The gift of baseball

Here's a column that Brian wrote in Monday's newspaper about his trip with his brother to Lakeland, Fla., a few weeks ago for Spring Training to see the Tigers.

I think many of you will enjoy it.


The gift of baseball still has its charm



By Brian Hedger Post-Tribune staff writer

Willie Horton has a huge belly and a double chin now.
Back in 1968, when the Detroit Tigers won the World Series, he was a hero to Tigers fans of all ages. My brother Curt was one of them. He was 11 in 1968. And I ... well, I wasn't born until 1974, when he was 17.

So, when we spotted Willie earlier this month at Tigers spring training in Lakeland, Fla., I saw a cordial, old guy whom I'd only heard stories about. My brother saw Willie Horton.

We didn't get his autograph. We were too far away. He was in a hurry. But Curt did snap a picture just before the old slugger slipped into the batting cage to tutor some prospect.

And here's why, on the first big day of baseball in America, I still love this game despite its myriad problems.

Just before he snapped the picture, my brother turned into an 11-year old kid again -- if only for a second. He's a corporate attorney in Michigan. He has a nice office in Ann Arbor. He has a wonderful wife. He has two kids in college and a third who's served two tours in Iraq.

And yet, for just a fleeting second under the Florida sun, baseball gave him a glimpse of his childhood again.

"Go get'em, Willie ..." he started to shout, before snapping the shot.

You know, I'll never forget that moment. Hopefully, he won't either.

This was my gift, belated as it was, for his 50th birthday last June. I had no idea what to get him on such a milestone. He has, after all, played the role of dad, brother and best friend for me. So, I fretted about it. And deliberated. And then, finally, my wife, Lisa, came up with the perfect idea (she always does).

I took my big brother to spring training. And what was supposed to be a simple baseball trip turned out to be even more fun.

Yeah, we saw a couple of Tigers games. And we watched a lot of the prospects from all those box scores that each of us pours over every summer. We even saw Alexis Espinosa, a muscled young mystery prospect whom we'd been looking for like bird watchers.

But we also cruised around Polk County on the day it rained. And we stopped at some of our favorite haunts. At the Salvation Army (yes, you read that right) we found a bright, yellow T-shirt from a Lakeland bakery that made us cackle.

It said, in capital letters: "ASK ME ABOUT MY BUNS."

Curt bought it. And wore it. Briefly.

One day, we drove South from Lakeland to Venice, along the Gulf of Mexico. We visited family. We swam in the Gulf, cold as it was. And we took pictures like, well ... the tourists we were. One of the best is a picture of these silver Airstream RVs buried upright in a line along Interstate 4 -- a chrome-plated ode to Stonehenge.

And then there were the chemical suits that we found in the men's room of a Publix grocery store. "What the heck was that all about?" we wondered, making sure to get a photo of them too. We even found the Publix headquarters in a rough stretch of Lakeland on our last day there.

Turns out you can't miss it, because there's a giant birthday cake/water tower out front -- complete with candles that light up to warn low-flying aircraft.

We laughed a lot on this trip. And we saw Willie Horton.

Go get'em, indeed.