A Moment of Silence That WIll be Filled by One Man's Call

Amid all the come-back wins, the bouncing throng of players engulfing the latest walkoff hero, and the imminence of the Tigers clinching the AL Central, my mind keeps circling 'round to one thing. I miss Ernie Harwell.

I know he wouldn't be making the call even if he were still alive--his last official words in the booth came on September 29, 2002. I know that we're fortunate to have Dan Dickerson as our play-by-play guy, and he has put away some vividly memorable calls himself. I know that Ernie had a full life, a rewarding career, and was at peace even as he faced the end of his time here on earth.

Despite all that, I cannot help it. He's left a huge cavern and nothing can fill it. I'm one of those people that cringes at sappy ballads and snarks at made-for-tv dramas. I'm sorry to do it to you, but I have to own up to my sentimentality when it comes to Ernie. Thankfully, I know I'm not alone. When we revel in our first division crown in 24 years, the raucous din will momentarily fade and our eyes won't quite be dry as we pause to salute the man who was the sound of summer for so many years.

Thanks again, Ernie. You'll be in the middle of it all.

Your voice echoes in my mind: "The Tigers are the 2011 Champions of the American League Central!"

The Sparky Patch

As we all know, the Tigers will be wearing this patch to honor Sparky Anderson during the 2011 baseball season.

I got to wondering today whether the Reds would be sporting a Sparky patch this season as well. But of course. Here is their patch.

I like ours better. Call me biased.

Anyway, I'm glad Sparky is getting all proper respect. He deserves it, and the retiring of his number is way overdue, and it's so pathetic that it wasn't done while he was still alive. It's like the Tigers are admitting they were wrong, and are living with regret over the whole thing.

I was hoping that the Tigers would continue to wear an Ernie patch this season, since a partial season hardly seems enough to honor true Tigers royalty such as Ernie Harwell.

Anyway, Sparky, we love you, we miss you, and we thank you for 1984.

Ernie's Night at the CoPa

Well, I missed the last game at Tiger Stadium, I missed the game last year at which Ernie gave his farewell speech, I missed Ernie's viewing at Comerica last week, so I decided I just couldn't miss the game last night. I wanted to be there when Paul Carey threw out the ceremonial first pitch. I wanted to hear Jose Feliciano's beautiful rendition of the anthem. I wanted to see the flag hoisted up in memory of Ernie Harwell.

After some last minute wrangling, I got a ticket, and I made it there. I'm glad. I took a few pictures. If you click them, they will enlarge.

Rogo of DesigNate Robertson was at the park too. He concocted some story about me hugging him. If you're that desperate for affection, guy, just ask, I'd be happy to give you a hug.

Happy things occurred for the Tigers. Alex Rodriguez made an error, which led to runs! Magglio Ordóñez made an amazing catch with runners on first and third to basically save the game for us in the eighth, and the look on Derek Jeter's face as he saw at least a double taken away was so....what shall I say...glorious! Papa Grande struck out the side in the ninth in dramatic fashion, leading to people questioning his antics on the mound. I am all for these antics if they keep leading to victories. It's who he is. It's not a put-on. Let the guy be himself. He walked out to the pen before the game, and I wish I had my camera on, because he has kind of a wild look in his eyes, even just casually strolling by. Brennan Boesch continues to mash, with a triple and three RBIs. I keep wondering when he's going to cool off a bit, but I hope he keeps me wondering for quite some time.

Brennan Boesch in left.

Zoel Zumaya and Phil Coke walking out to the pen.

A moment of silence for Ernie Harwell.

Ernie's memorial flag is raised.

Al Kaline, Willie Horton, Brandon Inge, and two of Ernie's daughters help to ready the flag for raising.

Yes, thanks Ernie, the memories will never fade.

Magglio Ordóñez and Brennan Boesch warming up.

Gerald Laird, he of the .147 average, warming up.

Brandon Inge and Tom Brookens walk out to help with the flag ceremony.

No Fitting Tribute

Sigh. I am more than a little upset that the Tigers got swept by the Minnesota Twins. Not because we now sit 3.5 games back, not because the memory of Game 163 still stings (well, it does, but that's not why I'm peeved), not because getting swept is demoralizing....no, none of these things.

I actually buy into that whole corny "win one for the Gipper" thing. I thought the best way for the Tigers to honor the great Ernie Harwell's memory would be to do it on the field by beating the Twins. I am happy they are already wearing a memorial patch on their sleeves--a black circle with white letters "EH." That's a wonderful way to keep Ernie at the forefront of our minds throughout this season. However, I just felt like winning yesterday's game and today's would have been the most appropriate way to eulogize a baseball man of Ernie Harwell's stature.

There's nothing I can say here to add any new depth to what's been said and shown already. I'll just bow my head with the rest of you, swallow the lump in my throat, and swipe at a couple salty tears as they escape my lids. Ernie himself says it most eloquently in his "That's Baseball" speech:

Baseball is the President tossing out the first ball of the season and a scrubby schoolboy playing catch with his dad on a Mississippi farm. A tall, thin old man waving a scorecard from the corner of his dugout. That's baseball. And so is the big, fat guy with a bulbous nose running home one of his (Babe Ruth's) 714 home runs.

There's a man in Mobile who remembers that Honus Wagner hit a triple in Pittsburgh forty-six years ago. That's baseball. So is the scout reporting that a sixteen year old pitcher in Cheyenne is a coming Walter Johnson. Baseball is a spirited race of man against man, reflex against reflex. A game of inches. Every skill is measured. Every heroic, every failing is seen and cheered, or booed. And then becomes a statistic.

In baseball democracy shines its clearest. The only race that matters is the race to the bag. The creed is the rulebook. Color merely something to distinguish one team's uniform from another.

Baseball is a rookie. His experience no bigger than the lump in his throat as he begins fulfillment of his dream. It's a veteran too, a tired old man of thirty-five hoping that those aching muscles can pull him through another sweltering August and September. Nicknames are baseball, names like Zeke and Pie and Kiki and Home Run and Cracker and Dizzy and Dazzy.

Baseball is the cool, clear eyes of Rogers Hornsby. The flashing spikes of Ty Cobb, an over aged pixie named Rabbit Maranville.

Baseball just a came as simple as a ball and bat. Yet, as complex as the American spirit it symbolizes. A sport, a business and sometimes almost even a religion.

Why the fairy tale of Willie Mays making a brilliant World's Series catch. And then dashing off to play stick ball in the street with his teenage pals. That's baseball. So is the husky voice of a doomed Lou Gehrig saying., "I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth.”

Baseball is cigar smoke, hot roasted peanuts, The Sporting News, ladies day, "Down in Front", Take Me Out to the Ball Game, and the Star Spangled Banner.

Baseball is a tongue tied kid from Georgia growing up to be an announcer and praising the Lord for showing him the way to Cooperstown. This is a game for America. Still a game for America, this baseball!

Ernie, you are baseball. Thank you so much for being the thread through all of our baseball lives.

Turning the Page

I'm not a person that likes making pre-season predictions. Even if I did enjoy sooth-saying, I wouldn't bore you with my stupid opinion here. I'd just make some wagers and try to fatten my wallet. It's such a crap-shoot anyway, players go down with injuries, teams overachieve or tank inexplicably...what's the point? I guess it could be satisfying to successfully predict a player's resurgence...or flop, and some of it is based on good analysis of previous years' stats, like a pitcher's BABIP. But, it's just not for me. Many experts will make their picks known, so go check those out if you're into it.

I prefer to savor the drama that unfolds for me over 162 glorious games. Now, it's 2010. The horror show of 2009 is fading from the rearview mirror. Pitchers and catchers, that most magical of phrases, will be reporting in two days. Spring isn't just a mirage in the desert that is winter anymore. It's now tantalizingly within reach. In a couple weeks, actual games will be played on sun-warmed ballfields in Florida and Arizona.

On March 20, I will no longer be a Spring Training virgin. I'm going to my first Spring game in Lakeland this year. I'll see our boys take on the Phillies. I'll be drunk on sunshine and baseball. The sight of my Tigers in the Old English D will only intoxicate me further. Don't let your jealousy get the best of you here. I wish I could take every Tiger fan with me. Every fan deserves to be there to end the baseball fast that lasted four long months.

On a side note, Ernie Harwell continues to be our voice of baseball. Although the inoperable cancer is taking its toll on his body, he decided to keep writing a column for the Detroit Free Press as long as he is able. I look forward to that column every week. I plan to savor every word.

The Voice of Baseball

Ernie Harwell recently made an appearance on MLB Network's Studio 42 with Bob Costas. I caught the first airing on Tuesday night. The program was taped during the World Series, and Harwell acknowledged it would probably be his last, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer of the bile duct in September of this year.

I was rapt throughout the interview, even though most of the content was already familiar. Mostly I wanted to just hear his voice, and listen to clips of him calling games. To see him speak with genuine humility about his career was something indeed. He essentially glossed over the fact that he is an beloved icon, not just here in Detroit, but throughout baseball. Ernie actually said he hoped that listeners of his broadcasts felt like he was their friend, because that's how he himself felt.

I hope he knows that he fostered the love of baseball for countless young fans, me chief among them. I knew he was something special even as a 14-year old newbie to baseball. His storytelling, historical knowledge, and letting the game speak for itself were all hallmarks that stood out even to my untrained mind.

One thing I did not realize, was that Ernie did not begin using his signature home run call "It's Looooooooooooooong Gone!" until the late 80s. He was not using it at the time of the 1984 World Series.

The interview should have been two hours, seriously. They could only touch briefly on subjects, many of which deserved lengthier treatment. Many others, such as Ernie's recommendation of Jose Feliciano to play the national anthem (which stirred up a firestorm of controversy at the time, after the unorthodox, but incredibly beautiful rendition), were not discussed at all. If, by chance you've never heard it, please give it a listen here.

The late Bo Schembechler has made himself some enemies beyond the grave after Harwell revealed that Bo walked past Ernie's outstretched hand at event they both attended (quite some time after his infamous firing of Harwell in 1990). Bewildering is it not, that Bo was the one to hold a grudge in that situation?

It's been a syrupy post, but I'm not apologetic. When Ernie quoted his "That's Baseball" speech from memory at the end of the interview, I won't lie, my eyes were not dry. My original tribute to Ernie can be found here.

Nostalgia Alert

When I started this blog, I knew I would at some point write a post on broadcasting legend Ernie Harwell.   I'm letting you know up front that this will be a sentimental journey, filled with cornball memories and sappy reminiscing.  So, if that kind of thing makes you feel like you're gonna lose your lunch, read no further.

As I mention in my profile, I went to my first Tigers game in the summer of 1983.  It was love at first sight for me, who had never really taken an interest in baseball before.  I can't explain how or why, but I loved baseball and the Tigers from that day forward.  If you remember your first trip to the ballpark, maybe you can relate.  There's just something about spending an afternoon in the sun-soaked stands watching the Boys of Summer.

Anyway, I grew up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and not just in the Upper Peninsula, but out in the sticks.  We could not even get cable where we lived.  Our TV reception included about four stations in total.  So, not too many Tigers games on the Tube, capiche?  I started listening to radio broadcasts right away.  I didn't know at the time how singular Ernie Harwell was, I just enjoyed listening to him and Paul Carey bring the games to life for me.  Baseball is a great radio game.

Many a night, I would fall asleep to their voices, as the west coast road games went into the wee hours.  Some summer nights I would sit in the living room by myself, after everyone else had gone to bed, and listen in the dark with the stereo on.  Those nights were just about perfect.  The windows were open, letting in cool, breezy night air, and a few night sounds filtered in to mingle with Ernie and Paul's voices.  I could just about see the action.

In 1984, Ernie and Paul were my lifeline to that amazing season.  I think I only went to one game at the ballpark that year (again, think of me pining away in the sticks up north).  It didn't matter much, because the games were just as riveting over the airwaves.  At the beginning of the season, I had created a little hand-made tally sheet to record each win and loss in blue and orange marker.  Imagine my glee when we started off 35-5, and never lost the lead the whole season.  We emerged World Series victors, and I'm grateful that so many of the moments from that season came to me from Ernie and Paul.

When I was in college, the unthinkable happened:  some idiot decided it was time for a change, and Ernie and Paul were shown the door.  I was ranting and raving (much like I do here in these posts) about the lunacy of this move, when my new husband walked in the door of our apartment.  He is from Wisconsin, and decidedly not a baseball fan, so he was a little more than mystified at all the hubub over a broadcaster's firing.  I tried to explain, but I think it was all lost on him.

Thankfully, our own Mr. Illich had sense enough to bring Ernie back so he could retire on his own terms when the time was right after the 2002 season.  If you have not heard Ernie broadcast a game, you must check out some of the audio archives here.