Special to The Detroit News
Detroit — Time was, we’d sit there in the top deck, second row, shooting the bull in the other home that we called “The Ballpark.” Plainly, just that, “The Ballpark.” Night games, they were a rarity. A treat. We would bask in the sunshine most every day and watch the athletes down below as we tossed out the odd comment.
The games were precious. And so were the ballplayers. Al Kaline, still a kid. Norm Cash, “Stormin' Norman.” Frank Lary, “Taters.” Rocky Colavito, “Don’t Knock The Rock.”
The conversation would turn deep.