The origins of my Detroit Tigers fandom and why the losses sting so much

The hat.

I feel the need to write. I feel compelled to log my thoughts, my emotions — as silly as they may be — here. I'm now maybe 90 minutes removed from another crushing Tigers loss, 1-0 to the Red Sox.

Less than 48 hours ago, my favorite baseball team seemed well on its way to a 2-0 series lead in the ALCS. Not only that, but they would then board a plane for Detroit, where Mr. Scoreless Innings Justin Verlander and 43,000-plus screaming supporters awaited.

Now?

They're down 2-1. They haven't scored a run in 12 innings. Even potential back-to-back MVP Miguel Cabrera couldn't punch a ball into the outfield with runners on the corners and just one out in the bottom of the eighth. And I feel like the streak of the Tigers not winning a World Series since I was a nine-month-old in diapers is going to continue.

That's why I'm down in the dumps. That's why I called my Mom on a Tuesday night to vent. I usually wait until Sunday. And that's why I can't even muster the excitement to begin the third season of one of the best TV shows of all time, Breaking Bad.

Yes, it's that bad.

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For a variety of reasons, I'm not as fanatical as I once was.

I'm two months shy of 30; I've viewed sports through the lens of a journalist since I took newspaper writing for the first time as a junior at Pioneer High School; and, frankly, I'm annoyed by most sports fans, their machismo, and their ignorance (especially in the Internet age).

But there are two teams I remain an ardent supporter of, a pair of teams that I follow closely and, come the end of their seasons, base my schedule around.

Michigan basketball.

Detroit Tigers baseball.

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I spelled out my passion for Michigan hoops in a column I wrote the weekend of their amazing Final Four run last season. And with the upcoming campaign just two weeks away, I'll save my words about the program for down the road.

I'll just say this, because it relates to why the Tigers mean so much to me: I've been invested in Wolverines basketball because of the program's hardships and how low it sunk. Watching its revival under John Beilein has been the most satisfying thing I've ever experienced as a sports fan. Ever.

With Mom at a Tigers-Orioles game in 2011.

My Tigers fandom is similar, but it goes back further.

I was a diehard as a kid, baseball my first love. We didn't have a TV at our old house on Pontiac Trail in Ann Arbor, so I'd listen to every game on the radio. It didn't matter whether I was in the basement working with Dad on a project, in the driveway washing the old Honda, or in the kitchen helping the parents prepare their annual batch of homemade pesto — the radio was tuned to WJR-760.

Some years, the iconic Ernie Harwell was on the call. Other years, it was Frank Beckman. Harwell was a legend, but I enjoyed whoever delivered the call. I remember one year sending a letter to the Tigers broadcasting team, thanking them for bringing me Tigers games every day.

As long as I had Tigers baseball, my world was complete. I revered the likes of Cecil Fielder, Alan Trammell and Lout Whitaker. I even had a soft spot for Tony Philips. On the rare days when Harwell's or Beckman's smooth voice wasn't quite enough for me, I walked through our large backyard to neighbor Nelly's house. The old, black lady was the nicest person in the world and a huge sports fan. She'd let me in and we'd watch together. I'll never forget my times with Nelly.

Of course, the Tigers stunk. They put together just two winning seasons during my formative years. The season spanning the end of high school and beginning of college, they bottomed out — just barely avoiding MLB infamy with 119 losses in 2003.

As I started studies that August at Albion College an hour west of Ann Arbor, I was as uninterested in the Tigers as I'd been 19 years prior when they won the World Series and I couldn't utter a word to celebrate.


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It was 1:30pm on an October Saturday afternoon in Byron Bay, Australia, and I couldn't believe what I was watching. On a small TV in a small room attached to the hostel, Magglio Ordonez had just sent shivers down my spine and goose bumps all over.

"The Tigers are going to the World Series! Three. Run. Walkoff. Home. Run."

I've since listened to the Dan Dickerson radio call dozens of times. The chills return with each re-run. 

I wanted to celebrate, I wanted to hug everyone in sight, but only a few people at the hostel even knew the rules of baseball. So I joined my spring break pal and Albion classmate Michael for a hike overlooking the Pacific Ocean, thinking about the Tigers 9,182 miles away.

Just days earlier, I had convinced my new friend Cheryl to accompany me at 3:30am to the only bar open within a mile of our Sydney hotel so I could watch Justin Verlander stifle the mighty Yankees in the Division series. 

In the 2006 World Series, all the games were at a saner 12pm in Sydney. 

I wish they hadn't been. All the momentum that the Tigers had from their sweep of the A's? All the positive feelings and optimism? It all disappeared, vanished with each error committed by a Detroit pitcher during the series against the Cardinals. Five games. Five errors.

At the time, I had just gotten into sports blogging. Here are two excerpts from my posts as a college senior studying in Sydney:

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After they lost Game 4, falling behind 3-1 in the Series:

OK,
... there comes a time in one's life when the most important thing happening is 5,000 miles away. That time is now. And it is not easy. I've watched every Tigers' playoff game except two. I've scouted out bars in which to watch the Tigs, I've woken up at 6 in the morning to watch 'em. I scheduled my work week perfectly so I could be off this morning to watch Game 4 of the WS.

And what do they give me? Another throwin' error by a pitcher? More missed opportunities with runners in scoring position? Man, I am dying now. But I'm not giving up on the Tigs. Mark my words: if Verlander finds a way to get the Tigers through Game 5, they WILL WIN THE WORLD SERIES. And I'll watch every remaining game in its entirety. 'Cuz, frankly, watching my team in the WS is far more important than touring some obscure Sydney suburb right now. And what would I usually be doing between 10:30 and 2 anyway? Probably just reading a basketball book (fun fact of my time here: I've already read 4 books for fun and just bought 3 more the other day - Moms would be proud).

Anyway, when you're watching Game 5 tomorrow, don't think you're all alone. I'll be watching, too, rooting on those mercurial Tigs, not giving up hope. After all, it makes me proud to say that two years ago I predicted a Red Sox comeback after that disastrous Game 3 loss. This situation for the Tigers is easier. Three wins in Three nights.

So while I'm attending my first Opera House concert tomorrow and tasting some fine Aussie cuisine, the only indicator of whether it'll be a good weekend is this: will the Tigers win 3 or lose 1?

jake

After the Game 5, series-ending loss

I know I should put it in perspective. I do. I really, really do. After all, I was one of the thousands who picked them to finish fourth in the division, just a dozen victories above the abysmal Royals.

So, as a journalist, I know my job: put it in perspective. But not now. Not yet. Maybe by the end of this column. We'll see.

I can't do it because of the way the Tigers lost in this World Series to the Cardinals. The Cardinals did not win this series. Mark it down. The Tigers lost the series. The Tigers beat themselves. Plain and simple.

You want numbers? You want evidence? I got it. How about five errors by the Tigers' pitching staff - all of them leading to unearned runs for the Cardinals. Even before rook Justin Verlander threw away an easy toss to third last night - costing the Tigers two runs (yes, equaling the final margin of the Cards' victory) - the Tigs had set a record for errors made in a World Series with four.

Ouch. Here, Fernando Rodney can pinpoint a nasty slider on the outside corner, but he can't put the ball near Placido Polanco's glove from 20 feet away in Game 4, costing the Tigers - who actually hit that game - a golden chance to even the series.

Here, Tigers wouldn't have won Game 3 anyway, but Joel Zumaya could have made it interesting for all of us watching at work by throwing to Brandon Inge at third and not five feet out of his reach.

Oh, well, it allowed me to get more work done.

Are you kidding me? The Tigers made Paris Hilton look flawless. I know the cliche's getting old, but it still holds.

Everyone was favoring the Tigers entering the Series; had a feeling that might be a poor harbinger. A team that had been under the microscope all year, doubted by the experts until the eve of the Series, suddenly weighed down by the pressure of people actually pickin you?

It's like your boys expecting you to get the gorgeous girl's number? If it don't happen you're in the dogouse and your confidence is shot. That's what happened to the Tigers.

They lost this series; Cards didn't win. Yes, the record books will show the Cards winning their 10th World Series, second all time to those Yanks. But those who actually watched the five games will know that the Cards were dealt a great dose of serendipity.

From their friends, the Tigers.

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My first Tigers playoff game: ALDS Game 3, 2011.

I'm older now (obvious statement of this column). I like to think I'm wiser, with better perspective than a college kid. But with heavier expectations comes greater disappointment. That magical '06 season made every long-suffering Tigers fan believe that a World Series was not just possible, but imminent. 

I haven't followed the team more closely than I did when they were terrible (although the Internet and the Twitter age help with that, especially living 500 miles from Detroit), but I've expected more. As the payroll's increased and the prognosticators have picked the Tigers, each lost season has been tougher to take. 

If this series ends the way it's heading, the number of seasons without a World Series will equal my age. I know that means nothing to Cubs and Indians fans — or Cleveland fans of any sport from my generation, for that matter — but we all live in our personal sports fandom bubbles. 

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Why do I root so hard? Why do I insist on wearing my torn-to-shreds Tigers hat that I bought at a mall in Philly 15 years ago and won't give up until they win a World Series? Why do I wake up neighbors with my yells of exasperation? 

It's simple, really. When you've never experienced something but have come so close to it, when you feel like it's not far from your fingertips, it's the most tantalizing. That's how last year's run to the national championship game felt for Michigan. And that's why I follow, so closely, each pitch thrown by or swung at (or, more likely, through) by the Tigers.

If and when that championship happens, things will change for me. I'm certain of that. I'll still be a Tigers fan, of course. I'll still watch the occasional regular season game. I'll still join Dad for our annual drive to Detroit, where we park in the abandoned old theater for $6 and walk a few blocks to the ballpark. Those traditions will never change. 

But life as a fan is different when you've tasted the pinnacle of your team's success. I don't think that can be denied.

I used to be a huge Michigan football fan. But then the Wolverines won the national title in 1997, and my interest has slowly waned (note: my overall separation from football over the past year due to all the research that's come out regarding concussions and CTE has also contributed). 

I was a gigantic Pistons fan, and I still follow the team somewhat closely. But no championship could create as much joy for me as the 2004 beatdown of the high and mighty Lakers provided. 

Those teams reached the summits of their sports while I was a fan. I no longer care nearly as much. I watch more through my usual viewing glasses — objectively, as a sports journalist. 

The Tigers and the basketball Wolverines have not gained that summit of success. They've both come from extremely low points to the precipice of championship status. And that makes each crushing loss just sting more.

Tomorrow night, I'll grab the ragged hat again and hope for a different result and a tied series. I'll probably try some reverse jinxing with Facebook posts and Twitter updates (it can work!). 

Whatever the final score, I'll call it a night knowing that the day when my fandom wanes will be when the last game of the season is a win.

Go Tigers!

— Jake