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.
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.