Official Blog | Saturday | March 20th, 2010

Mar
19

VIDEO: Dave Rozema’s Famous 1982 Karate Kick at Tiger Stadium

By Steve Thomas

Baseball fights are rarely memorable.  But when they are, look out.

The video clip below is from a game at Tiger Stadium in May of 1982 between the Minnesota Twins and the Detroit Tigers. 

There were scraps throughout the game — but the one everyone remembers is when Dave Rozema came flying across our television screens feet first in an airborne karate kick.

Unfortunately, Rozema did more damage to himself than anyone else.  He left the field on a stretcher, had to have surgery the next day, and went on the 60-day disabled list.  Oh well.  If nothing else, in one fell swoop, Rosie became an unforgettable part of Tigers history. 

The kick is more easily viewed at the end of the video where it is shown twice in slow motion.

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Mar
18

New NFL Overtime Rules Could Change History

By Jeff Lutz

I have trouble recalling whether Phil Luckett was a referee that was plain bad or a victim of poor circumstance. Now 10 years since he last wore the white hat in the NFL, Luckett remains a fixture in the rules of NFL games, as his mess-ups have brought on rule changes in the league. On Thanksgiving Day, 1998 at the Pontiac Silverdome, Luckett made an interesting call on a coin flip which led to a Lions victory over the Steelers. For next season, the coin flip may carry an entirely different meaning.

Luckett’s existance in the NFL brought on two signficant rule changes: 1) players must declare “heads” or “tails” before the coin toss and 2) video replay is now in wide use to challenge calls on the field. The ongoing discussions for a rule change however, put more of the game in the hands of the players by allowing both teams to touch the ball if the first team does not score a touchdown. This means that the 31% of games where the team that loses the opening coin toss also loses the game without touching the ball, would not apply here. The league is creating a remedy to one of its most glaring issues, much as it once did when Luckett became a two-word expletive in many NFL cities.

The Lions have had their fair share of good luck over the past few years with overtime. In fact, the last Lions game to go to overtime was a win over the Vikings in 2007. Naturally, it took a Jason Hanson field goal to send the Vikes home unhappy. In the Steelers-Lions Thanksgiving Day game highlighted, it was the Lions that ended up on the winning side. The issue lately for the Lions has been their struggling ability to keep it close at the ends of games.

What do you think? Do you like the proposed NFL overtime rules? What would you suggest?

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Mar
17

Great Memories of an Old-Time Tiger Stadium Souvenir

By Bill Dow

Ok, so here I go again waxing nostalgia about Tiger Stadium and all my great memories at that green cathedral.

Too bad. I can’t help it.

One of the all time great Tiger Stadium souvenirs from the 1960’s was the cardboard, megaphone popcorn holder with a handle on it. When you were done stuffing yourself with the popcorn and nearly cracking your teeth munching on the kernels, you could scream into that the cardboard megaphone and raise some hell.

And I did.

You might be surprised to learn that your voice could really be heard screaming into that piece of cardboard, especially as it echoed in the lower deck.

“Come on Willie, hit a homer! Pepitone, you’re a bum!

I don’t recall the price of the popcorn, but chances are it was less than a dollar considering that box seats were $3.50, the Tigers Yearbook was 50 cents and the twelve player picture pack was 25 cents in 1962.

But that simple, utilitarian popcorn holder still had another use.

When you were done eating your popcorn and yelling into the megaphone, after the ballgame you could stand outside the Tiger locker room (until security said “time to go home kid”) or stand on the sidewalk at Michigan and Trumbull as the players pulled out of their parking lot and ask them to sign the popcorn holder. Sure enough, on the back of the holder was a small white box that said “autographs”.

Now I must admit, I never had a player sign the popcorn holder/megaphone, and I don’t think I ever saved one, or if I did, it probably was thrown out three decades ago.

But I’m glad at least someone saved one.

A couple of years ago I bought one on eBay for around $10. I have it displayed next to some other Tiger Stadium related stuff in my office. Just looking at it brings back some wonderful memories and yet it was such a simple item.

It was wonderful. And you won’t find it at Comerica Park.

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Mar
16

Detroit: A Sunday City

By Tom DeLisle
It must have been an unusual sight.
 
If you were driving on Michigan Avenue last Sunday morning, just before noon, and you thought you saw a guy traveling east in a Ford Freestyle, tooling along at legal speed in the middle lane as he approached Trumbull Avenue … and he had his left hand pushed across his eyes so he couldn’t possibly see anything around him … you did.   It was me.
 
Yes, I checked first to see if there were any cops around, going either way on Michigan.  It was a quiet morning, very little traffic, and I took the risk. 
 

View of vacant Tiger Stadium site from the pedestrian bridge located near the intersection of Cochrane and Kaline Drive.

I was able to block the entire view to my left as I approached the famous intersection, and coasted through without having once taken in the view north of my car.  And thus and thereby did I keep my record intact of never ONCE having subjected my sensitive self over the past ten years to the visual setting that beckoned at Michigan and Trumbull.  I refer to my “record” in this refusal to see what is … or more to the point, what isn’t … looming there, practically begging to be seen … “live” or on TV or pictured in the newspapers … at the most famous intersection in the entire State of Michigan.

(Think that’s exaggerating?  Okay, give me another … a rival that you could claim has been better known around our state than Michigan and Trumbull.  An intersection or an address.  Yeah, Woodward and Jefferson is a contender, roughly identified as the site where Cadillac literally leaped out of a canoe in 1701, planted the French flag next to the fist of Joe Louis, and declared Detroit the westernmost outpost of the King of France.  So that qualifies.  Let’s see … does anybody know where the governor of Michigan lives?  Does anybody care?  Does anybody know where she’s been for the last six months?)
 
Nope, Michigan and Trumbull is the address best known in the history of our state.  And do you know what is THERE … at that storied site?  You got it.  What is there is exactly what I saw last Sunday.  Nothing.  Not a damn thing.  From what my sources tell me — in this case my source being the guy from New York City who was sitting next to me in my car — the intersection and the land just north of it comprise exactly what they did 200 years ago … diddley.   In fact, diddley squat.  Actually, that locale is currently much LESS useful than it was about 125 or 150 years ago, when it was at least then being put to good commercial use as a haymarket.  Now … to be frank … I don’t have much of an idea what a haymarket is, or what function it exactly serves.  But for a good period of time in the late 19th Century, Michigan and Trumbull was the location of a haymarket that supplied the … well … the hay-seekers of southeast Michigan.  I mean, you gotta get your hay somewhere, right?  I can still recall my mother admonishing me about wasting hay when I was a child, pointedly reminding me that children were practically starving for hay in Korea.
 
One of the worst old metaphors that colored America’s rapidly changing public scenery and language in centuries past — one even more disgusting than the concept of children starving for things in foreign countries because we were so uncaring here — was the bromide about ‘beating a dead horse.’  And in case you hadn’t noticed yet, that is about exactly what I am doing here.  Because I still refuse to let go of my attachment to the late lamented Bennett Park, Navin Field, Briggs Stadium, Tiger Stadium … all situated at the very special location of Michigan and Trumbull that I so carefully ignored Sunday.
 
Oh, to be sure, there  are many vibrant businesses still functioning within walking distance of that corner — restaurants, famed old drinking establishments, cool stores appealing to sports fans and memorabilia collectors.  But on the site itself, the magic ground where giants once ran … and in the very air itself, just above that ground, stretching a few stories into the Sunday morning sky … memories make themselves at home.  Because they are at home. 
 
And even though some rubes busied themselves in recent years with the job of tearing down everything that tied something as ethereal and eternal as sublime memories to the bricks and mortar of that which housed them … even in a city with 33,500 empty houses that no one can find the time or money to tear down as they accentuate 91,000 vacant lots …  the job of attempting to cancel out those forever memories and the gripping deeds of those giants got identified, funded, and put into motion with astonishing, even disturbing, efficiency.  It took a while for the plan to make itself obvious, as if the bureaucrats would be exposed as having a real heart at long last … but ….
 
Down it all came.
 
And yes, you should love your new stadiums, or as they might say in wonderful West Bloomfield, your new stadia.  They are lovely sports emporiums (emporia), new theme parks dedicated to the best of old games.  After all, you wouldn’t have a Comerica Park if Goose Goslin hadn’t driven Mickey Cochrane in from second to win that 1935 World Series, setting our city virtually and wonderfully afire at long last.  There might not be a rightfield of dreams at the new park if Al Kaline had not slipped on the outfield grass fielding a routine single in 1954 at Briggs, and then — while sitting out there flat on his ass – fired a perfect strike to second base to put out the surprised –  make that shocked – Cleveland hitter.
 
There mightn’t either be a perfect end zone made of composite materials sitting atop painted-green roughage and imported dirt at Ford Field for contests played under always-identical ’skies’ and amid exact temperatures if maybe Robert Lawrence Layne had not peered up into a fading and misty gray sky in late December of 1953, finding a loping Jim Doran breaking free down the right sideline, on the northward side of Briggs Stadium.  And with Doran’s cleats chewing up what had been perfectly manicured outfield grass just a few months earlier … Layne cooly laid that “Duke” football right here …right here … 40 yards through the air and then perfectly into #83’s outstretched hands … as he crossed into that muddy north end zone, giving those legendary “old pro’s,” the storied Detroit Lions, their second straight NFL World Championship. 
 
Cleveland down, once again.  Super Bowl, Schmuper Bowl.
 
Nope, you enjoy your new games, your new teams.  Our new ballyards.  Every generation ultimately gets what it deserves.  Just let me quietly ponder the old dreams … and beat — if you will — those beloved old horses that still run ’round on the tracks of my mind.  Just, please, don’t demand that some of us give up the memories, of where we went, of who we were.  We shouldn’t ever have to surrender that.  And don’t demand … if I promise to obey every traffic light and sign … that I look at that haymarket site.  
 
Not yet, anyway.  It’s only been ten years, after all.   So not just yet.

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Mar
15

Detroit Tigers Legend “Wahoo” Sam Crawford

By Bill Dow

On the brick wall beyond the left centerfield fences at Comerica Park, the last names of several Tiger Hall of Famers are listed in white lettering.

In the dead of winter, Sam Crawford prepares his bats in the basement of his Detroit home.

It’s a safe bet that a lot folks at the stadium see in the name “Crawford” and have absolutely no idea who “Crawford” might be. After all, fans in 1999 left the legendary slugger Harry Heilmann and this guy “Crawford” off the All-Time Tiger team.

Well “Wahoo” Sam Crawford from Wahoo, Nebraska was one of the greatest sluggers in the Dead Ball Era. He still holds the career record for the most triples (309) and for most inside the park home runs in a season with 12. One can only guess what he would have done with a livelier baseball.

After starting his major league career with the Cincinnati Reds in 1899 where he played through the 1902 season, Crawford arrived in Detroit and starred here from 1903 until he retired in 1917. After Ty Cobb’s arrival as an 18 year old rookie in 1905, Crawford and the Georgia Peach terrorized the American League and led the Bengals to three consecutive pennants from 1907 to 1909. Regrettably, they never won a World Series.

Despite the fact the two despised together, they were able to communicate well enough in the outfield and on the base paths.

In 1911, Crawford hit a career-high .378 with 115 runs batted in and 57 extra base hits. He led the American League in triples fives times including a record 26 in 1914.

When Harry Heilmann arrived on the scene, Crawford’s days were numbered as the future .400 hitter ended up replacing Wahoo Sam in right field. When Crawford retired after the 1917 season he had a career batting average of .309. In 1957 he was elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

In 1939 at Briggs Stadium, Yankee Tommy Henrich remembered seeing Crawford, then just a few weeks short of turning 59 years old, taking batting practice in his civvies during a visit to the Motor City. It was just one day before Lou Gehrig ended his consecutive games played streak not yet knowing that his sudden poor performance was due to the disease that would bear his name.

Crawford could still hit.

“Now Crawford wasn’t hitting line drives but he was making nice contact,” Henrich told a reporter years later. Gehrig was standing at the cage. “I often wonder if Sam Crawford’s performance at his age convinced Lou that something was wrong.”

When author Lawrence Ritter traveled the United States in the 1960s tracking down old ballplayers for “The Glory of Their Times,” a book that broadcaster Red Barber called “the single best baseball book of all time,” Ritter’s discovery of Crawford was you might say just a little bit lucky.

Ritter found Crawford’s home in Hollywood, California but Sam’s wife Mary said he liked his privacy and had not been around for some time. She refused to tell Ritter where Sam was staying but hinted that he was in a small town 200 miles up the coast of California. She wouldn’t say the name.  Frustrated in not finding Crawford, he ended up in Baywood Park, California. One day Ritter took his clothes to the Laundromat.

What happened is something that a Hollywood screenwriter could not have dreamed up.  Ritter wrote:

“Seated next to me was a tall, elderly gentleman reading a frayed paperback. Idly I asked if he had ever heard of Sam Crawford, the old ballplayer. ‘Well, I should certainly hope so,’ he said, ‘bein’ as I’m him.’”

Ritter then went back to Crawford’s house and taped a long interview with the old man that turned into one of the greatest chapters of “The Glory of Their Times.” Ten years ago Ritter produced a cassettes and CDs of many of his interviews including the one with Wahoo Sam.

I highly recommend this marvelous book (and the tapes if you can still get them) and then you’ll learn even more about that “Crawford” guy.

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Mar
15

The D-Train’s Last Stand

By Jeff Lutz

For a fleeting moment last year, I thought he was back. In front of a decent crowd on a comfortable mid-May Tuesday evening, Dontrelle Willis pitched 6 1/3, giving up one hit in a 4-0 win over the Rangers. He was the toast of baseball for the evening, as Baseball Tonight and every other show had thought his issues were behind him. Weeks later he was back on the DL, and since then, Tigers fans and management have wondered if that May moment was just a flash in the pan.

I once remarked within my inner circle of friends, that the Tigers should have offered all 25 members of the 2003 roster to the Marlins for Willis following that horrific 2003 season. Willis had just thrown a rookie season of 3.30 ERA and 14 wins, only 29 more than the Tigers had won throughout the entire season. Alas this trade never came to fruition, but it was a moment of time that marked the importance of one player at one time in his career. Willis would go 54-48 in his following seasons with the Marlins, leading to the eventual trade with the Tigers.

This Spring Training, the results on the field have so far been positive about Dontrelle’s future on making the Tigers squad. His hefty contract has made the issue a bit more pressed for management, but he seems to be finding enough of the strike zone that he’s making the decision more difficult for Tigers brass regarding the ‘10 rotation. For making nearly $30 million in a three-year span with the Tigers, Detroit baseball fans are hoping for more than a singular May win to be the D-Train’s Detroit legacy.

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Mar
13

No Gold Cup Races in Detroit?

By Tom DeLisle
Say it ain’t so…
 
For the first time in modern memory, the prospect of a quiet — too quiet — summer is hanging over the Detroit riverfront.  The annual hydroplane race that has brought literally millilons to the shores along Jefferson Avenue and Belle Isle is in jeopardy this year, owing to the daunting challenges of modern economics.  The Detroit River Regatta Association has made preliminary plans to hold the Gold Cup, the oldest contested motorboat trophy in the world, on the weekend of June 25-27.  But that date, even the majestic spectacle of the Cup race itself, is dependent on the raising of the big bucks necessary to run boat racing’s premier event in first-class style.  And the clock is ticking.
 
Last year the Gold Cup was underwritten by Chrysler-Jeep Superstores to the tune of a quarter-million dollar donation.  But that sponsor can no longer fork over the necessary funds, and the DRRA is frantically seeking gold to put the Gold Cup back on Detroit’s hallowed course.  The Association has set a cut-off date of mid-April as the drop-deadline to come up with the needed dollars for the event.  The group is still seeking large corporate sponsorships, and is also appealing to at least a hundred local Daddy Warbucks types to contribute $1,000 each to keep the big race in town.
 
Just as Detroit put the world on wheels in the 20th Century, so did it also bring speed to water with its leadership in the world of motorboat racing.  And the prospect of the home city of fabled pioneer Gar Wood NOT hosting a world-class racing event seems unthinkable to local historians and fans.  Whether it be the Gold Cup, the Silver Cup, the international race for the Harmsworth Trophy … Detroit and its unique riverfront course have been the home of speed on water since the first race here in 1916.  The pear-shaped course has been called “The Yankee Stadium of boat racing” and DRRA honcho Mark Weber compares the prospect of not having the Gold Cup run here as akin to “Indianapolis not hosting the Indy 500.” 
 
You don’t have to be a motor geek to love the annual race here.  I still don’t know a carburetor from a hub cap, but I lucked into witnessing the 1961 race from the Belle Isle side, and have been madly hooked ever since.  Crowds estimated as high as a million to as ’low’ as 200,000 annually jam the riverfront to take in the amazing excitement that the world’s fastest boats provide.  The speed, sound, spray, and danger inherent in motorboat racing are never more beautifully on display anywhere in the world than here in Detroit.  In just the years that I have watched in open-mouthed amazement, legends such as Wild Bill Cantrell, Bill Muncey, Chip Hanauer and Fred Alter have sliced the water into towering roostertails in their beautiful three-point craft. 
 
Similarly, champions like Bob Hayward, local idol Chuck Thompson, and Colonel Warner Gardner have given their lives chasing the goddess of speed on the demanding waters of our river.  All of them died here in the tumultuous decade of the 1960s.  Detroit owes it to their memories to continue the traditions that live in the hearts of the hundreds of thousands who trek back to the river each summer to witness worldwide racing’s premier water event.  The technology has jumped from airplane engines to turbines; and the magic our race provides has survived world wars and the upheavals of time.  Let’s hope it lives to impress and dazzle the world yet again … and again … and again.

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Mar
12

50 Years Ago Today: Ernie Harwell’s First Tigers Broadcast

By Bill Dow

It is hard to believe, but fifty years ago today Ernie Harwell broadcast his first Detroit Tigers baseball game.

Over the course of 42 seasons, Harwell became the voice of summer in Detroit and a man so revered that it his hard to find someone else more admired in Michigan. Sadly, at 92, he is critically ill with inoperative cancer and is now no longer able to making public appearances or even allowing interviews as he is trying to rest comfortably with his beloved wife LuLu.

Fans who tuned into WKMH 1310 and WWJ 950 to hear the opening exhibition game of the Grapefruit League season from Lakeland, Florida heard for the first time Ernie Harwell describe Tiger baseball. His broadcast partner that day and for four consecutive seasons was George Kell who also became an iconic figure for Tiger baseball.

That same day the Pistons and the Minneapolis Lakers played an NBA playoff game at Grosse Pointe High School in front of just 1,938 fans in attendance. The game was broadcast nationally on NBC but was blacked out in Detroit.

The man largely responsible for Ernie Harwell coming to Detroit was George Kell who the year before was hired by the Tigers to announce games with Tiger broadcaster Van Patrick following the death of Patrick’s former partner Mel Ott.

As the voice of the Baltimore Orioles, it was Harwell who had introduced Kell to the broadcast booth.

During a ten day stint on the injury list in 1957, at the invitation of Harwell, the Oriole third baseman provided color commentary for Baltimore’s broadcasts. Two years later George Kell started a remarkable 37 year broadcasting career with the Tigers. A year ago this March 24th he passed away at age 86.

Harwell’s opportunity to work in Detroit occurred when the Tigers changed their beer sponsorship from Goebel to Stroh’s. Because Van Patrick had long been identified with Goebel, Patrick was fired. Stroh’s and Tiger management then asked Kell for a recommendation to replace the popular announcer. Kell called Harwell the last weekend of the baseball season in 1959 and told him that he had suggested that he fill in the vacancy. Within two weeks, Ernie Harwell was signed sealed and delivered.

In Harwell’s first broadcast, the Bengals came from behind to win the contest 8-6 thanks to the hitting of Al Kaline and Steve Bilko and the strong relief efforts of Hank Aguirre and Pete Burnside. (For the record, Harwell’s first call described Senator Billy Consolo bouncing out to future U.S. Senator Jim Bunning.)

Yesterday my complete article on Harwell’s first game appeared in the Detroit Free Press.

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Mar
11

The Meaning of Spring Training

By Jeff Lutz

I will be honest, I put way too much stock in spring training. Joel Zumaya has a bad outing as he works on a new pitch – I have a bad day. Miguel Cabrera goes 0-4 against the NY Mets split squad – I wonder if something’s wrong. Max Scherzer has back-to-back bad starts – I question whether the trade was worth it. Spring training is what it is, a number of weeks where players see some game situations as they get ready for the 162-plus game run through the regular season. For players like Minnesota’s Joe Nathan, spring training means much more.

Wednesday’s game against the Yankees was part of the healing process for Tigers fans still mourning the loss of Curtis Granderson to New York. Granderson now wears pinstripes, or whatever ugly uniforms teams decide to wear during this time of the year, and we as fans need to recognize that sports are a business and the Tigers are one mere company within the larger conglomerate. Granderson the ballplayer was more of an asset to these owners than Granderson the citizen, and the result is a deal that will hopefully make both teams better in the long run.

Much like Granderson in a Yankees uniform, seeing Johnny Damon or Jose Valverde wearing a Tigers uniform has been quite an alarming site. We have watched these players from a distance for a number of years now, and to see them in the Old English D has been something rather unusual. The pressure that these newcomers have to perform at a higher level during this time of the year must be incredible. For the Tigers to be successful, these players (and the other 23 on the squad) will have to sustain their high level of performance for an entire schedule.

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Mar
10

EL SID

By Tom DeLisle
I hate Sidney Crosby.
 
Now, before that statement sets off a border war with our neighbors to the south (yes, we in Detroit can literally look down on Windsor, towards which generations of Motown Men have beaten a frenzied path in search of the famed Cheetah’s Lounge, home of the Forty – count ‘em 40 — Jungle Maidens) let me explain that my frustration with the little fellow is on solid historical footing.
 
If you grew up in Michigan and played and love hockey — and I say we have as much a claim here to the game as they do in any of the outposts across southern Ontario — you understand the almost mythic hold that our Red Wings have had on local hearts.  Canadians (some of them, anyway) apparently think that Americans don’t know Boom Boom Geoffrion, longtime number 5 with the Montreal Canadiens … from Boom Boom LaVoom, legendary number 23 of Cheetah’s 40 — count ’em, Forty — Jungle Maidens.  They forget that we cut our sporting teeth here on a wonderfully successful NHL franchise that afforded us as real and passionate a grasp on their alleged national game as you’d find in any of their famed and farflung outposts — places like Moose Jaw, Nanaimo, and Saskatoon. 
 
I threw in that last locale, of course, with a purpose.  For it was the hometown of merely the greatest hockey player of all time … a man who made his claim to that title by skating circles around — and then around again — the best players in the hockey world for 25 years on a small pond of ice located just off Grand River Avenue on the near west side of our town.  Let’s hear somebody top that rich tradition.   And that brings us to the latest pretender to the throne of Gordie Howe … the afore-mentioned and personally reviled Sidney “Call Me Sidney” Crosby.
 
No question the kid is pretty good.  Landing a Stanley Cup (how it hurts to say so, and I’m convinced he did it just to piss me off) at the Joe Louis Arena last spring, AND the gold-medal winning goal in the Olympics recently (see the previous reference regarding pissing me off) places a nice pair of feathers in Sidney’s propeller-spinning beanie.
 
But here it gets goofbally:  It seems that for many Canadians it’s not enough to force foreigners to admit that ice hockey is THEIR national game; or to insist their team MUST win Olympic gold; even to field a team of women players who can smoke cigars, drink beer by the case, and beat the crap out of the Russian men’s team in a fistfight.  They also seem to maintain a flaming NEED to claim the current “Greatest Player in the History of the Game” for their country.  Of course, they — and we — had that once in the person of Saskatoon’s and Detroit’s #9.  But that wasn’t enough … not current enough, anyway … for our galoshes-sporting and competition-nervous neighbors 25 years ago.  Thus they had to foist a half-a-hockey-player, Wayne Gretzky, on the world as the then “Greatest Player of All Time” following Howe’s retirement from the game in the early 1980s.  (Had Gretzky, who had no defensive game, and has yet to visit any corner in any official NHL rink, been a native of the USSR … Hockey Canada would have merrily mocked and quickly dismissed even a whispered claim to his world supremacy.)   Still, Wayne it was.
 
But times change; paranoia rules.  So now comes Crosby.  By Canadian acclamation … via their own delirious appointment.  The new Latest Greatest.  
 
It was difficult enough that Howe had to survive bloody battle, wage an epic struggle with Maurice Richard to earn his heavyweight title.  The universally acknowledged Greatest of All-Time circa 1955-85 lived to see his crown suddenly swiped from his head; humbled by manic Gretzkyites who simply had to have a then-current Canadian as the new Best of All Time, to keep up with increasing threats from foreign lands.  And now Wayne-O is apparently being pushed aside for young Sidney and Crosbymania, so that Canada’s rewarded claims to hockey supremacy stay intact … and current. 
 
A question.  Why can’t they honor their history, and acknowledge that unmatched heritage, without periodically and frantically running to Keep Up With The Ovechkins?   It makes them look … frantic.  Unsure.  Uncool.  Insecure.  As though running scared.
 
A suggestion.  Win, even lose … without the weeping, minus the suicides.  It’s enough … well, it’s enough to make you dislike poor little Sidney.  (All right…maybe all that … and his personality.)  I say give The Kid 20 more seasons … and produce a balanced and honest evaluation of One-Way Wayne over that time.   And history, which subsists on emotionless perspective and the sure focus of the long-distance lens, will come back ’round to the man from Saskatoon … who made Detroit one of THE great hockey capitals of the world.

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