Courtesy of Mudville Magazine
Thirty years ago this summer, I fell in love with baseball. On June 28, 1976, I sat down to watch Mark Fidrych take the mound for the Detroit Tigers. He was pitching against the hated Yankees on ABC's Game of the Week, and I had no idea what I was about to get into. For this kid, all of eight years old, in a strange new town, moved out of a home with a big yard and into a tiny box apartment on the campus of Central Michigan University, with a newly divorced mother, watching this guy Fidrych go through his motions left me forever mesmerized. I'd never played ball, never owned a glove or a bat, never even played catch. Frankly, I don't even know why the game was on. But as soon as I saw it, saw Fidrych take his quick tosses, heard the crack of bat and ball, saw the darkened shadows of Tiger Stadium, I wanted to learn more immediately. And learn more I did.
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