FanPost

Big Daddy: How I learned to loved the Tigers and the sport of baseball



This is a tale of my first Tigers' experience and my excitement about seeing a Fielder in the olde English D again.

*Author's note: The head honcho apparently can type faster than I so this may lose a little luster after reading Kurt's*

In 1990, I was only seven years old, and growing up in Novi (an outer ring suburb of Detroit), I couldn't have told you much about any of the Detroit teams save for the World Champion Pistons. At that age I hadn't even been to my first ballgame, but thanks to sharing a room with my older sister, I had gotten into the habit of falling asleep to Ernie's voice while listening to our bedroom's AM radio. I was aware the Tigers existed, but wasn't really much of a fan. That, of course, was the year that Detroit brought Cecil Fielder to play and slug in the big leagues and the year I fell in love with the sport of baseball.

My little league team started off cold and rainy that year, but the highlight of Opening Day was a visit from Tigers' player Chet Lemon. He, at the end of his career, was going out to local leagues, signing autographs and handing out tickets to upcoming games at Tiger Stadium. To me, he was a giant with a bright smile, but didn't really garner much interest until he handed my best friend (and teammate) Josh four of his tickets for one of next week's games. Immediately we ran over to our parents and asked them if we could go. Never having been to a ballgame I was ever so polite in begging my mom to let me. She told me my dad was out of town working, but if Josh's mom would take us, she wouldn't have a problem.

It was a Saturday when we went, Josh, his mom, his brother and me. Josh's family were long time Tiger fans, but he too was going to experience his first live game. We got there a little early to take everything in, so with peanuts, hot dogs and licorice ropes in hand we climbed the stairs to our nose-bleed seats. Every step we took echoed in the predominantly metal stadium, to this day I can remember thinking how loud it sounded as people herded up the stairs.

As for the game, I couldn't tell you much of the details, but unsurprisingly, Cecil hit a home run, and also unsurprisingly, the Tigers lost. The home run stuck in my head not because of the stature of the hit, but because of the stature of Cecil. He hit it to right field, right above the Ball Park Franks sign, which Josh and I thought was hilarious because as he jogged around the bases we broke into fits of laughter yelling "He plumps when you cook 'em!" Juvenile as it was, it marks the first big Tigers memory of my life. Later that summer, instead of falling asleep to Ernie, I started staying awake to listen to the broadcasts. As Cecil marched forward with his epic season of slugging, I started waking up to read the box scores, and see what I missed the day before. The Tigers may have muddled around with an average year, but I was having a blast learning to love major league baseball. By the time the season ended, I may have been stuck in school, but I was excited as anyone learning that Cecil knocked two out against the Yankees to end up the season at 51.

When next year's season rolled around, I already had my mind made up to change my number to 45. Cecil was my favorite athlete outside of Mario Lemieux and 66 just seemed unthinkable in baseball. At tryouts that year, I asked the coach about it, sadly finding out that in our league the numbers only went up to 20. So I asked him for that one, and hoped being closer to Cecil would help me belt a few too. At one of my games later that summer, after hitting a long fly ball to the gap and being driven in, I returned to the dugout to hear someone yell out, "Hey kid!" As with most sports complexes, other games were being played on adjoining fields and one of the adult softball players was trying to get my attention. When I turned around he complimented me on my hit, and told me maybe I should take the nickname of his buddy away from him. I looked at the guy next to him who had screen printed "BIG DADDY" on top of his jersey's bright 45 numeral. Some of my teammates laughed and started using the moniker the rest of the season.

At the end of the year, my coach approached a few of us about being part of a tournament team. This was a pretty new concept back then, but basically was a slightly amped-up version of our league's all-star team, where we would go around to area tournaments on the weekend and play together. It was an honor to have been asked, and after talking with my parents we said yes. The big selling point to me though? We got new uniforms with, you guessed it, numbers of our own choice! That team marked the 1st time I wore 45 in a baseball team and I've never changed since. Over the years I followed Fielder through more of his triumphs (I saw his stolen base!) and tragedies (it killed me to read he got traded to the Evil Empire). A few years ago, I bought a Tigers jersey to commemorate my memories of the Tigers and him, and wore it to every playoff game in '06 and '11. Without Cecil I may never have become a fan of the Tigers and I hope that his son Prince can do the same for some kid today. Here's to Big Daddy redux, and $214 million be damned, I'm ready to get excited about a Fielder's box score all over again.

Scott (kland83)

This is a FanPost and does not necessarily reflect the views of the <em>Bless You Boys</em> writing staff.