Detroit Tigers’ Mark Fidrych pitches to the Toronto Blue Jays during a baseball game in 1977. Fidrych, the fun-loving pitcher who baffled hitters for one All-Star season and entertained fans with his antics, was found dead Monday in an apparent accident at his farm. He was 54. (Assciated Press)
Detroit -- It seemed like he was talking to the baseball, but really, he was talking to himself. And when you think about it, he was talking to us.
Mark "The Bird" Fidrych arrived during a dull time in Detroit sports and immediately enlivened it, made it richer and wilder and more accessible. He was a rookie pitcher for the Tigers in 1976 who went 19-9 and started in the All-Star Game, and on one magical Monday night in Tiger Stadium, he shut down the Yankees and elicited postgame cheers that still echo, 30-plus years later.
"We want Bird! We want Bird!"
And there came Fidrych, in his stocking feet and floppy mop of hair, bounding out of the dugout to greet the sellout crowd in his simple, shoulder-shrugging manner. It was a scene unlike anything ever witnessed, and as a teenager growing up around here, I was mesmerized. We all were.
So when the news broke Monday that Fidrych was dead, found beneath his truck on his Massachusetts farm, apparently the victim of a freak accident, it brought sadness, and shortly thereafter, it stirred nostalgia. It makes no sense, but then "The Bird" defied convention, in death and in life. He arrived in baseball as a quirk of fate, and unfortunately, he departed that way.
Fidrych, 54, was the truest original I can recall, unpretentious and giddy and still, somehow, a riveting major league pitcher until arm troubles felled him. Fans related to him because of how he talked while he pitched, and how when he ran to the mound, he'd drop to his knees and groom the dirt with his bare hands, like a kid on a sandlot.
He was called "The Bird" because his gangly motions reminded people of Big Bird on Sesame Street, and also because he was flighty and fun, untouched and unpredictable. He gushed that he'd be just as happy pumping gas back home as throwing pitches. No mania in baseball since has matched his singular appeal, reflected in the massive crowds he would draw in the Tigers' otherwise unremarkable season.
I'll always remember that broadcast on Monday Night Baseball against the Yankees in 1976, when he pitched the Tigers to a 5-1 victory and then took a curtain call that shook the old ballpark, as a national TV audience watched. Fidrych made such an impact here, it's hard to believe he only pitched parts of five seasons with the Tigers and was never the same, done in 1980 with a career record of 29-19.
His everyman appeal had an everyman ending, nothing grand about it, and perhaps that was fitting. It only seemed natural that such magic had to be short-lived. And with so much joy spread in such a short time, "The Bird" became even more unforgettable.
Fidrych never got rich from baseball, and he seemed to be living his life happily with his family, his truck and his farm. Maybe, in quiet moments, he also heard the echoes. Yes, we wanted "The Bird" during those crazy, short summers a long time ago. But just as much, we needed "The Bird," to remind us why they play and why we cheer, and how suddenly and sadly it all can end.
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