A day on the Tigers bandwagon

“Scooch over,” I hear. “I have no room,” someone says. “My leg is asleep!” another man screams.

I’m huddled in the back corner of a semi truck, amongst hundreds of people crammed like sardines, and the number is growing with no end in sight.

The temperature must be reaching 100 degrees, and with the heat comes the pungent smell of humanity that lingers.

On jumps the guy from down the street, the pizza delivery boy, and three brunette bombshells in their mid-twenties.

Flocks of men make room in an attempt to seat the young ladies, but they walk straight past to a spot underneath a Brandon Inge poster.

I can feel the speed picking up as I close my eyes and wonder to myself where we’re headed.

Shortly after I open my eyes, my question is answered with the sight of a grandmother and her grandson waving a flag that reads “OCTOBER OR BUST.”

Dogs are barking, cats meowing, and parrots singing.

Next to me, a conversation is brewing. “Did you hear what Ron Allen said last night?” I overhear from a man with a distinct country accent.

“Who’s Ron Allen?” I reply.

“The Tigers broadcaster, duh,” he confidently states. He then goes on to inform everyone around that Ron Allen won a World Series with the 1987 Tigers.

WHACK!

We’ve hit something. Everyone jumps. There are shrieks in the distance, but mostly just agitated looks of how comfortable it is sitting on wood planks.

Whispers circulate around until one man finally declares, “We’ve just ran over the Indians!”

New York Yankees owner George Steinbrenner climbs in, and is visibly upset because nobody recognizes him.

Behind him is Tony the Tiger, famous for gracing Frosted Flakes boxes worldwide. A mother and father emblazoned with Tigers gear from head to toe urge their kids to give Paws a hug.

Kiddie corner from me, a group of college kids formed a circle. They’re burning time looking through a Tigers program. With a hint of authority in his voice, one states “Marcus Th-AY-mes and Brent Cleveland are going to become stars one day.”

The group nods, and a kid with a Carrot Top-like afro says, “Dude, we’re going to Cleveland?”

THUD!

Heads turn to see what the noise is.

“It’s just the Royals,” says a librarian that just came aboard, holding a stack of books that includes Baseball For Dummies.

Everyone sighs and turns their attention to an argument that’s heated up.

“We got Pudge in a trade with Texas!” says one.

“No, it was Florida! We traded him for Bobby Higginson!” replies the other.

“Didn’t he come from New York?” interrupts a young blonde haired girl. She is wearing an all-white Tigers cap with the tag attached.

As she turns around, everyone gasps. It’s Paris Hilton.

“Why do you still have the tag on?” I ask.

“Because, like, once the Tigers start losing again, I’ll, like, take it back or something and buy, like, another hat,” she says, leaving nothing to the imagination of what’s going on inside her head.

Echoes of “Who’s Your Tiger?” can be heard from every section. After numerous Curtis Grandersons and Justin Verlanders, a guy with a dusty Tigers cap says, “Chris Shelton! Because he’s leading the league in home runs!”

Conversation turns to Comerica Park.

“It’s such a nice stadium,” a lady chirps.

Another man agrees. “I never even went to a game at that other stadium, but I’ve been to 32 games this year,” he says.

“What was the name of it, anyways?”

I finally lower my head into my hands and shake my head.

Just another day on the Tigers bandwagon.