![R.I.P., Mark “The Bird” Fidrych (1954-2009)
The Bird was one of the first athletes that I ever remember caring about. I was too young to ever remember seeing him pitch (after all, I was only 2 when he won AL ROY in ‘76), but I distinctly remember checking out a book about him from Rochester Public Library on multiple occasions when I was a little scrapper and wishing I could’ve seen him play in his prime.
At the time, he was the only athlete that I had ever heard of who shared my given name which, along with his head of curly hair, was one of the reasons I think I was so interested in him at such a young age. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I emulated him, necessarily, but I definitely believe that he was a driving force for one of my first nicknames (he was The Bird, but I was The Shark).
For the sake of historical accuracy, my admiration soon shifted to other Tigers of the era like Kirk Gibson and Tom Brookens, and I don’t want to make it seem like I spent my entire youth following his travails. However, he was always a source of inspiration to me, especially during my (very) short-lived stint as a pitcher in youth baseball.
When we won the RARA championship (Jon Williams, where are you?) in 1985 or thereabouts, I was on the mound for the save. I remember the specifics of the moment like it was yesterday: rubbing my pitching hand on my pants before each pitch because it was so sweaty, nervously staring at Jon (who was the catcher) nervously staring back at me, sneaking adrenaline-filled glances at the sea of parents and siblings on the southwest field of West Middle School, hoping with every fiber of my being that I didn’t walk the winning run home. The moment might have ended up overwhelming me, but I distinctly remember that visions of The Bird were dancing through my head as I tried to get mentally prepared to throw each pitch. Even though the Tigers had just won the World Series, in my mind, The Bird was a better pitching role model than Jack Morris or Dan Petry or that pussy Milt Wilcox, so I give a lot of credit to him (among other spiritual forces) for helping me get the outs that ended up winning our team a trophy. And for that, I will always be grateful to him.
Rest in peace, Bird, rest in peace.
[via Sports By Brooks]](http://24.media.tumblr.com/jea72TSYwm9cwnh1ChmufbzHo1_400.jpg)
R.I.P., Mark “The Bird” Fidrych (1954-2009)
The Bird was one of the first athletes that I ever remember caring about. I was too young to ever remember seeing him pitch (after all, I was only 2 when he won AL ROY in ‘76), but I distinctly remember checking out a book about him from Rochester Public Library on multiple occasions when I was a little scrapper and wishing I could’ve seen him play in his prime.
At the time, he was the only athlete that I had ever heard of who shared my given name which, along with his head of curly hair, was one of the reasons I think I was so interested in him at such a young age. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I emulated him, necessarily, but I definitely believe that he was a driving force for one of my first nicknames (he was The Bird, but I was The Shark).
For the sake of historical accuracy, my admiration soon shifted to other Tigers of the era like Kirk Gibson and Tom Brookens, and I don’t want to make it seem like I spent my entire youth following his travails. However, he was always a source of inspiration to me, especially during my (very) short-lived stint as a pitcher in youth baseball.
When we won the RARA championship (Jon Williams, where are you?) in 1985 or thereabouts, I was on the mound for the save. I remember the specifics of the moment like it was yesterday: rubbing my pitching hand on my pants before each pitch because it was so sweaty, nervously staring at Jon (who was the catcher) nervously staring back at me, sneaking adrenaline-filled glances at the sea of parents and siblings on the southwest field of West Middle School, hoping with every fiber of my being that I didn’t walk the winning run home. The moment might have ended up overwhelming me, but I distinctly remember that visions of The Bird were dancing through my head as I tried to get mentally prepared to throw each pitch. Even though the Tigers had just won the World Series, in my mind, The Bird was a better pitching role model than Jack Morris or Dan Petry or that pussy Milt Wilcox, so I give a lot of credit to him (among other spiritual forces) for helping me get the outs that ended up winning our team a trophy. And for that, I will always be grateful to him.
Rest in peace, Bird, rest in peace.
[via Sports By Brooks]
