Number 6

Damn. Just, damn. Your childhood heroes aren't supposed to die.

Detroit Tigers legend Al Kaline passed away today at the age of 85. He was my Tigers hero when I was a kid. I remember him playing right field at old Tiger Stadium. I remember standing in right field one day in 1998, and I just stood looking around the old ballpark, just to see what it looked like to him all those years, the 22 he suited up for the home team.

He told manager Mayo Smith not to play him in the 1968 World Series, his first and only one, because he didn't deserve it. He hadn't been playing well enough and believed others merited his spot. Smith found a way to get him into the lineup. Kaline responded by hitting .379 and driving in the runs in Game Five which put the Tigers on the road to wining the Series. They never trailed again.

I remember watching him play first base in a game in 1970 as his career waned. He looked like he belonged there as much as he belonged in right field.

Years ago my family bought me a Tigers home jersey with Kaline's number on it. I always cherished it, and now it means that much more. I wore it to the hospital the day me Pops died because I knew Pops would like it. I'll wear it tonight. I'll wear it on my walk tomorrow.

Godspeed Number 6. Baseball will simply never be the same again.