Official Blog | Sunday | August 1st, 2010

Jul
29

The Unwritten Rules of Sports

By Jeff Lutz

I’m making a pilgrimage for the fifth time shortly to one of my favorite American cities – Las Vegas. The city is so outrageous and unrealistic that it actually becomes a well received break from the daily grind. Much like I’ve learned during my previous visits to Sin City, casino and club goers have a set of unwritten rules that they need to abide by with the threat of being ridiculed by fellow patrons. Sports are no different and those rules can have bigger payback than a scowl from a blackjack dealer.

Here are some at the top of my head.  What other rules are unwritten?

BASEBALL – Announcers, players and fans do not mention a no-hitter that is in progress; a bunt cannot end a no-hitter and an intentional hit-by-pitch cannot end a perfect game; when coming to the plate you do not cross in front of the catcher; when waiting for a pitcher to warm up, the player waits near his own dugout; when blowing out a team you do not take multiple pitches; a pitcher waits in the dugout until his stat line is completed

HOCKEY — When a fight is about to begin, do not fake out dropping your gloves; do not celebrate an empty net goal; don’t shoot the puck on net after the whistle blows; do not intentionally slide snow into the goalie’s face

BASKETBALL — Do not make plays to specifically enhance your stats; do not shoot 3-pointers with a big lead and plenty of time on the shot clock; don’t use a full-court press when your team has a large lead

FOOTBALL — Always take a knee when you have the ball and the lead late in a game; never keep all of your starters in when leading by a lot; never call for a fake punt or onside kick when leading by a lot

READ FULL STORY | COMMENT ON THIS POST | PERMALINK


Jul
12

Sympathy for Our Cleveland Friends

By Jeff Lutz

Soon reality will begin to sink in. Every hardcore sports fan has that one player on your team that will surely leave for another team and break your heart. When the 2010-11 NBA season begins, basketball will now have an “us vs. them” mentality. We want our players to pull an Yzerman, Dumars or Thomas and spend their entire playing careers here in Detroit, but that is no longer a realistic mentality.

As I watched LeBron James attempt to turn his words into sentences during a ridiculous “interview” with Jim Gray, it needed to be said that sports are a business and James’ loyalty to Cleveland, and Ohio, was only by birth alone. James always wanted something bigger and who are we to suggest otherwise? We take for granted seeing Matthew Stafford or Chris Osgood wear Tigers hats, but it was James proud to wear a Yankees hat when they came in town to play his “hometown” Indians. This free agent season was merely a game for James to yet again get what he wanted, and for another moment, another Midwest city is impacted in both spirit and economically.

When Ivan “Pudge” Rodriguez essentially began the transition of the Tigers from a bottom-feeder to a contender, he simply went to the city that gave him the most money. This was in a stark contrast to the pursuit of Miguel Tejada and Carl Pavano, who seemingly wouldn’t sign with the Tigers under any conditions. It’s my belief that even the most money-hungry athletes will feel a sense of loyalty when a team throws a bundle of money at them. In the Pudge deal, and the Ordonez deal that came shortly after, those players did demonstrate some loyalty to their new franchises through their deals.

For our friends in Cleveland, we know what it’s like to have odds seemingly against you. Cleveland, much like Detroit, is a constantly evolving city with a passionate sports base. The right people are leading those sports teams and it will only be a matter of time before that nearly 50-year drought comes to a halt.

READ FULL STORY | COMMENT ON THIS POST | PERMALINK


Jul
01

The Incredible Story of the Friendship Between a Fan and His Hero

By Bill Dow

During my experience of playing a reporter as an extra for the Billy Crystal produced HBO film *61 about the 1961 home run race between Yankee teammates Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle, I heard some very interesting stories on the set at Tiger Stadium ten years ago this summer.

Andy Strasberg and his hero Roger Maris at Yankee Stadium.

However none was as moving as the story I heard from Andy Strasberg who was hired by Crystal as a consultant for the movie. Strasberg is considered THE authority and the all time number one fan of Roger Maris, the man I still consider to hold the legitimate single season record holder for most homers in a season. (61 in ’61) (No steroids for Roger)

While sitting in the home dugout during a lunch break, Strasberg shared with me his incredible story of the friendship he developed with Maris that began as a kid growing up near Yankee Stadium.

When Maris was traded to New York in 1960, Strasberg took an instant liking to Roger Maris and when he was old enough to go to Yankee Stadium himself he would always sit in rightfield and speak with Roger during pre-game practice. At one point Strasberg worked up the nerve to ask Maris if he could have one of his game used bats and Roger said he would give him the next bat he cracked.

While the Yankees were out on a west coast trip, Strasberg was listening to the game on his transistor radio while under the covers when the Yankee broadcaster announced that Maris had broken his bat and was going back to the dugout to get another one. Sure enough, on the next home stand Maris ran out to right field prior to the game and told Strasberg he had the broken bat waiting for him at the lockeroom. The bat would become the first of many Maris game used items that Strasberg would eventually acquire, but more than that, he had acquired a friend for life.

This is how Strasberg told the rest of his amazing story.

“In 1966 I went off to college at the University of Akron, in Ohio. My roommate had a picture of Raquel Welch on his wall and I had a picture of Roger Maris. Everyone in the school now knew that I was a big Maris fan. Some of my friends said, “You told us that you knew Roger Maris. Let’s just go see.” So one day six of us drove 2½ hours to Pittsburgh to see the Cardinals play the Pirates. It was May 9, 1967. We got to Forbes Field two hours before the game, and there was the red number 9. It was the first time in my life I had ever seen Roger Maris outside of Yankee Stadium, and I figured he wouldn’t know who I was because the setting was different. I was very, very nervous. Extremely nervous, because I had five guys with me. I went down to the edge of the fence, and my voice was quavering as I said, “Ah, Rog…Roger….”

He turned around and said, “Andy Strasberg, what the hell are you doing here in Pittsburgh?”

That was the first time I knew he knew my name. I looked at him and I looked at my friends and I said, “Well, Rog, I’m with some guys from college. They wanted to meet you and I just wanted to say hello.” The five of them paraded by and shook hands and they couldn’t believe it. I wished Rog the traditional good luck and he said, “Wait a minute. I want to give you an autograph on a National League ball.” And he went into the dugout and got a ball and signed it. I put it in my pocket and I felt like a million dollars.

I’m very superstitious when it comes to baseball. That day I sat in row 9, seat 9 out in rightfield. In the third inning Roger hit his first National League home run, off Woodie Fryman.

I caught the ball.

It’s the most amazing thing that will ever happen to me in my life. I caught the ball and tears were rolling down my face. I couldn’t believe it. He came running out at the end of the inning—you’ve got to remember that Rog knew where I was, and it wasn’t crowded that particular game—and he said, “I can’t believe it.” I said, “You can’t? I can’t!”

After all that, Strasberg and Maris became very close friends, so much so that one of Roger’s son’s named their child Andy after Andy Strasberg.

In the movie, Crystal had Strasberg play the fan who actually jumped out of the stands to shake Roger’s hand after hitting his 61st home run. Today Strasberg, a former San Diego executive owns a sports marketing company in San Diego. One of his current ventures is the website, http://fantography.net  — a site that posts photos taken by fans at major league ballparks.

READ FULL STORY | COMMENT ON THIS POST | PERMALINK


Jun
26

Detroit’s Most Glorious Sports Moments

By Tom DeLisle
I recently compiled a list of the most exasperating defeats and disappointments in my long observation of local professional sports.
 
In the interests of fair play and balance, it seems only fair to also look back at the greatest moments I’ve experienced in following our local teams, reflecting on the finer times I’ve witnessed across more decades than I’d like to count.  My Worst Moments list constituted a baker’s dozen of defeat and despair; this compilation of golden memories will stop at ten.  This IS Detroit, after all:
 
1.   December 22, 1957:  Lions at San Francisco, Western Division playoff.  This is surely the greatest game in Lions history.  Down 27-7 in the third quarter of this championship confrontation, the Lions roared back for a 31-27 victory that left ‘em weeping at Kezar Stadium, with Detroiters delirious in front of their TVs on a Sunday night.  The then-never-champion 49ers didn’t recover until the Montana era.  Tobin Rote, Joe Schmidt, and Tom Tracy led the Lions in their stunning comeback.
 
2.   December 29, 1957:  Lions vs. Cleveland, World’s Championship game.  The gashouse gang that was the ‘57 Lions topped a season of miracles with an astonishing 59-14 rout of the favored Browns at Briggs Stadium.  Everything they tried worked.  Yup, the LIONS.  Personally, my first attendance at a Lions game.  I thought they’d all be this wonderful and joyous. 
 
3.  December 4, 1960.  Lions at Colts.  Down 15-13 after a spectacular Unitas-Moore TD pass, the Lions have time for one play.  It’s a beaut–a 65 yard Morrall to Gibbons TD pass that deflates Baltimore, 20-15, and brings an end to their two year domination of the NFL, and the Lions.  The Miracle on Turf.
 
4.   Thanksgiving Day, 1962.  Detroit vs. Green Bay.  The Lions, again.  Yes, they really USED to be that good, that colorful.  This time it was the Thanksgiving domination that was as good as the historic hype.  I was attending my third Lions game.  It was the last great moment of a once-great NFL franchise.  The Lions threw the elite Packers around like they were tackling dummies.  Plum to Cogdill; Brown, Karras, Schmidt et al. to Starr.  The 26-14 final was illusionary, this was 59-14 all over again.
 
5.   October 1964, Red Wings Opening Game.  One of the most amazing comebacks in major sports history begins when Ted Lindsay electrifies the opening night crowd at Olympia by skating out as a surprise member of the ‘64 Wings team.  Leader of the Red Wings in their glory years, the 39-year old Lindsay had retired in Chicago following the 1960 season.  Second only to Gordie Howe in local hockey esteem, the scrappy Lindsay (at 5-8 and maybe 160 pounds) helps lead the Wings to their first regular season championship since 1957 with 14 goals and 173 penalty minutes.
 
6.   April 1966, Red Wings vs. Chicago, Stanley Cup semi-final.  In the deciding game of a classic and dramatic series (remember Bugsy Watson vs. Bobby Hull?) the Wings are down 2-1 in the waning minutes, when Dean Prentice scores two electric back-to-back goals that ignite Olympia and propel the Wings into the ‘66 Stanley Cup final.  A victory reminiscent of the team’s glory days, it was the last hurrah at Grand River’s glorious old barn.
 
7.  October 1968, Game 5 of the Detroit-St. Louis World Series.  Down 3-1 in the Series, trailing early in the game, the Tigers are poised at last to take the lead.  At bat is Al Kaline, with everything on the line.  His unforgettable single into short right/center, connecting on a wicked low-outside strike pitch, sends the Tigers ahead to stay for this game and the two that follow in St. Louis.  As important as Horton’s throw to Freehan earlier in the game, it is the single that saves the Series.  And a golden moment of salvation for the greatest Tiger of our time.
 
8.  October 14, 1968, Game 7 Detroit at St. Louis.  Mickey Lolich strides into local lore with the greatest pitching performance in Tigers history.  His magnificent third Series victory — mowing them down at the plate and on the basepaths, cool as a cuke — reduces what Denny McLain did during the regular season nearly to insignificance.  Better, our town gets to finally shove it to the Cardinals IN St. Louis some 34 years after the Cards embarrassed the Tigers in the 1934 World Series in Detroit.  Real Detroiters never forget.
 
Okay, I was wrong.  I’m not even half done, not even out of the 1960s yet, and already nearly out of space here.  Who’da thunk we’d have so many glorious local moments worth recalling?  Certainly not a naysayer like myself.  This has been more fun that I figured.  But it will have to continue with more Glorious Moments in Part Two ….

READ FULL STORY | COMMENT ON THIS POST | PERMALINK


Jun
17

Izzo’s Legacy Forever Altered

By Jeff Lutz

Tuesday evening was a time for celebration and relief for Spartan fans – Tom Izzo had declared himself a Spartan for life. His record and success in the NCAA tournament have created this situation, and he undoubtedly deserves much of the credit that goes with all of those wins. As a graduate of a different university, I have great respect for the success Izzo has had with Michigan State. It is this same success that I now look differently at, especially after seeing how the Tom Izzo brand took a big hit this week.

As mentioned in previous blogs, I went to Syracuse, and my legendary basketball coach of choice – Jim Boeheim – has 829 wins or 73 from Bobby Knight’s all-time total. In a recent interview he did around his 800th win, he mentioned that he had received an offer to coach the Atlanta Hawks (same team that offered Izzo a contract in 2000) in the early ’80s. This was a revelation to Orange fans who had considered Boeheim a Syracuse-lifer. Boeheim has also had a great deal of run-ins with the media, but he always calls out the media member to their face, not hiding behind blanket statements.

What I’m trying to get at is that accountability should no longer be a word used in the home locker room at the Breslin Center. During his conveniently timed press conference, Izzo and MSU brass put the blame on the media for inappropriately handling their roles over the past two weeks. Izzo’s rambling speech quickly turned from celebratory to accusatory towards media and those who thought he would leave. Nobody asked Izzo to point and lecture media while he was running a youth camp. Nobody told Izzo to stay silent until his primetime news conference.

I can’t help but think what these latest moves did for a lot of us once-neutral fans that respected Izzo for the work he has done with the Spartans. With his recent actions it is hard to separate the coach from the personality, from the team. There’s no doubt that college basketball season will heal all wounds, but until then, Cavs and Spartans fans will weight the consequences of one person’s actions.

READ FULL STORY | COMMENT ON THIS POST | PERMALINK


Jun
10

When Pontiac Hosted the World

By Jeff Lutz

You could see the giant Swiss flag from miles around upon approach to the Pontiac Silverdome. The stark reminder that this was the world’s game, and seemingly one of the very few things that hadn’t been dominated by Americans over the years. As anticipation continued to build upon entering the stadium, my childhood eyes were fixated on something beyond the screaming Swiss fans or the pageantry before the game. For me, it was the sight of a grass field inside the building where Barry Sanders had run wild and monster trucks had run wilder. For one month in June of 1994, the United States was at the epicenter of the soccer world.

The World Cup begins on Friday in South Africa, and the event has a totally different attitude for Americans following winning hosting rites for the ‘94 Cup. Americans almost take for granted the appearance every four years in the World Cup, but it was the preceding Cup in 1990 that began the current run of participating in six straight World Cup finals. Also, it was the 1994 World Cup that made the idea of somebody buying the Silverdome for soccer purposes seem somewhat reasonable. Now that we’ve seen it can be done, and successful for major events, there is no reason why soccer can’t be as big at the professional level as it is for kids in grade school.

It’s also interesting to look back and think of how that moment in June of 1994 was a high point for Pontiac that would begin a significant downfall. The hotels and businesses in the area see the occasional traffic, but the events don’t come to the Silverdome like they used to. The drive-ins are being cleaned up for use again, but the empty Big Buck Brewery and the continuously shuttered Showcase Cinemas remind everyone of what was. The city of Pontiac is such a history-filled location at the other end of Woodward from Detroit, but for one sunny afternoon, history was made anew in its largest venue.

READ FULL STORY | COMMENT ON THIS POST | PERMALINK


Jun
06

Joe ‘n’ Elvis ‘n’ Me

By Tom DeLisle
There was an interesting series of shows that ran on the History Channel over the Memorial Weekend called “America:  The Story of Us,” and it was a kind of narrative pop history lesson about the origins and development of our country from the Mayflower to the present day.
 
The series featured vintage classic film and tape, computer-generated historic scenes, and costumed actors re-creating key events in American history.  On the whole it made for captivating viewing, 12 hours worth.  It seemed like an authoritative super-series, but thought the production left much be be desired in the casting of actors who played some of the great names in American history.  For example, the guy they picked to portray the hulking and menacing Joe Louis — a heavyweight champion whose famous visage remains clear to millions around the world – looked more like Richard Pryor on his worst day.  I mean, the showbiz Louis couldn’t have weighed more than 135 pounds and threw punches like a really angry Ellen Degeneres.  (At least he was black, they got that much right.)  
I took particular umbrage to the Louis miscasting because of the Brown Bomber’s importance to local sports lore, and because I met Louis once and he did me a terrific — if odd — personal favor.
 
In 1971 I did the dumb thing that millions of young — and dumb — young Americans do when they have time and money on their hands.  I flew to Las Vegas for a weekend.  A friend and I figured we couldn’t AVOID having a good time going to Las Vegas for a wild weekend.  (Fact is, to me anyway, going to Vegas on a bender is about as much fun as a typical New Year’s Eve outing.  You walk around thinking you’re supposed to be having a great time, but it seems to fall outside your reach; you have the constant feeling you ought to be somewhere else.)  One of the reasons we headed to Vegas was to catch Elvis Presley’s much-heralded set of comeback concerts at the International Hotel.  I was a longtime fan, and figured ‘what could be cooler than catching Elvis in Vegas?’
 
One problem:  On the Saturday night we confidently headed to the International to see Presley, we got out of a cab to find a block of hopeful concert-goers circling entirely around the building.  Whoops.  Elvis in ‘71 still had that SRO appeal.  Seeing that line let the air out of our anticipation, until my buddy had a great idea.  He ran to a phone and made a call.  Within minutes we were back in a cab, and headed to the famed Caesar’s Palace across the Strip.
 
We raced through Caesar’s until we saw the legend we were seeking.  There was the great Joe Louis, dressed in what looked like casual golf clothing, baseball-type hat and all, working the floor in his well-known capacity as a ‘greeter’ at Caesar’s.  He was nearly 60 then, and functioning in a capacity well beneath his legendary worldwide status … but it was Joe LOUIS.  I was impressed.  My buddy went right up to him, and told our tale of woe — we were two dumb Detroit guys doing Vegas for a couple days, and we had hoped to see Elvis, but that dream seemed dashed.  Wasn’t there anything that he, as a fellow Detroiter, could do for us? 
 
We followed Mr. Louis to a Caesar’s house phone.  He picked it up, asked for the International Hotel, and simply said, as best I can recall, “Bernie, it’s Joe, I got two guys here who need to Presley tonight.  Okay.”  He then turned to us, and said we should get back to the International, ask for Bernie, and we’d be taken care of.  Simple as that.  We thanked Joe Louis, ran out of Caesar’s, and upon arriving back at Elvis Central had the aforementioned Bernie hand us off to a waiter who deposited us in a beautiful large elevated booth, big enough for six and centrally located, located only about 75 feet from the stage.  
 
And that was how I saw Elvis Presley in 1971 (and yes he was thin in those days) – thanks to the kindly intercession of one of the biggest names in American sports history, and arguably the greatest heavyweight of all time.  I mean, it sounds like bragging, right?  Or an exaggeration.  But truth is truth, and that’s the story of Joe Louis … Elvis Presley … and me.  Pretty dang cool.
 
In referencing an old joke – Of everybody involved in that small tale, I’M the only guy I never heard of…..

READ FULL STORY | COMMENT ON THIS POST | PERMALINK


May
08

Me and Marv

By Tom DeLisle
I played hockey with Marvin Gaye.
 
Okay, that’s an outrageous opening that seems on a par with “I Met Monsters From Outer Space,” but it’s a true statement, and stems from a blog I listed here recently in which I mentioned having taken part in a local media hockey team back in the late 1960s and early ’70s.
 
The team, officially, was The Dick Purtan Media No-Stars, and I was one of the No-Stars and our captain and goalie, not surprisingly, was radio legend Dick Purtan.  Our team attracted a real cross section of weird locals from the news and entertainment business.  I was a reporter for the Free Press back in those days, so I qualified to play.  My teammates included guys like Purtan, and his sidekick Tom Ryan and their engineer Louis Schuck, sports announcers Ray Lane, Larry Adderly, and Tom Kelly; news broadcasters Kelly Burke and Mike Kenny, among other assorted disc jockeys and nutballs.  And, yes, for a while … Marvin Gaye.  I’ll get back to him.
 
The coolest part of our setup was that we played a series of charity games around the Detroit metro area for three winters against a team of Sports Celebrities.  And get these names from THAT team — Gordie Howe, Ted Lindsay, Darris McCord, Jim Martin, Jim Price, Earl Morrall, Ron Kramer, Sonny Grandelius … they were some of the regulars.  The list goes on and on; we played the Red Wing Oldtimers a few times, and in addition to Howe and Lindsay we had Marty Pavelich, Johnny Wilson, Bill Gadsby, and Johnny Mowers facing us down on the ice, in their full Red Wings regalia.  What a thrill.  Once, in 1971, the sports team was even joined by my all-time hero, Lions Hall of Famer Doak Walker, who wasn’t much of a skater, but a good sport regardless.  I was so dumbstruck by his presence that I couldn’t bring myself to speak to him, in the locker-room or on the ice. 
 
I’m still thinking of what I should have said.
 
But back to Marvin, or “Marv” as I called him.  Marvin Gaye, the Motown legend, also had a full and authentic Red Wings uniform, and where he got it I still don’t know.  He used to show up for our Monday night practices at Detroit’s Olympia rink in his Wings gear, and slowly skate circles around one end of the ice for a while, then leave and go home.  He showed up for one or two of our games around town … and promptly skated around in circles for a while, then left to go home. 
 
At the time I thought I recognized a trend.
 
I can’t really rate Marv’s abilities as a hockey player, but I DO think he was seriously held back in his development by those funny cigarettes he used to always smoke in the men’s room before taking the ice.  That may have explained his excessive circle-skating.  He used his hockey stick to prop himself up, and employed it like a kind of rudder.  He seemed like a nice enough guy … if he was slightly, well … distant.  And aloof.
 
But the bottom line remains:  Yes, I played hockey with Gordie Howe.  And against Ted Lindsay.  Even against Doak Walker.  But with …. as history will attest … my teammate, Marvelous Marvin Gaye. 
 
You ain’t gonna meet a lot of guys who can claim that…

READ FULL STORY | COMMENT ON THIS POST | PERMALINK


Apr
10

Frozen Four Arrives in Detroit

By Jeff Lutz

Caught at the end of one of the best sports weeks of the year, the Frozen Four definitely caters to its niche crowd. Let’s be honest – there are very few states in the union that even care about hockey. Fewer even care when their hockey teams are out of the playoffs and their colleges are eliminated from hockey’s miniature version of basketball’s March Madness. Where’s the uproar to increase the size of this college tournament?

Ford Field has been home to a Super Bowl and a Final Four, but TV viewers may have to check their monitors for what it is they’ll be seeing. For Wisconsin, RIT, Miami-Ohio and Boston College, this is their chance to shine in front of one of the largest crowds to see a college hockey game. Wisconsin won’t necessarily have stage fright for the game, they hosted over 55,000 in a game against Michigan in February. What a cool feeling it must be for some of these college kids who are used to smaller venues to show off their skills in Hockeytown.

It’s kind of a shame that those same local hockey fans will not be able to cheer for the Wolverines or Spartans competing in this year’s Frozen Four. MSU did not make the tournament (though Northern Michigan did) and Michigan fell in a controversial 2-OT loss to no. 1 seeded Miami-Ohio. One of those local schools would have been fantastic at the turnstiles, where the event is not doing as well as hoped. For college hockey fans, the teams on hand will do just fine. If not, there’s always the Masters or the Tigers on television.

READ FULL STORY | COMMENT ON THIS POST | PERMALINK


Apr
04

The Phenom

By Tom DeLisle

When I was a kid I had both the good fortune and the good sense to have a brother who was a hell of a baseball player.

Skip (my father was in the Navy in World War II, and a lot of boomer babies were labeled “little skippers” in the tradition of ships’ captains) was three years older than I, and was pretty much a self-made athlete. He didn’t have great speed or strength, or a natural hitting eye; but he was one of those guys whose greatest attribute was his determination. At about 5′ 11 and only 155 pounds he made himself into an All-City receiver, defensive back, and punter for De La Salle Collegiate in the old Catholic Central Division in Detroit.

A shot of my brother Skip DeLisle trying for a pass in the DeLaSalle-Notre Dame High School game of September of 1960. This photo originally appeared in The Detroit News.

During summers in the late 1950s, he applied himself to baseball, and after successful stints with Babe Ruth and American Legion teams at Lipke Field on Van Dyke, he was scouted and handpicked to join a select group of special kids who played high-level baseball at parks and diamonds all ’round the city of Detroit. The Ravens, whose home field was Palmer Park, were a group of outstanding ballplayers put together by legendary baseball and football coach Ron Thompson. The 300-pounds-plus Thompson assembled the only team in the City Federation League that was purposefully half-black and half-white. The teams the Ravens played — at historic old parks likle Manz Field and Butzel and Northwestern Diamond One and Palmer Park — in those wonderful summers of 1959 and 1960 were always all-black or all-white, but Thompson was out to make a statement — and win games — with his Ravens. He shared coaching duties with a white friend, and the athletes they recruited and coached truly represented a cross-section of the city of Detroit. Casual integration was not a hallmark of city life here in the late ’50s, but the players on the Ravens were about as tight-knit a group as you could hope to find on a seasonal team. They reminded me of those great mixed Brooklyn Dodgers clubs that I collected with my baseball cards — black catcher, white starting pitcher, black first baseman, white second baseman, black shortstop, white third baseman, black left fielder, black centerfielder, white right fielder … (with a couple of loopy left-handed relievers tossed in, staples of any baseball contingent worth a damn, amateur or pro.)

Skip was the rightfielder. He was only about a career .240 hitter, but he could field like a sumbitch and had maybe the best schoolboy outfield arm in the city. He could one-hop ropes to any base or the plate from almost anywhere in deep right or right-center, nearly 300 feet on the fly, remindful of another right fielder who played in Detroit back then. But as much fun as it was having a big brother who played for a really special and fascinating local team, it was the Ravens’ catcher who was the star, a lightning rod of attention, wherever the team traveled to play. The Catcher was fairly short and stocky and strong. Stocky? Strong? Maybe like Mike Tyson was stocky and strong. He had muscles in places where other people don’t even have places, and was as intense and driven an athlete as you could hope to see. What made him especially stand out, in his summers as a 15 and 16-year old Raven, was his incredible ability, and stunning power, at the plate.

Thompson and his staff kept exacting statistics and records on the Ravens’ performances each year, issuing them at a team party each winter. And for the two full seasons that my brother and The Catcher were teammates, the latter never hit LESS than … .650 a season. His second season he hit almost .690 against intense competition. AND he averaged well over a homer per game — nearly two — during the Ravens’ long summer schedules. I well recall him cannonading a ball out of Manz Field and over Connor Avenue that I believe is flying still; it disappeared over the centerfield fence at the 400 foot mark and faded high into the night. He regularly reached Grand River Avenue at Northwestern Field, prodigious shots carrying well over 380 feet, astonishing the usual SRO crowds in the small but packed bleacher seats there, and often boinking skidding traffic on the busy highway. Many teams just refused to pitch to The Catcher, regardless of the game situation. He was just too damn dangerous, and impossible to stop over the length of any game. Rival coaches placed their outfielders at the fences when they DID pitch to The Catcher. It didn’t matter. They just got better looks at the departing baseballs. At 16, playing for his city high school team, he hit a home run into the second deck of the right-center bleachers at Briggs Stadium. A true phenom, right out of the best of baseball lore.

Those were magic summers, made especially memorable by The Catcher. The night he disappeared the baseball at Manz, we found we had been sitting in front of a major league scout, who identified himself after the game. Bidding farewell to my family, he said “I’m going to go sign me a home run hitter.” I seem to recall the scout was from the Baltimore Orioles. But no, he never did sign The Catcher. Thankfully, our Detroit Tigers did. Ultimately playing in the same outfield as that other rifle-armed right-fielder, he helped bring a World Series Championship to our town in a later summer, and there is a statue in his honor today where the current Detroit Tigers play that forever recalls the greatest schoolboy athlete I ever saw, and maybe the greatest homegrown power hitter this city ever produced — Willie Horton.

READ FULL STORY | COMMENT ON THIS POST | PERMALINK


« Previous Entries