Baseball as Antidote

Detroit's severe economic depression began to hurt even more this week.

With rampant unemployment and growing urban tension, the early season success of the Tigers had given the beleaguered city reason to rejoice. Thirty percent more fans had been filling Tiger Stadium nightly before the current road trip. Fans witnessed something rare on the Detroit sports scene: success.

Before the present slide, which has taken Detroit tumbling down to the middle of the American League East, the ball club sported a startling 35-19 record. The Tigers by all accounts were providing an antidote to the debilitating employment woes and the city's long-time frustration with athletic cellar-dwellers.

Just as Detroit's disastrous economic situation is almost incomprehensible to outsiders, the crucial role of pro sports in the factory town cannot be appreciated at a distance.

The recent string of defeats--lengthened by three ruthless Red Sox drubbings this week--has, according to Detroit and Tiger observers, made the Motor City an even sadder place to be these days.

Slam Dunk

"The fans were really sky-high over this thing, and then, wham!" Tiger skipper Sparky Anderson said before Wednesday's Red Sox-Tiger massacre. He added that he feels particularly bad about the Tiger down-turn because their-success had been such a salve for the city.

Cities like Detroit, Boston, and New York share a common, vital heritage in The Summer Game, which reaches back to the turn of the century. But while New York has recently bought pennants, the Tigers have stumbled along, reinforcing the mediocrity which pervades all Detroit sports.

The difference between Detroit and Boston--where yearly playoff drives always seem more exhilarating and pure--are the sheer numbers. In the last decade Boston's four major teams have snagged 25 playoff spots. Detroiters, in the same time, have enjoyed a meager six, with no team advancing in post-season play past the second round.

No Fun

"In Detroit, we haven't had any winners, period." Ernie Harwell, the Tiger's play-by-play announcer for more than 25 years, said at Fenway Wednesday.

Increasingly, baseball clubs seem to be playing in streaks. Last year, Oakland broke the American League record for consecutive victories at the start of the season. Atlanta matched the achievement this year in the National League. All the American League East teams--with the exception of Boston--have endured extended slumps at some point this season.

But because of the extenuating and deepening problems for Detroit the city, it seems that the Tigers fortunes had best not fall.

Said Gates Brown, the Tiger pinch-hitter-turned-batting coach: "If the team plays decent, interesting ball, the people will have something to take their minds off their troubles."

"There're not many things good about Detroit these days," he added.

A Boston pennant--now becoming increasingly likely--would be wonderful. But soon the flag would go on top of a big pile of sports laurels, deserved but not fully appreciated. A New York championship would quickly get engulfed by the news-and-excitement-mongering metropolis in which the Yanks play only a bit part.

The evaporating Tiger Power of 1982 tragically seems appropriate for the city's depressed state, which threatens to deteriorate further.

In 1968, as was the case earlier this season, the Tigers meant much more to the city Dramatically split by a racial not the summer before. Detroiters held their breath that summer, hoping that the steamy evenings would not bring more violence. By mid-summer, they were all cheering instead. The Tigers were on their way to winning it all.

"In '68, you didn't hear talk about the riots," said Brown a member of the championship squad. "Everybody was talking about the Tigers."

When the Tigers return from their disastrous road trip, decidedly fewer people will flock to the park. A good share of the no-shows won't be busy working, but worrying.

Still, a string of wins, good pitching, hot hitting, loads of luck and then perhaps a pennant could resuscitate a city where baseball means more than usual at this stage in the game.