Don't know if any of you ever watched a baseball game at old Tiger Stadium, but I loved the place. The new stadium (Comerica Park) is OK, but TS was awesome. TS was located in the Corktown district of downtown Detroit, with the main entrance at the corner of 2 streets - 'Michigan' and 'Trumbull', hence the name of the poem. It was a really crappy area. Imagine the stereotype of downtown Detroit then put a baseball park in the middle of it, and you've nailed it. I was watching a Tigers game last year and posted this on the Tigers message board. Amazing how easy it is to write something if you really have a passion for it. Looking back through the years to days way back when We have so many memories to treasure Of great Tiger teams that our parents knew well And the thoughts of which still give us pleasure So just one more time let us cast our thoughts back To the place where these greats would assemble Men like Ty Cobb and Gehringer, Kaline and Kell, At the corner of Michigan and Trumbull. A few beers early, in the Batters Box bar, Then the walk cross the road to the turnstiles Gazing up at the big Tiger Stadium sign That turned anyones sadness to smiles. Then across Tiger Plaza and on up the ramps, But with sunglasses on you might stumble - It was dark as the underworld under the stands At the corner of Michigan and Trumbull. Emerging from darkness, the emerald green bluegrass Was the first thing youd see when you entered Three-twenty five to right and three-forty to left And the flagpole, four-forty, in center. Youd be transported back to a different age It was easy to feel very humble The first time you saw that cathedral of baseball At the corner of Michigan and Trumbull. From a seat up in bleacher beach, sun cream in hand, It was just the most beautiful sight Or for something more shady then nowhere was better Than the couch in the overhang in right Vendors with sodas and 2 kinds of beer And then if your stomach should rumble You could feast on steamed hot dogs, the best in the world, At the corner of Michigan and Trumbull. The pop as the first pitch was caught for a strike Would echo to all parts of the stands In brilliant white uniforms with old English Ds: Detroits boys of summer, and their fans. As a ball was popped foul for a fans souvenir You could hear Ernie Harwells voice grumble And a young man from Lansing will take that one home From the corner of Michigan and Trumbull. But the memories are fading, just like the blue paint And someday theyll tear it all down Now the Tigers have moved to Comerica Park And therell be no more baseball in Corktown But well always remember with fondness and pride, Even when the old ballpark has crumbled, All our heroes, and the pennants and rings that they won At the corner of Michigan and Trumbull.