I’m still in shock over the loss of the beloved former Detroit Tigers’ manager, Sparky Anderson. Within the span of about a day, I went from finding out that he wasn’t in the best of health to finding out that he had passed away.  When I returned to the office and one of my co-workers told me, he remarked, “I can tell by the look on his face that he remembered Sparky Anderson.”

For me, I have a few memories branded in my mind of the Detroit Tigers that came into my consciousness as a little boy.  As a kid in Detroit, The Tigers were my team.  There was something about the combination of the blue and white, along with the Old English D that just stayed with me. I would watch Dad shelling peanuts, while he watched the game.  He would hand me some to shell but my little fingers weren’t strong enough to shell them.  As I would wait for Dad to return me the shelled peanuts, I would do as he did and watched the games.  Beside the colors and the D, I remember Sparky’s weathered face and his warm, raspy voice.  To me, he wasn’t the Tigers’ manager.  He was almost like a grandfather that would pass to his grandchildren the secrets of the game of baseball.

After the first strike that I witnessed, baseball lost some of its magic.  Perhaps I was growing up or maybe I wised up.  Somehow, baseball went from being about that magic that you see in Field of Dreams, The Sandlot or The Natural to the ever-growing, overpaid players’ salaries.  However, Spark, for me, encapsulated the magic that comes from the simple act of throwing and hitting the ball.  There is still something magical about the perfect crack of a bat we watch a ball sail out of a park.

So as I humbly send off Sparky, in my own way, I’m leaving with him that magic that I had as a kid. He was my baseball grandfather who made me want to play Little League ball.  Sparky was the guy that really made me want to watch the game.  He made me want to play game.  So as I write these final words, I know that Sparky’s up there sharing stories with Ernie Harwell.  Rest in peace.  You did your thing here and we loved you for it.  Each and every person that ever worshipped that Old English D will miss you, Sparky.

Author: José A. Rodríguez