all very much, and although we were generations apart in age, I felt a kindred spirit with this guy. Even now, I still cling to the old school traditions like tipping your usher when they escort you to your seats and wipe them down for you, which I guarantee, for most people under the age of 35 who are reading this, probably didn’t even know that was an actual thing you do.
A selfie that my wife Teresa took with tigers mascot Paws down on the field prior to a game at Comerica Park on Mother’s Day 2015. Teresa was part of a group of moms who were recognized as part of a special Mother’s Day pregame ceremony.
Well, as I stood there hanging on this usher’s every word, he paused the story he was telling me long enough to say, “Here comes one now”. As I turned my gaze back toward the field I could see this laser beam shot screaming right toward us. I only had a split second to react, the one thought that went through my mind was to not stiff arm the ball, since I would likely end up breaking my hand in the process. Instead, I held both hands out in front of me making a sort of basket, and as I made contact with the ball, I let my arms bend at the elbow which allowed me to cushion the impact of the high-speed bullet. Luckily, I was able to gently steer the projectile safely by my head, as it went whizzing by my ear and banged off some seats a couple of rows behind me. After the initial shock wore off, I turned around, collected my prize and headed back to our seats where Chad and Jerry were waiting. I held out the batting practice ball in my hand, motioned to Jerry, and as I tossed it to him I said, “Happy Birthday”. No more than 10 seconds later we heard another crack of the bat. As I looked over, Tettleton had launched another bomb, and once again, it was heading directly toward me. This time there was actually a little bit of an arc to the shot, and I was able to catch it on the fly without having to move an inch from my spot next to the right field foul pole. All in all, two balls, let alone two balls within the span of just a couple of minutes (even if they were of the batting practice variety) was quite the accomplishment, and a feat I would never again even come remotely close to matching.
It’s Hard To Say Goodbye
All of the games I attended at Tiger Stadium, all of these memories, pale in comparison to that first game, that first experience in the ballpark. It’s why June 24 will forever hold a special place in my heart.
Unfortunately, Tiger Stadium was demoed in 2008, a few years after the Tigers had moved into their new home, Comerica Park. The place that had housed so many of these memories was suddenly no more, a formidable building once composed of steel and concrete itself becoming just another memory.
And then there’s my mom, the person responsible for introducing me to the game of baseball. She’s now gone too. Although I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, I’m grateful that my mom was able to take me to my first game, an experience that my wife and I were similarly able to do for our boys.
We have been to Comerica Park many different times, and although it took me a while to warm up to the place, I now love the ballpark almost as much as I used to love the old Tiger Stadium. After all, Comerica was the site of our boys’ first Tigers’ game. It was from our seats out in right field, down in front of the picnic area before a Sunday matinee game against the Yankees that they got their first batting practice balls. It’s where I bought Carson one of the first mini bats in his collection. And I know that even though it was a different park, different sights and sounds, it is all part of the same shared experience.
For me, it will always be June 24, but it’s not the date that so much matters. At the end of the day, it’s about the opportunity to spend a day at the ballpark, and catch a game with someone you love.
My two boys up in the stands during that same Tigers game. Ryan is wearing his neck tie with his tigers T-shirt, because he wanted to dress up for his mom on Mother’s Day.