Thinking about 1968

This past Monday Jim Price, the backup catcher on the 1968 World Series champion Detroit Tigers, passed away at 81. Godspeed, Mr. Price.

Naturally enough I find myself thinking about that summer, when I was the happiest 8 year old boy on the face of the Earth. So many of those men on that edition of the Detroit Tigers became my heroes; so many are gone now. But what would you expect, 55 years afterwards?

Al Kaline died, not of but during COVID, and never got the send off he deserved. Willie Horton, a product of Detroit's sandlots and whose outfield assist turned the 68 Series around (Brock is still out!), continues to work for the team. Denny McLain, Mickey Lolich, Mickey Stanley, John Hiller, Don Wert; those mainstays are still with us. Dick Tracewski, a player in 68 and uniformed coach with the 1984 World Champs (he and Gates Brown are the only two in uniform for both teams, as the Gator played in 68 and was hitting coach in 84) is 88. A few minor players are still around, but that's about it for the crux of the squad.

The days gone by. Wistful memories. But that's part of life, and life is good, isn't it?

Four times going yard again

Four Detroit Tigers hit home runs in the first inning of yesterday's game (August 8, 2020) against the Pittsburgh Pirates. That hasn't happened since 1974. I remember that game because I listened to it on the radio just as I listened to yesterday's game over the air.

To be sure, the circumstances were different. Yesterday I sat in the garage up in Hessel; in 1974 I was sitting at the dining room table behind me Pops, who sat at his desk doing his nightly paperwork. 325 miles and four and a half decades make a difference, don't they? 

He had this little black and white transistor radio which he used almost exclusively for listening to Tiger games. I bummed it often. If there's one thing I'd like to still have from childhood, that radio is it. There's a lot of memories of the tinny sound of Ernie Harwell and Paul Carey from back then.

Niko Goodrum, Miguel Cabrera, C. J. Cron and Jeimer Candelario hit them yesterday. Al Kaline, Mickey Stanley, Bill Freehan, and the light hitting and woefully unpowerful Ed Brinkman (me Mom called him a 'banny rooster' for the chicken-like way in which she said he ran) did it way back when, July 29, 1974. That's all of 46 years ago folks.

I was 14 then. At 60 now, I'm older by 22 years than me Pops was on that day (to save you the mathematical gymnastics, he was 38 in July 74). He uttered an unbelieving 'whoa' when Brinkman hit his round tripper. Whether at the Detroits hitting four so closely together or merely at Brinkman's part of the accomplishment, I'm not sure. 

Funny thing is, and I remember thinking this quite distinctly on that day in '74, 'that don't happen much'. Forty-six years later I now get to add, 'indeed'. 

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.

1968

Tonight I'm going to Comerica Park to see the Tigers play the St. Louis Cardinals. It's part of the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of Detroit's 1968 World Series title, which the Tigers won over the Redbirds.

I can't believe it's been fifty years. Fifty years since I rushed home from school in time to see Jim Northrup's triple put the Tigers ahead to stay in the seventh inning of game seven. Since Bill Freehan's joyful catch of Mickey Lolich after the catcher hauled in Tim McCarver's foul popup to end the series. Fifty years since me Pops brought home pizza for dinner on a Thursday to celebrate. Since me Mom sowed tiger patches on our clothes to wear to school the next day. I was the happiest eight year old boy on the face of the earth.

McLain wins 31 games on the hill that season. Kaline hits .379 in the series. Horton throws out Brock at home in game five, the play which changed the momentum of the series and led directly to the Detroit win. Lolich, the classic pitcher who couldn't hit, hit his only career homerun in game two and drove in a run later in game five. Oh, and he won three complete games, the last pitcher to do that in a World Series. And of course, manager Mayo Smith putting center fielder Mickey Stanley at short, to get more offense in the lineup. Gutsy, inventive, and successful.

It feels like yesterday. And for the little kid in me, it still feels good.