One night as I fell asleep, I thought about what my perfect game would be like. A lifelong devoted fan of the Detroit Tigers, I imagined all of my friends and I at Oakland Coliseum, cheering the Tigers at the tops of our voices as they beat the A's.
A few days later, I told my idea to my parents. I didn't think they'd go for it, but since I turned sixteen this year, they wanted to do something special.
My birthday was on March 31 (the day the baseball season started), but the Tigers were not scheduled to come to Oakland until August. After a check of my mom's busy schedule, we decided the Friday night game would be best. I printed up orange and blue invitations and handed them out to all of my friends months in advance. They were quite aware of my love for the Tigers, and excited to come experience my "fellas" for themselves.
In addition to this idea, I came up with another: Why not all wear T-shirts that proclaimed our Tiger pride, with Tiger names and numbers on the back? My parents again went for the idea, and I surveyed my buddies, most of whom had no clue who they were picking. I immediately took Steve Sparks, the Tiger knuckleballer and my favorite. One of my friends is a huge Dean Palmer fan; another Shane Halter, and another Jeff Weaver.
Over the course of the between-months, some players traded as the Tigers shuttled pitchers up and down and traded various players. Soon it was summer, and time to get the shirts.
My mom and I visited a custom shirt place, only to find that what we wanted would cost almost $700. I went on the Internet and found a place which would make shirts that said Tiger Pride on the front with a graphic of a muscled, snarling tiger holding a bat, with names and numbers on the back, for less than half that. The excitement had begun.
A few weeks later, my friend (a Brandon Inge fanatic) and I opened the door to find a huge box. Inside, we delightedly discovered the dark blue and orange shirts.
As the big day drew nearer, a few people canceled and new people were found, like our fabulous new neighbor from Michigan. My dad and I went to the Thursday night game, which Steve Sparks pitched. We had great fun cheering on the Tigers, even though they lost. We told our good friend the security guard about the big group, and it seemed that everyone knew we were coming.
The day of the big game arrived. My friends congregated at my house, changing into their new shirts. The excitement grew and grew. My friend wearing Wendell Magee's number had even painted his nails blue and orange.
We all arrived at the gate a bit early. We grouped ourselves together as we received good-natured heckling from the A's fans. Once inside, we raced down to the dugout, where we were warmly welcomed by Nick the security guard. One of his buddies took me and my friend who can't see very well over to the railing where players are most likely to sign. We talked to Steve Sparks, Ernie Harwell, Kirk Gibson. We rejoined our friends as the Tigers stretched.
I noticed Shane Halter walking over, and my Shane-fanatic friend and I raced over to talk to him. "Shane, this is your biggest fan!" I told him as he signed our stuff. We told him about the group. We also saw Wendell Magee, who thought it was great to have a bunch of people rooting for them and promised to look for my friend wearing his number.
Towards the end of BP, when I went back to the rail, my buddy Scott gave me his ball to get signed. I got four players to sign it, including fabulous Chris Truby, three of them adding "To Scott". He was so stoked!
We cheered loudly for Mark Redman as he warmed up. All the A's fans around us thought we were crazy (we are). A lonely Tigers fan one section over was delighted with us.
The national anthem was sung by a Russian opera singer, which, to say the least, was very odd. My friend wearing Bobby Higginson's number, loudly began to sing along, more quickly and off key. Everyone could hear her, including Tigers first baseman Carlos Pena, who was laughing so hard his whole body was shaking.
As the game began, we cheered and whistled loudly for every Tigers batter, overpowering chants for the A's around us. I knew we had a good chance to win with ace Mark Redman on the mound. Apparently our "Let's go Red!" cheers had some effect, because he pitched brilliantly except for a solo homer. Our boys rewarded our enthusiasm by scoring three runs. We went nuts for every great play by Damion Easley, Bobby Higginson, and Chris Truby. We supported Red loudly as he pitched his way skillfully out of a seventh inning jam, held our breaths when Juan Acevedo put the tying runners on base as always to increase the tension. When Damion Easley and Carlos Pena made the final out and ended the game, we went absolutely crazy.
We exploded in whoops and cheers. My Wendell Magee friend lifted me up and turned me around. We yelled and hugged each other like we'd just won the World Series. Popcorn from disappointed Oakland fans rained down and we didn't care. For one night, I and my friends were the happiest people on earth. We celebrated into the parking lot, giving each other another round of hugs as we separated into our carpools. I took so long that my friend Jon tossed me over his shoulder and carried me to the car as I yelled, "WE WON! WE WON! TIGERS RULE!" and brandished my puffy Tigers claw at passing A's fans.
For one night, the Tigers did an incredible thing: They made twenty five people insanely happy. The night I had imagined was even more perfect than in my dreams. We won dramatically. Ther was no blowout, and no loss. It was a perfect night, and a perfect game. Thank you, you incredible Detroit Tigers.
» Sparky Williams is the most rabid Tigers fan in the universe.
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Posted August 5, 2002.
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