After my dad passed away, my brother (ten years my senior) stepped in a bit to try and fill the gap.
A real war hero he'd come back from Vietnam with no less than three purple hearts and a slew of medals he's only just now beginning to talk about. So I was over the moon when he decided to take me into Detroit (from our Northville home, aka "the boonies").
We packed up early and, it seemed to me, fairly flew through the suburbs in between. When we arrived at the old Tiger stadium (1969) it was in a very dicey part of town and even the World Series Champions banners couldn't hide the fact that the old ball field had seen better times.
I can't say I remember much of the game. I was surprised by how much time there was between watching Norm Cash hit a double to center field and actually hearing the crack of the bat... but I was more absorbed in all the other things that went with the game: Hot dogs, soda (that were not much on the menu in our house) and the scoring magazine that had so many nuances to the markings that I haven't yet figured it out. Scoring bowling was 2 plus 2 compared to baseball's algebraic notation that denoted Cash was tagged out a third when he pushed it a bit too far.
Now, more than 40 years later, my brother hosted us on a visit to my old stomping grounds and drove me and my two young sons past the new stadium less than a week before opening day. The giant stone tigers guard the main entrance and it looks like it was built yesterday. My boys? Honestly, they couldn't have cared less. They were more interested in finding the nearest touch-screen anything and wouldn't even pose with the statues.
Ah, times change... still, I have a feeling, when the crowd's there, and you can smell the hot dogs, and you hear the crack of the bat... I have a feeling things will change.
Anyone care to join us? I'll bring a mitt, you know, just in case.