Al Kaline, Jeff Daniels and What it Means to be 9

My best friend Tim told me he was reading a book about alkaline.

I was stunned.

We only checked out books from the school library by choice if they were about sports. It was an unspoken agreement. Why, all of a sudden, was he showing interest in the pH of water? Why did he care that akali can be defined as a base that dissolves in water? Where were his priorities? We had sports books to read!

Actually, we were in grammar school, so that was not my response. 

After asking Tim to repeat the name several times, it turned out the book was about the great ballplayer Al Kaline. And we weren't the only ones with Kaline confusion. 

BaseballReference.com's “Cool Names” list features Al Kaline because “some fans have noticed that his names when pushed together make the word alkaline.”

While I remembered the funny conversation about alkaline and knew about his Hall of Fame career, I rarely thought about the man they called Mr. Tiger.

Until, that is, I listened to a tribute song for Kaline, who died in April, by the actor Jeff Daniels.

Daniels was born in Michigan, a Tigers fan, and one of the defining moments of his childhood was heading to old Tiger Stadium when he was 9-year-old for “Bat Day.” He returned with a bat signed by his hero, Al Kaline.

The beauty of Daniels' song is that a few seconds in you are 9-years-old again.

You’re remembering how at that age the first time you saw a big-league-park each season the grass looked so green it was as if your eyes were playing tricks.

When you’re age 9, big leaguers seem old. They tower over you like superheroes, and no one is more larger than life than your favorite player. For me, and a generation of kids growing up in Milwaukee, it was Robin Yount or Paul Molitor. Today, it’s Christian Yelich.

In Detroit, if you were Daniels’ age, your hero was Al Kaline. Daniels sings:

Early summer 1964, 9-years-old and ready for more

Just like Christmas comes once a year, Tiger Bat Day was finally here

Backyard baseball I was destined for stardom. 

When I was him I hit it over Mom’s Garden

He was the hero I pretended to be. I was him, he was me.

But you can’t stay a kid forever, just like your hero can't stay young. You see Paul Molitor's starting to look like an older man, his hair turning gray. Paul Molitor can’t age can he? And if he can, what does that mean for you?

One day you realize you're older than some of the players you're watching. Pretty soon, their birthdate is the same year you celebrated your 21^st birthday. You find yourself rooting like crazy for aging veterans to hold on so you’re not older than every single player.

He was just a ballplayer and I was just a kid.

All I ever wanted was everything he did.

Just like him I reached for more than I could ever be.

My childhood hero died today along with a little bit of me.

Then one day your son begins to develop an interest in baseball. Pretty soon, his arm is strong enough that you're buying a glove to play catch with him. Each time you throw the ball, you recapture a little bit of that 9-year-old.

The game doesn't mean as much as it did to you when you were 9. You realize that's as it should be, but that it's also a big part of who you still are and always will be.

            Now decades later with that bat in my hand. 

            Some things take a lifetime to understand.

With that, Jeff Daniels walks us off.