Tiger Stadium Waltz

My memory spins and dances with thoughts of Tiger Stadium.

Double headers, extra innings and rain delays. Day games and night games. Pitching duels and homerun frenzies. Games won and games lost. 

There were games with my dad. Games with friends. A game with co-workers and our unforgettable boss, Dave Carpenter.  And the game I attended with a couple of ladies that played for the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League.   

There were moments big and small.  Banging the olden wooden green seats up and down while yelling, "WILLIE! WILLIE! WILLIE!" A few minutes standing on the grass near the first baseline, looking into the empty stands.  A brown paper bag filled with snacks that my great Aunt Alice packed for me to take to the game.  The time, when I was six, that a blind women named Mary sat next to me.  She listened to the play-by-play on a red transistor radio, banged the backstop with her cane, and gave me an autographed photo of Al Kaline.

There were firsts and there were lasts. Alan Trammel's last game. My first autograph (from Dick Sharon, thank you very much!).  The first game I attended with my husband - who was not yet my husbad.  The last time my grandfather saw a game at Tiger Stadium. My final trip to the corner of Michigan and Trumball. I took a sentimental stroll up that steep ramp to the upper deck and choked back tears while singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th Inning Stretch.

And that moment, not all that long ago, that I was driving past the long-deserted Tiger Stadium.  A gaping hole, made by a demolition crew, allowed me one last glimpse inside.  I saw the blue and orange seats.  I could almost hear the roar of the crowd.  I imagined the green grass that always took my breath away.  I saw Herbie Redmond, as he did his little dance and tipped his hat, just for me.

And just like that, Tiger Stadium was gone.  I watched her disappear at 70 mph in my rear view mirror.