Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Tigers Stadium...

Saturday, August 4, 2012
Savannah and I had talked about how great it would be to visit every major league ballpark in the country over the course of the rest of our lives and Saturday, we began that trek with a visit to Comerica Park and the home of the Detroit Tigers.  We’d originally planned the trip to include camping overnight somewhere in Michigan and a trip to Cabela’s, which is a 225,000 square foot shopping and entertainment extravaganza for camping, fishing and hunting gear.  It’s just one of those places you need to put on your Bucket List and see, even if you don’t like anything about the outdoors.  We would be looking for some hiking shoe deals and I wanted her to see the taxidermy mountain and try one of the exotic, wild game dishes for lunch.  Anyway, it’s in Dundee, Mi., and not that far off course for seeing the Tigers…so we went.

We found a good pair of Merrill hiking shoes with Vibram soles (vibram is known for its grip), something that may give her a little more confidence on our upcoming trip to the Adirondacks.  I know she’s squeamish about coming down the mountain, but part of that stems from her footwear and a fear of slipping and falling.  She’s worn running shoes to this point, which just don’t grip the bare, smooth rock above the tree line like a good pair of hiking shoes will.   Then we proceeded to the cafeteria where she sampled the bison burger while I ordered a smoked Elk sandwich.  Both were excellent and she was feeling rather adventuresome for sampling two unusual dishes.

We arrived in downtown Detroit around 5:30 p.m. and with 90 minutes to spare before game time.  I’d hoped to make it early since I didn’t know my way around the area and wanted to find cheap parking and tour the area.

I found parking for five bucks…normally I won’t pay for parking, but I didn’t know the area and didn’t want to come back and find my car missing.  We had a short walk to the park and since we were early, began to walk around.  On the far side of the stadium, I saw three men standing in the shade of a tree talking.  I’ve been watching Indians broadcasts for many years and easily recognized one of the men as color commentator, Rick Manning.  Rick was an above average major league player with a career spanning 12 years with both the Indians and the Milwaukee Brewers.  He was an excellent defensive centerfielder, having won a gold glove, a good base runner, but always a light hitter.  I really enjoyed him in the broadcast booth though…he always called it like he saw it.

“Hey Rick…my daughter and I are big Indians fans and came to Detroit to see them play.  I was hoping you wouldn’t mind taking a picture with us,” I said when I got his attention.

“Sure.  Love too.  Hey…you look familiar.  You’re John Locke…right?” he said.

“Busted.  Yeah…in town to do a shoot for a movie I’m filming and I love the Tribe,” I said.

He offered to bring us to the broadcast booth, but I knew when to cut and run.  We headed in and made our way to the second/upper deck where we watched batting practice and sweated our buns off until game time.  Savannah and I were fortunate enough to see a no-hitter being thrown against the Indians during our last visit to ‘The Jake’ and this night turned out to be a repeat.  We had a 40-minute rain delay (something else we always seem to manage…even in a drought) and after 6 innings of the Indians doing absolutely nothing but falling behind 6-0, we headed for the exit since we were looking at a 3-hour ride home.

I’m glad we went, though.  I enjoy baseball and although I’d love to have a winner again, I’m willing to watch any sorry crew of players the Dolans put on the field.  It’s a little disheartening to know that the philosophy of the current ownership is to develop great, young players for six years and then trade them for fear of being unable to sign them once they become free agents after seven years.  Very few teams have reached the World Series using this method and I doubt we will.  I’d like to see a World Series winner before I die, but unless I hang in as long as my 106-year old grandmother, that may be a pipe dream. 

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