Monday, August 23, 2004

Comerica Park, Detroit, Michigan
Detroit Tigers 7, Chicago White Sox 0

Levi: This morning, we bageled up at the Stahl household, then left my parents--as well as two cats, the stinky dog, some fish, a hummingbird, and an owl that went "whoo-oo-oo" all night long--behind and hit the road bright and early, counting on Jim's playlist of #1 hits to carry us through. And carry us through an uneventful morning they did. We dropped Stacey and Luke at the University Park Metra station a full ten minutes before their standing train was due to depart. They left us with good wishes and the remaining dozen Hostess Baseballs.

We passed through the Slough of Despond, or northern Indiana. We crossed into Michigan, where, like the welcome center in Florida that gives travelers free orange juice, they were giving out paper cups of motor oil. In Michigan, a pattern developed: road construction followed by light rain followed by heavy rain followed by traffic being slowed to a crawl by a wreck ahead. Like a driver's ed class following a Troy McClure film, we took heed and drove with caution.

Yet we arrived in Detroit right on time. Jim took us into the city on Michigan Avenue, so that we would go by Tiger Stadium. The old ballpark looks a bit run down, but it's still impressive--huge and boxy and white. A ticket booth remains right on the corner, but there are no tickets to be had.

Detroit itself, meanwhile, is as depressing and hard to believe as I imagined. Street after street is deserted, storefronts are boarded up, windows are broken. A few businesses here and there are hanging on--the Refrigerator King, a few liquor stores, a surprising number of antique-looking antique stores--but even the extant businesses appear to be holding on only by cutting costs to the bone, deferring even the most basic maintenance, from painting to repairing broken signs. (Side note: one thing that was odd for me, simply because Chicago's truly poor neighborhoods are so segregated: the people on the street were about an even mix of white, black, and Latino.) Once we entered downtown, the picture went from sad to surreal, as abandoned storefronts were replaced by abandoned deco skyscrapers. Across from our hotel is a derelict twenty-story building with detailed stonework and statues of knights at about the tenth floor. And downtown seems to be like that just about everywhere; I saw a sign on a building that said, "Building available," and I thought it was awfully optimistic.

The ballpark, on the other hand, is surprisingly pleasant. Sitting in the 18th row just on the first-base side of home, we were a bit spoiled. The upper deck--my usual haunt at a ballpark--does look like it might be all the way back in the Central Time Zone, so I can't fully vouch for the ballpark, but it was a great place to watch a game from the high-roller area. The stadium is very open, with a view of downtown and a lot of sky, a silly fountain (The General Motors Fountain) beyond center field, and statues of Tiger Hall-of-Famers on the concourse in left. I was even able to get a reasonably good vegetarian pita with rice pudding for dinner, which saved me from the wrath of Little Caesar's, the house pizza. Jim supped on a Kowalski kielbasa--and, as we learned later, "Kowalski means Ko-wality!"

Oh, and the game! I had decided beforehand that since the Sox are doomed, I was free to root, root, root for the home team. It was a good night for it, as Jeremy Bonderman, apparently leaving his 6.07 E.R.A. at home with the wife and kids, absolutely baffled the Sox. He threw mostly inside curves and slowwwwwwwww changeups. Then, when the hitters would start looking for the slowwwwwwwww changeup, he'd throw an even slower one. I don't know when I've ever seen this many major league hitters look this foolish. Paul Konerko in the 9th was so far out in front of strike three that the ump nearly called it against the next batter. The Tigers, meanwhile, kept drawing walks after walk after walk off Jose Contreras, and the game wasn't in doubt for long. Jeremy Bonderman struck out Joe Borchard for his personal-best 14th strikeout to end the game, and the Tigers won, 7-0.

Now I will wrap this up and get to bed. Jim's somehow managed to get our TV stuck while he tried to order the Garfield movie.

Jim: Probably because it didn't affect him personally, Levi didn't mention that I broke the band off my watch on a vending machine at the aforementioned Michigan welcome center while I was getting my 15-cent change from a bag of Fritos I bought. See, I dropped the change on the floor, and then somehow managed to catch my watch on the edge of the bottom of the machine. If we get to Toronto quickly enough, I may try to find a jeweler or watch repairman who can fix it while I wait. Levi will probably have to drive, because I'm tired from taking our lives into my hands all day today.

Our mileage to this point is 1,171 miles. I haven't been calculating miles per gallon as I should, and unfortunately, we're about to enter Canada where they calculate kilometers per 100 liters, or something like that.

Jim (late addition): We've already had floods (the heavy rain along I-94 through Michigan) and cats and dogs lying together (at Levi's parents' house), so what was next?

The fire alarm went off in our hotel here in Detroit at 1:15 A.M. Actually, it was a recorded voice telling us to assemble near a fire exit. After the announcement had gone through a couple times, it started going into a mode where it would play part of the announcement every 30 or 45 seconds. "Attention! There has been " " not use elevators " " await further "

Levi and I decided that since we were only being told to assemble, we could make it to the stairs pretty quickly if need be, so we stayed in bed. Levi eventually put on a shirt and looked out the window, but presumably he didn't see any fire trucks or other emergency vehicles. At 1:30, they finally figured out how to turn the alarm off, just as Levi was calling the front desk to see if we'd ever be able to get back to sleep. It was probably dust from an abandoned building getting into a smoke detector somewhere.

Comments

Sandor: You are so going to get pulled over by a mountie as you forget to convert the speed limit signs from KM/hr to mph. "100 mph speed limit?" you'll say to yourself. "I love it here!" When Sarah and I went to Canadia last month, not only did we get a car that had the speedometer in KM, but it also had a switch that woud let us move it back and forth between KM and miles. Ours was a Malibu, also by Chevy, so maybe your Impala has the same feature. I recommend using it. Otherwise, you'll find yourself wondering why all the Canadian drivers go so slow... one moment before you get your asses thrown in jail. I think they have a special cell there reserved for Americans.

In other Canadia news, be sure to ask the locals why they call it a twonie.

Bob: Jim, I can't believe you didn't pack any extra watch bands! Why weren't you thinking?

Pictures

Seen in downtown Detroit while we were walking to the game, it's SARS Turtle, Levi's favorite graffiti ever...

The Colonial statues on the abandoned building across the street from our hotel...

Outside Comerica Park, an old-school sign, as if someone's going to be driving by and decide to stop in for the game...

Look out! These people are about to be pounced upon by a tiger!

Entrance to the park...

General Motors Fountain, complete with two cars way up there...

This batting tiger is on the seats at the end of each row...

A real Tiger batting...

Jeremy Bonderman pitching, most likely throwing a strike...

Levi was amused by the fact that Big Boy is one of the Tigers' sponsors...

The final line...

Tuesday's Detroit Free Press...



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