Wayne State Wildlife (Not What You Think)

As I approached the Wayne State University baseball diamond, aptly named Harwell Field (those who know, know) during my walk this morning, I noticed two dogs in the outfield grass. On closer inspection, they sure looked liked wolves, large and gray. I'd best keep an eye on them, I thought. It even occurred to me to wonder if perhaps I should report the sighting to someone, the police or school authorities, or the DNR, somebody.

There is a tall, wooden wall at the end of left field (it has the old left field scoreboard from Tiger Stadium on it) and I was soon behind the monolith. Clearing it beyond center, I looked around to make certain I knew where those wolves were. They were still there. Indeed, they hadn't seemed to have moved. Odd.

By the time I reached the far foul pole, they were still at attention, apparently exactly as they had been for five minutes or so. Intrigued, I stopped along a fence to study things more closely. Maybe I should call out to them? Right, Marty. Let's draw attention to yourself from a wolfpack.

It was then that I finally realized they were fake, or were long dead wolves courtesy of a taxidermist. The plates they stood upon were kind of a giveaway. Now I'm thinking that they must be there to scare off the Canadian geese that I have often spotted waddling along the field. I must say that I was mildly alarmed as well, at least at first.

Ernie

Thank you Paul and good evening everyone. Here's the first pitch of the ball game and it's a strike, and we're under way at the corner of Michigan and Turnbull.

That's an approximate recreation of how Ernie Hartwell typically began a radio broadcast of Detroit Tigers baseball. His on air partner, Paul Carey (who had a good baritone voice) would open the game and hand the reigns over to Ernie, who would take it from there. Facebook reminded me yesterday that my son and I had went, along with thousands of others, to pay our respects to the late broadcaster as he lay in state at Comerica Park after his passing in May 2010.

Eleven years after his death and nineteen since he called his last game, Ernie is still remembered fondly by the Tiger faithful. Perhaps I'm simply caught up in the sentimentality of the moment, but I don't know that anyone can ever match his vocal association with the Motor City Nine.

Having a sportscaster who almost is your team seems rare these days. It wasn't only a Detroit thing: there was Vin Scully with the Dodgers, Harry Caray with the Cubs and so forth across the land. Here in Motown we even had Bruce Martyn and his distinctive voice calling Red Wings hockey over the radio as well. Such associations, such distinctive voices, don't seem to be the case anymore.

I'm not going to make the mistake of the reactionary sentimentalists and try argue that sportscasting today is bad. But too many play by play callers are bland and Midwestern. It does, I think, take a bit of the intimacy away. Although I do like the current Tiger radio man (Dan Dickerson) he is in the unfortunate position of not being Ernie. 

To be fair I don't think even Dickerson would put himself in Harwell's class, and at the end of the day I'm not talking moral imperatives but merely differences. Still, no one filled the baseball airwaves like Ernie. Perhaps one day, but I don't see it.

Pops at 81

Hey Pops, how are you doing today?

Well, they finally finished that 50 mile stretch of I-75 south of Toledo. That took them forever; better than three years I'm sure. But it's nice being able to tool along at 70 MPH there now. Okay, 75 with the cruise on. But now they've gone and closed the Rouge bridge in south Detroit for the next two years starting February 4. So we have to take 94 out to 275 or US 23 and down to Toledo going to the plant. If ain't one thing it's another, eh? Ah, we're on the road though. That's where we Cosgriffs belong.

Pitchers and catchers report to Lakeland in two weeks. Yep, we're coming up on baseball season. I wish I still had that little black and white transistor radio you had when I was a kid, the one I borrowed so often to listen to Ernie and Ray call Tigers games. Baseball on the radio. Sometimes I think it's better than actually being at the game. I've been listening a lot up North in Hessel, in the garage. It brings memories back for sure. Remember us listening in the Shop when Fister struck out nine in a row to set the AL record? On Charlie's old radio? We laughed at each strikeout after about the fifth one as the streak played on. That was a good day.

Mom's doing real good with that pacemaker. It's been over two years now, and she's fretting about everything like always. Did you hear what she told the doctor right after she got it? He told her it had a ten year battery; she said she needed twenty. That's so Mom, right?

The Pumper's show is coming up in a few weeks. We're going to take a lot of the equipment over and then work it. But it's not the Pumper Show anymore. It's the WWETT Show. Water and Wastewater Equipment, Treatment and Transport Show. I don't recall for sure whether they had changed it before your last show. People and their acronyms; I suppose they wanted something easily remembered, but I always remembered the Pumper show. That's what you always called it, so I imagine it stuck in your memory too. Ah well.

Okay, I gotta get up to the Shop. Gotta meet a couple guys and get a couple repairs done on a Saturday to get a head start on next week. That really is a great old barn. A lot of good memories there. The daily bread calls.

Happy Birthday Dad. Until Next Time,

Marty.

The old ballgame at work

Hey Pops,

Well, I had the ballgame on the radio at work yesterday, for the first time in almost three years. I had been avoiding it since then, even though the Tigers play their share of afternoon games these days. It just didn't seem right. But today, well, it felt like the time.

Listening to Detroit beat Oakland sure brought back the memories. All the times that we would be in conversation only to stop talking when Ernie or Dan's voice would rise a decibel or gain excitement. We'd then forget what we were discussing to give quick cheers for the home run or great defensive play.

One of the runs we scored yesterday involved a runner on third who couldn't score because V-Mart's fly to left was too shallow. Yet Miggy was on first, and tagged to run to second. The cutoff man took the throw from left and threw to second without checking Martinez back to third. He streaked home to score on that toss to second, and Miggy ended up safe himself. You would have gotten a kick out of that unusual play.

A particular memory which came to mind was that game where Fister was pitching against the Royals and struck out nine in a row. I think even Phil got into it, though he's not the baseball fan we are. We laughed and cheered more impressively at each whiff, and were almost stonily silent between pitches, our anticipation growing, only to laugh harder when the announcer described Fister's confusion at the boos which greeted the tenth batter's ground out. He hadn't realized the record he'd just set.

Anyway, I think I'll have that old radio on again every time the Tigers have a weekday afternoon game. It's been silly that I've avoided listening for so long.

Until the next game, we'll see ya Pops.

The National Pastime begins a New Season

Baseball is continuity. Pitch to pitch. Inning to inning. Game to game. Series to series. Season to Season.

- Ernie Harwell

No, those are not the usual words with which Mr. Harwell used to inaugurate a new baseball season. Yet they serve as a reminder, in this first full season without him, that the game goes on. Even the great ones such as Ernie Harwell recognize and love that aspect of the game. It is always with us in a way in which the other major sports simply are not.

The 2011 season begins today. That continuity which he spoke about goes on. That triumph of Americana begins again. The first pitch will come today in many areas, tomorrow in others, but it comes. The Boys of Summer are here, and no doubt Ernie has the best seat in the house.

Play ball!

It Will Always Be the Same.

"For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land."

Today baseball begins. Today at 1:05 in Dunedin, Florida, the Detroit Tigers begin their Grapefruit League play against the Toronto Blue Jays. And before the broadcast, I have to believe that we will hear the Voice of the Tigers, Ernie Harwell, recite the above quote from the Song of Solomon. It will be from a recording, of course, as we lost Ernie last May.

It would be so easy to say that baseball will never be the same. Yet we know he wouldn't tell us that. We know he would not want us to feel that way. The game goes on, life goes on, the Earth still spins. And baseball will still be played.

Ernie would want that. So we should want that.

It is my first season without him, and it will be bittersweet. But the game goes on, and he goes on. Things are as they should be.

God bless you, Ernie.

Saying Goodbye to a Friend

It wasn't too bad after all. And I'm glad that I worked up the courage to do it.

I wasn't going to go to Comerica Park to view Ernie Harwell. I was afraid that I would lose my composure. Yet though the eyes did well up, it was okay, and I am glad I went.

My oldest son tagged along and got a few good pictures, and the company was welcome. The entire event, such as it was, was done tastefully and low key, sort of like you would assume Ernie would want it. We feared there would be vendors hawking stuff, and there weren't. There was free coffee and Gatorade, and that was it. It was a classy send off for a classy guy.

We didn't get there until about 9:30 in the evening and the wait was only about an hour. The line was still long when we left.

We said a little prayer at the coffin and signed the huge card outside. We had to lay on the ground to write, because there were so many signatures and well wishings that the only room left was ground level. We went back to the gates for one last so long, and came home.

An usher said they were expecting a crowd between 75,000 and 100,000. I have to believe they got it. Yes, the tears came. I could only manage a nod to the person at the end of the line who thanked everyone individually for coming. It was difficult, but I'm glad I was there.

Goodbye, Ernie, and Godspeed.

Ernie Harwell

There are times when words cannot tell a story. This is especially ironic when the subject is someone who used words so very magically to enlighten an audience. When Ernie Harwell passed away Tuesday, we found ourselves at that crossroad.

What can you say about someone who said it all? He lived life well and did his job at a level far above the ability of most men. Ernie was clever and straightforward, painting pictures of ball games from inside little transistor radios all over Michigan, and much of the United States. When Ernie spoke, you were there.

There have been and will be uncountable and well deserved tributes to this icon of Michigan. When everyone shares such great experiences as we all did over the many summers Ernie created baseball for us, how can we not talk about them over and over?

God bless you, Ernie. You have earned your reward.

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?