Fun in Ferndale

Ferndale, Mich. -- So, our three day weekend comes to a close.

Big blur, super short, too little time. But, then again, that's the way of it, right? We work too much and play too little, all in the name of some passe Protestant ethic.

To hell with that.

But, we've had a blast. At left, you'll see Jennifer and me with Robert Washington, Elvis Tribute Artist extraordinaire, the highlight of our stop Saturday at the annual Michigan ElvisFest. Fabulous. Hear him here.

We are here, too, to see friends David and Jennifer. I have been heading here, or they have done the opposite, since 1999. They live in Ferndale, this funky, freaky, fantastic foxhole north of Detroit.

This afternoon, we watched the Tigers tame the Orioles via the televisions at Rosie O'Grady's bar. Then we went shopping. I bought three or four books at The Library bookstore -- John Cheever, James Agee, a "Hawaii Five-O" paperback from '68, and Ernie Harwell's early autobiography. (Then I dropped a C-note at a vintage clothing store. Groovy, baby!)

Speaking of the late, great Mr. Harwell, we saw the play "Ernie" at the City Theatre in downtown Detroit on Saturday night. I laughed. I cried. I lamented a long-gone era. Mitch Albom wrote the play. Perfectly poignant.

Before the show, we drove by a fenced-in lot, all that remains of beloved Tiger Stadium. I don't care how cool Comerica Park may be (and it is cool), it will never match the magic of the long-gone cathedral at The Corner. Not a chance.

This weekend was much-needed medicine. I've felt like hell for two weeks. So has Jenn. We needed a grin. We needed old friends.

Every time I come to Ferndale, I get caught up in its bohemian beauty, in its quirky charm, in its ethos.

Now I must return to tea party-tinged Tennessee. I will be honest. The thought depresses the hell out of me.

So it goes. Life is good.

We have enjoyed these two days. I have gotten all shook up and basked in beer and baseball and bell bottoms and the beauty of time spent with friends.

But here is the best part:

We'll be back.

There used to be a ballpark

And there used to be a ballpark
Where the field was warm and green
And the people played their crazy game
With a joy I'd never seen.
And the air was such a wonder
From the hot dogs and the beer
Yes, there used to be a ballpark, right here.

-- Frank Sinatra, "There Used to be a Ballpark Here," 1973

The gaping hole in the side of old Tiger Stadium this morning has nothing on the gaping hole in my heart.

I finally made it to the corner of Michigan and Trumbull in the late summer of 1999. It was the last year for baseball at the beloved ol' stadium in Detroit. Me and a buddy from Halls, Drew Weaver, made the 8-hour trek to Motown to say good-bye.

The Tigers were awful that year, as they so often were from 1988 to 2005. But, on this magical Saturday afternoon, they beat the Baltimore Orioles. I've forgotten the score. Cal Ripken Jr. wasn't playing that day, but he brought the lineup to home plate before the game.

It was a special moment in several ways. That game marked the beginning of my enduring friendship with two special pals, Michigan native and "Magnum, p.i." guru David Romas and his wife, Jennifer Bondy. It was also my first -- and only -- visit to the grand ol' girl that was Tiger Stadium. The last home game at the Corner was played that September; the Tigers moved to big new Comerica Park downtown the following year.

We were the last fans to file out of the stadium that Saturday night. We stayed and stayed, not wanting to say good-bye.

I looked out over that green field, thinking about Cobb and Kell, Kaline and Cash, Lolich and McLain, Tram and Sweet Lou. I looked up at Ernie Harwell's broadcast booth and wondered if he'd go to the new park. (He did, finally retiring in 2002.)

I thought about Tom Selleck, who for all practical purposes introduced me to the Tigers through Thomas Magnum in the '80s. And I knew with all my heart that I'd never step into another park quite like this one.

Several groups tried to save the stadium over the last 8 years. Meanwhile, she sat and rotted, cracking at the seams -- sad, lonely, neglected. The wrecking crew tore a big hole in her side yesterday. Looking at the pictures on the internet made me want to throw up.

A group is still frantically working to save the field, the dugouts, 3,000 seats and Ernie's booth. I don't know. From what I understand, it hinges on government money, so I'm not going to hold my breath.

But generations of Michiganders -- and even a Tigers fan from Tennessee -- will forever have their memories. I'll never forget that Saturday at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull for the rest of my days.

"Yes," Sinatra sang, "there used to be ballpark right here..."