Al Kaline, the picture of youth. He went straight from the sandlot of Baltimore to become win the AL batting crown in 1955. I won't dull you with tales of this career--his stats are elegantly laid out here.

I do have one story about a day in Tiger Stadium that features Al. It was the summer of '68 and the Tigers were cruising toward their World Championship. Al broke his collarbone in the Spring and in late July/early August he made his return to the line-up. The Tigers were playing a Sunday doubleheader against the Oakland A's. We were sitting in the first row of the upper deck between third base and the left-field foul pole. The A's bullpen was directly below us.

Doubleheaders were a fan's delight. Two full games with plenty of time between games to make sure that all the Stroh's you needed came your way. Kaline was penciled in to start the second game, and, sure enough, he came out between games to stretch and to do a little running.

Our section was a typical Detroit crowd. Blue collar, couple of dogs and couple of beers, and much adoration for their dear bengals. Everyone loved Kaline and there was much buzz about seeing our dear Al in the nightcap. Except for one guy. Today we'd call him a little person. He referred to himself as a midget. He had smuggled in a pint of something and by the end of the first game he mixed most with a couple of cokes. By the beginning of the second game he was pulling directly from the bottle, sucking the last of the syrupy goodness down his gullet.

Mr Small Person became more agitated as time passed. Before the start of the second game he started to complain about Kaline. Seemed he sent Al a get well card when Al was hurt, and Al had not returned the favor when Mr. Small Guy was hospitalized with gall bladder trouble.

By the time the 2nd game had started our friend had has enough. He had climbed up and was now standing on his seat. Then he started yelling at Kaline, the rightfielder. Remember, our seats were in left so our friend was in no position to have an affect on Kaline's day. Nonetheless, our friend, now in fine state of agitation kept on. "Hey Kaline! Remember the Midget," he yelled. "I sent you a god damn get well card. Think you coulda sent one to me? NOOOOOOOOOOO! Mr. Bigshot doesn't have time for midgets."

And thus it went, until our friend finally ran out of gas. He and his date date had had enough, packed up what was salvageable of their dear and headed for the exit.

The Tigs swept the doubleheader against the young A's. Kaline got a couple of hits and much love from his adoring fans.