Diehard Tigers fan watches postseason glory
In the eighth inning on Wednesday, with the home team ahead 3-0, Comerica Park in downtown Detroit was really rocking.
It was literally rocking, as the stands began to shake under the feet of the sellout crowd.
And it was also figuratively rocking, as those fans, almost 45,000 of them, got on their feet and belted out a singalong of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” The loudest line, naturally, was “born and raised in south Detroit.”
Did you stop believing?
In July, when the Tigers fell 10 games behind .500? In August, when their chance of making the playoffs dropped to 0.2%?
Who could blame you if you did?
But someone let the Tigers get hot. They won 31 out of 42 games down the stretch to claim a wild card slot in the postseason!
Then they swept the Astros in Houston, an unlikely outcome that guaranteed there would be at least one playoff game in Detroit.
I decided I needed to be there.
I’ve been a Tiger fanatic for so long, I can rattle off most of the roster of the 1968 World Series championship squad (check out my cartoon of Cy Young Award winner Denny McLain on the Commentary page in today’s Alpena News, Page 4A).
Living in Baltimore during the World Series season in 1984, I caught six games at old Memorial Stadium. Alan Trammell, Darryl Evans, and Sparky Anderson all autographed their baseball cards for me!
But I’d never been to a playoff game.
It turned out to be an event — a spectacle — beyond my imagination.
It was an ideal day for a playoff baseball game, with perfect blue skies and the invigorating tang of autumn in the cool air. Traffic clotted up on the streets a mile from the ballpark, and the sidewalks filled with people wearing Tiger gear of every sort. Almost everyone in attendance sported team regalia, from beloved vintage jerseys — some with the names of stars from 1984 — to brand-new apparel — “2024 Postseason” hats and “Gritty Tigs” shirts.
The man I sat next to, a Venezuelan immigrant, wore a tropical shirt celebrating his countryman Magglio Ordonez, with Venezuelan flags and olde English D’s, from 2011.
The pre-game festivities included the sixth-grade teacher from St. Clair Shores who single-handedly made “Don’t Let the Tigers Get Hot” into the rallying slogan of the team, dancing on the dugout roof with the cheerleaders. The New York Times had featured him in an article in that morning’s paper. Talk about living the dream! His students must idolize him.
The crowd got loud when the lineup was introduced. They got louder when their Tigers jumped out to a 1-0 lead in the first. A second run in the third kept them stoked up. But, when the scoreboard showed the New York Times ranking of best stadiums for home field advantage, which placed Comerica Park last among the eight playoff venues, they took it personally, and got even louder.
My smartwatch vibrated, warning me that it was a “loud environment,” as if I needed to be informed.
Then came the rocking eighth inning, and the “Don’t Stop Believin'” singalong, and the place was orange bedlam, with everyone waving the rally towels handed out to them at the entrances.
And then, in the ninth, 44,750 voices deafeningly hooted along with the White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army,” “Oh, oh oh oh, oh, oh …,” as the Cleveland Guardians went down in order.
It had been another “pitching chaos” shutout, with six different hurlers doing their part.
Fireworks followed. No one headed for the exits. We stood and yelled and whirled our orange towels over our heads for quite a while.
When we tore ourselves away, we carried the electricity of the moment out into the concourses and onto the streets. The sky seemed brighter and even more blue after the victory. It was a frown-free zone.
Not so much after Thursday’s game. “Pitching chaos” could not seal the deal. The Guardians scored three runs late, erasing a one-run Tiger lead, to win 5-4 and send the series back to Cleveland for a decisive fifth game.
I’m glad I wasn’t there.
I’d been sorely tempted to stay in Detroit to see what I hoped would be the clincher instead of heading home to Harrisville. That would have been a huge letdown after Wednesday’s euphoria.
Now it’s all up to the phenomenal Tarik Skubal, who won the pitching Triple Crown of wins, ERA, and strikeouts this season, en route to his likely unanimous choice for the Cy Young Award.
Let’s hope he’s unhittable deep into the game today, and that the relief pitchers follow suit, to send this astounding edition of the Tigers — the oldest player among them just 28 — with its 11 rookies — the most in Major League postseason history — to play for the pennant against the Yankees.
Are you a believer?
Go Gritty Tigs!