In memory of Mark "The Bird" Fidrych
I wanted to write this post earlier, but for a variety of reasons (most of them associated with a schedule that revolves around work and family) I haven't gotten to it until now. I was greatly saddened a few weeks ago to hear of Mark "the Bird" Fidrych's tragic death. I remember the Bird's magic summer of '76, because that's the year I became interested in baseball. It was largely due to the exuberance and individuality of Mark Fidrych. He was one of a kind, and I don't know if we'll ever see a player quite like Fidrych. I lived in Detroit from 1973 to 1979, so I was there to experience the Bird. I, along with other kids on my block, mimicked all of Fidrych's oddball traits: running to the mound at the beginning of an inning (and running off the field after the third out), smoothing the mound, talking to the ball, and the Bird's herky-jerky pitching motion. I distinctly remember talking to a tennis ball (and telling it where to go in a way ...