The summer of 1967 was a horrible summer for Michigan and particularly for Detroit.  The city was swept by rioting and strife.  I remember being aboard an airplane flying out of Detroit Metropolitan Airport the day the rioting began, and was totally unaware of the problems since I hadn’t been listening to the radio on the way to the airport. As we took off, the pilot came on the public address system to tell us to look out the windows as we arced over the city.  I could see smoke coming from all over the place as the rioters had torched buildings and cars in the streets.

Ah, 1968.  How sweet it was!  Even though the underlying problems still existed, (and some exist yet today,) hardly anyone was left unaffected by the glorious success of the Detroit Tigers. It could not have come at a better time for Michigan.

The Tigers had been World Series champs in 1935 and 1945---before I was born, so that ’68 season was my first experience with the sweet taste of success for “my” team.

I had vicariously witnessed my grandfather’s joy as he was a New York Yankees fan, and they had won seven or eight million World Series during my youth.

Since I was in college in ‘68, I remember sitting in my fraternity house watching the games on the television set---we only received two channels in those days before cable TV. After the final game, a bunch of my friends piled into cars and drove to Detroit for the celebration.  I went to bed.  Honest, Dad, I did. But, I went to bed happy.

Sixteen years went by before it happened again, and then it was an even greater season for the Tigers.  The 1984 Tigers were known as “wire-to-wire champions, because they led from the very first game of the season until the final game of the World Series, never falling out of first place.  It was an amazing season. 

And now, 22 years later, here they are again, headed for the World Series, unlikely victors coming off a string of bad seasons. 

Marsha and I went to one game this year, the next-to-the-last game of the season, which the Tigers lost, after giving up seven runs in the first inning. It was pouring rain at the outset so the game was delayed 90 minutes, which meant it didn’t get over until 12:30 a.m.  The young man who sat in front of us was smashed and continued to get “smasheder” by drinking more beer throughout the game.  He was an idiot who couldn’t sit still.  I missed seeing at least half the game because he stood up most of the time, sloshing beer on the people around him, singing, dancing, and generally being obnoxious.  I kept hoping that one of the teams would come up and use him for a bat.

Worst was that he was guilty of my personal “sports fan pet peeve.”  He took credit for the Tiger’s great season.  “We’re Number One!” He’d shout.  Thank goodness he didn’t have one of those stupid foam rubber #1 fingers, but that’s about the only saving grace. As far as I know, he didn’t contribute anything to the work and talent that goes into making a great team, so I wish he had just shut up with the “We’re Number One” stuff and had changed it to “You’re Number One!”

Even so, it was great to go to the park and see a game. 

I wish I could say that, win or lose, it has been a great season and it won’t matter---just getting to the World Series is a great accomplishment. 

I can’t say that. 

No way. 

We HAVE to win!  Come on guys!  We’re Number One!

                                  Jim Whitehouse

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