Tuning Out toTune Back In

Last night I did something that I rarely do. Rather than watch the Tigers baseball game on the tube I elected to sit in my bedroom and listen to it on the radio. And while it was not exactly like the days of yore, it did allow me a little taste of that childhood of mine spent next to the small transistor radio of my Dad's hearing the wonderfully dulcet tones of Ernie Harwell and Paul Carey as they called Detroit games back in the day.

It probably helped that the game ended dramatically. Ryan Raburn hit a pinch hit walk off two run home run for the Tigers to down the Chicago Cubs 5-4. Further, there is strong link to my Tigers childhood fandom in that one of the current announcers, Jim Price, was a backup catcher on our 1968 World Series Championship team. The other, Dan Dickerson, has a great radio voice, a necessity when it comes to sports broadcasting on the small box.

Any way you slice it, It was a great way to rediscover the joy of listening to a game rather than watching it. To be sure, seeing probably trumps hearing, but I have to admit there is an added excitement in having to wait for someone else to tell the story. On TV or in person, you see what's developing and usually know what's about to happen as it unfolds. Yet when someone else controls the tempo, it adds something to the event. The unknown gets thrown into the mix; how can that not be enthralling?

I don't want to risk overstating the point, but it's a little like being read to by your parents. You're arguably more engrossed in the action precisely because you must actively imagine what's going on, and perhaps anticipate just a bit more what may happen next. It isn't simply there in front of you. You must take some part in the construction of the story. You must be able to accept that just maybe a guy from Franklin actually caught that foul pop into the stands and is taking home a souvenir.

Undoubtedly part of my reaction is nostalgic. I do miss Ernie and Paul recreating the action from old Tiger Stadium during those pre-teen nights, their words emanating magically from my father's old black and white transistor radio. But why should we ever want to leave our past completely behind us? Especially when we are talking about the good old days?