Ever since he joined the Tigers, Steve Sparks has been my favorite baseball player. I knew he was an extraordinary knuckleball pitcher. This summer, I learned he is a wonderful person as well. I first met him in Oakland, on the night he pitched. Unlike most pitchers on their night, Sparky was chatting up the fans in right field and signing anything they would give him. Noticing this from my usual post at the visitors' dugout, I of course ran over and, lacking a more conventional object, presented him with a stuffed tiger my friend gave me for my birthday. She had dressed it in a little blue jersey with a white Olde English D on the back and a big orange 37 (Sparky's number) on the back. "You're the best," I gushed at Sparky as he graciously signed my tiger. He grinned and looked me straight in the eyes.
"Thank you," he said warmly, and I knew he meant it. That's one of the differences between Sparky and some other ballplayers; he genuinely appreciates the fans. He signed and signed until we were out of things to give to him. All this on his night to pitch, when most pitchers won't even look at the fans.
I rooted as hard as I could for Sparky, who pitched pretty well but got the loss anyway. I always have to remind myself that the Tigers lost, because it felt so much like we should have won.
The next day, the second game in a four-game series, I was back, along with twenty-four of my closest friends, all wearing shirts proclaiming their Tiger pride. Before the game, thanks to a kind security guard, a few of my friends and I were able to hang over the railing by the tunnel to the clubhouse. Steve Sparks stopped by, and again signed profusely. From the way he acted, you would have thought it was the first day of a promising season, not past the halfway mark of what had all the makings of yet another losing year for the Tigers. Sparky was so friendly, smiling and chatting instead of just signing silently. Although Sparks didn't pitch that night, the Tigers and Mark Redman certainly made us proud, beating the A's 3-1.
The third game was the last time I saw Sparky in Oakland. I watched in fascination as Steve McCatty and Steve worked on his delivery. After he was done with his tosses, Sparky turned to the big group of fans hanging over the right field railing. "We're coming to Anaheim to see you guys," I told him.
"Sweet deal," Sparky replied. "Is it a long drive?"
Being geographically challenged, I answered, "I dunno. Probably." I realized I was reverting to my usual monosyllabic self, and tried to continue the conversation with my favorite player. "Um... you're pitching on Sunday, right?" I asked; I'd been thinking about the rotation and figured out that Sparky wouldn't be pitching in Anaheim.
He thought for a minute, then said, "Well, I'm pitching on Tuesday in Texas, so yeah, Sunday." Then he had to go back to the dugout. I was on cloud nine for the entire day, even though my Tigers lost pitifully.
During the time between my surreal encounters with Steve Sparks and leaving for Anaheim, I was back at work. I had a summer job in a linens and tableware store, and one of the items on sale, I noticed, was a beautiful, shining, brown leather baseball. Embossed in the smooth surface was that one word: BASEBALL. I immediately thought of Steve Sparks, and how wonderful he had been to me and all of the fans that weekend in Oakland. I bought the ball and wrapped it up in a box to take to him in Anaheim.
The first night in Anaheim, my stomach was full of butterflies waiting for my chance to catch Sparky's attention. Fortunately for me, the groupies of Damian Jackson, the Tigers second baseman, were out in force. Just before D. J. left them to go back to batting practice, I asked him if he could please tell Sparky that I brought a present for him. D. J. jogged out to Sparky and said something to him; Sparky looked over and yelled, "After B. P., okay?"
I waited with intense anticipation. Usually I savor batting practice, but I couldn't wait for this one to be over. "So you made it to Anaheim?" said Sparky with a grin as I gave him the box. I was amazed that he remembered. He thanked me for the present and I thought nothing could top this. I was wrong.
In the line to get into Edison Field, an Angels fan tipped my dad and me off about where the Tigers were staying. So, the morning before the second game, we went there "for breakfast". Ernie Harwell was also there having breakfast, just across the room from us. I didn't want to bother him. As I got a little bolder, I ventured out into the lobby. It was amazing how nice the players were. I suppose it was because I was inside the hotel and not waiting to ambush them for autographs; inside you are not permitted to ask for autographs. Many of them were quite willing to have a little chat with a crazy Tigers fan. My dad and I were thinking about leaving when a familiar figure came striding towards the little sit-down area. "Sparky!" I said delightedly and he turned around. Recognizing us, he favored us with a big grin.
"How y'all doing?" he said amiably, coming right over. We had ourselves a regular conversation. Sparky kept asking me questions, instead of the other way around. He asked me how I became a Tigers fan and laughed when I told him. I gave him my story that got published, to my great surprise and happiness, on BaseballLibrary.com. Sparky seemed really happy with it. We wished him good luck at that night's game, and then he left.
Sparky is truly a wonderful human being. With the season the Tigers are having, it would be easy for him to be sulky and unreceptive to the fans who pester him each day. Instead, every single day Sparky is upbeat and friendly. No matter what kind of streak he and the Tigers are having, he is always ready to talk to the fans and sign for them. Sparky doesn't get too much media attention being on a last place team. But numbers aren't everything. If you want to see a great ballplayer, look at Barry Bonds. But if you want to see a great ballplayer who is also a marvelous human being, look no further than Steve Sparks.
» Sparky Williams has been a Tigers fan since she was six years old. She is an avid listener of the best broadcaster on the face of the earth, Ernie Harwell. Her favorite Ernie-ism: Tygs On Top!
Also by Sparky Williams
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Posted September 26, 2002.
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