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Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Mark Fidrych
The former Detroit Tigers pitcher died yesterday. He was a phenom in 1976, rookie of the year, started the All-Star Game, had a 2.34 ERA and 19 wins. All this while not starting a game until mid-May and then only because another pitcher had the flu. There's a lot of coverage of Fidrych, how we talked to the ball between pitches, fixed the dirt on the mound with his hands, requested various balls be removed from the game because "they had hits in them". But my favorite story I read was when he was asked in 1998 who he would want to have dinner with out of anyone in the world. He said former teammate Mickey Stanley. Why? "Because he's never been to my house."
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I distinctly remember watching Mark Fidrych as he groomed his mound and elevated himself to his upright pitching position. I was a twelve-year-old, baseball-obsessed (mostly Johnny Bench obsessed) tomboy when he was a star.
When I told my husband that he had died yesterday he had never heard of him at all. How could he not know who "The Bird"?! Now I have to completely re-evaluate my 20-year marriage.
RIP "The Bird".
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