All Quiet on the Eastern Front

After a flurry of huffy comments over on Ari Herzog's blog all has quieted. Everyone must be watching the Red Sox game, which has gone all boring and which is why I'm here doing this with the game on in the background. Just think of all the energy I'm wasting with both the computer and the TV on.

Well, ya know? I've been a fan of baseball ever since I was a sprout. Don't know why; no one else in my family was (then) a fan. I would sit by myself, watching my beloved Detroit Tigers and my cheers echoed off the walls of an otherwise empty room.

Sometimes my mother, who is of English origin, would try to watch but she kept getting confused with her cricket background and would cheer when someone caught a fly ball - I mean, when MY team would be out. She never could get that straight.

Anyway, this big tiger head would come on the screen when a Tiger hit a home run and there would be all this roaring and it was fun. They don't do that anymore.

I remember the first time I went to a game in Tiger Stadium. I was in college, in Ann Arbor, and my friends who were from Detroit invited me to a game. I don't remember exact details (we were probably ... errrr ... in an altered state of consciousness?) but it was good. I do remember people yelling "Hit da ball, Willie!" at slugger Willie Horton.

More recently ... as in 24 years ago ... I was at Tiger Stadium for game 5 of the World Series. Coincidentally, the Tigers won the World Series that night. This I remember vividly. The Roar of '84.

I wasn't alone in '84, though. My sister (the one who lives in Gloucester), her friend and I were there together and were united in outrage, I recall, when the next day the front page of the Detroit News had a full-page photo of Kirk Gibson, heralding him as the hero of the night before.

It was Lance Parrish, the catcher, who actually hit the game-winning homerun.

I still have a Tigers gizmo on my keychain, after all these years of living here in Mass. My Tigers cap was lost when our family's sailboat broke free of its mooring in Gloucester Harbor and was smashed into oblivion on the rocks.

The Tigers in '84 had 2 on-air guys: outfielder Al Kaline of the great '68 team and former third baseman George Kell.

Chet Lemon was up to bat. Now, normally, George did most of the talking. Here's why.

"One strike and no balls on Chet Lemon," Al announced. Honest, he said it. Ask my sister (the one who lives in Gloucester).