Once again, I know I haven't written anything for a while. I guess I haven't been "moved" to write. Well, when I heard that Mark Fidrych had died, I was moved.
If you were around, who can forget the 1976 baseball season? Yes, maybe I was biased since I was the big Detroit Tigers fan, but "the Bird" not only energized Detroit and the state of Michigan, but possibly the entire country.
Ironically, I was watching a replay of his huge Monday Night Baseball game against the New York Yankees this past Saturday. I was working, and had a great time reminiscing with one of my customers at the cardroom about Fidrych, the Tigers and just baseball in general. I think I had a story to tell about each player as they came up to bat.
But it was something else to once again watch Fidrych in action. He was mowing down the Yankees and I had forgotten about how he would sprint, I mean run - - I mean RUN to the dugout whenever he finished an inning.
I had the chance to meet Mark Fidrych once. My Dad arranged through our neighbor to meet Mickey Stanley in the Tigers Clubhouse when I was 13 or 14. When we were standing there with Mickey he called over the Bird, and both of them signed our gloves and baseballs. The writing on the gloves faded, but I held on to that baseball. It read, "Best Wishes, Mickey Stanley" and Mark Fidrych's scribble was not at all readable - but it was special. Unfortunately my house was burglarized several years ago and the thieves made off with that ball (I'm sure they had no idea who either player was).
I know Mark Fidrych loved baseball. He loved playing baseball. I remember reading an article once when he said he couldn't stand watching baseball on TV because he just wanted to play. I wish I had his skill - or even remotely close to it.
When his career came to the utmost of ending too soon, he went to work in farming and trucking. I read how much he loved his dump truck. This dump truck somehow became his baseball - and he died working with what he loved.
I've wondered what would have happened if Mark Fidrych hadn't injured his arm the way he did. Would he have performed those antics his whole career? Would he just have settled into being a great, dominate pitcher? Would the Tigers have won at least a few more World Series?
We will never know. But Thank You, Mark Fidrych, for what you gave to Detroit, Michigan, Baseball and Me, for that fleeting year, 1976.
If you were around, who can forget the 1976 baseball season? Yes, maybe I was biased since I was the big Detroit Tigers fan, but "the Bird" not only energized Detroit and the state of Michigan, but possibly the entire country.
Ironically, I was watching a replay of his huge Monday Night Baseball game against the New York Yankees this past Saturday. I was working, and had a great time reminiscing with one of my customers at the cardroom about Fidrych, the Tigers and just baseball in general. I think I had a story to tell about each player as they came up to bat.
But it was something else to once again watch Fidrych in action. He was mowing down the Yankees and I had forgotten about how he would sprint, I mean run - - I mean RUN to the dugout whenever he finished an inning.
I had the chance to meet Mark Fidrych once. My Dad arranged through our neighbor to meet Mickey Stanley in the Tigers Clubhouse when I was 13 or 14. When we were standing there with Mickey he called over the Bird, and both of them signed our gloves and baseballs. The writing on the gloves faded, but I held on to that baseball. It read, "Best Wishes, Mickey Stanley" and Mark Fidrych's scribble was not at all readable - but it was special. Unfortunately my house was burglarized several years ago and the thieves made off with that ball (I'm sure they had no idea who either player was).
I know Mark Fidrych loved baseball. He loved playing baseball. I remember reading an article once when he said he couldn't stand watching baseball on TV because he just wanted to play. I wish I had his skill - or even remotely close to it.
When his career came to the utmost of ending too soon, he went to work in farming and trucking. I read how much he loved his dump truck. This dump truck somehow became his baseball - and he died working with what he loved.
I've wondered what would have happened if Mark Fidrych hadn't injured his arm the way he did. Would he have performed those antics his whole career? Would he just have settled into being a great, dominate pitcher? Would the Tigers have won at least a few more World Series?
We will never know. But Thank You, Mark Fidrych, for what you gave to Detroit, Michigan, Baseball and Me, for that fleeting year, 1976.
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