Comerica Park

It's good to be home.

Philadelphia, Wilmington, Baltimore, DeeCee, I love you all, but home iz where the big cats iz at. Tigertown!

I love baseball. Springtime is coming and that sound that I hear might be the sound of the grass growing under the frozen outfield crust of Comerica Park, Detroit. Like every Tiger fan I'm hoping that this is the big one, the year they finally do it. All the way, this time. I can't wait to take up my spot in the Center Field bleachers and root the Tigers home to the pennant.

I'm smellin' glory in the air!

Springtime brings baseball and Comerica Park is where I'll be.

The fun never stops out in the cheap seats, Center Field bleachers, my summertime home. Plus I can't really afford the snooty box seats. It's alright though, the view is great from Center Field.

Center Field is home to our beloved outfielder, Curtis Granderson. Now I could go for Curtis Granderson. You know in the Annie Savoy kind of way, that is to say the Susan Sarandan character in Bull Durham. I bet Curtis Granderson is probably the cuddly teddy bear type. No matter, he's cuteness.

Lawdy, Lawdy! You know you're chronic when you start writing about baseball and end up talking about sex!

Poor Curtis Granderson. He's probably complaining in the dugout all season, "How the hell am I supposed to shag flies with that dang snow bunny out there clocking my booty all night?"

"I believe in the Church of Baseball. I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology. You see, there's no guilt in baseball, and it's never boring... which makes it like sex. There's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career. Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate. Besides, I'd never sleep with a player hitting under .250... not unless he had a lot of RBIs and was a great glove man up the middle. You see, there's a certain amount of life wisdom I give these boys. I can expand their minds. Sometimes when I've got a ballplayer alone, I'll just read Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman to him, and the guys are so sweet, they always stay and listen. 'Course, a guy'll listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay. I make them feel confident, and they make me feel safe, and pretty. 'Course, what I give them lasts a lifetime; what they give me lasts 142 games. Sometimes it seems like a bad trade. But bad trades are part of baseball - now who can forget Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas, for God's sake? It's a long season and you gotta trust. I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball."

-Annie Savoy, Bull Durham