I remember being enthralled by the youthful exuberance and incredible performance of Detroit Tiger rookie Mark "The Bird" Fidrych in the Summer of 1976, a year otherwise tarnished by post-Nixon malaise, a tanking economy and an aimless pre-punk musical scene. Fidrych had a mythic year, one he never repeated. I had just turned 16 and was having a pretty good year of my own. When he died of a freak accident a few years ago I must admit I was shocked by the photos of the modern day Fidrych. He had gotten older. He was no longer the adorable, curly-haired Bird, but rather a middle-aged guy who had tried to make it through life after his brief moment in the sun. Nostalgia is a funny thing.
Saw your picture in the paper today and I couldn't believe my eyes. Dead before your time, but so long beyond your prime. Looking nothing like the memory from when I was a kid. Golden hair flowing down, on your knees grooming the pitcher's mound. And it's always 1976. The camera lies and the mirror plays tricks. So many things that the years won't fix. Always 1976, always 1976.
Set against a fading motor city and Richard Nixon's shame, a rock star had arrived. Fidrych comes alive! And I know it's hardly fair to say you won't grow old, but forgive me if I try to keep that faded image in my eyes.
What does it say for the rest of us when our heroes die and leave us alone?
What does it say for the rest of us when we wake up and find this bird has flown?
Saw your picture in the paper today and I couldn't believe my eyes. Dead before your time, but so long beyond your prime. Looking nothing like the memory from when I was a kid. Golden hair flowing down, on your knees grooming the pitcher's mound. And it's always 1976. The camera lies and the mirror plays tricks. So many things that the years won't fix. Always 1976, always 1976.
Set against a fading motor city and Richard Nixon's shame, a rock star had arrived. Fidrych comes alive! And I know it's hardly fair to say you won't grow old, but forgive me if I try to keep that faded image in my eyes.
What does it say for the rest of us when our heroes die and leave us alone?
What does it say for the rest of us when we wake up and find this bird has flown?