Bye-bye, Birdie.

You'll have to forgive this completely self-serving post. Hey, that's what blogs are for, right? A slice of my childhood died yesterday.

Mark "The Bird" Fidrych was found dead yesterday at his farm in Massachusetts. He was apparently working underneath a dump truck. The truck fell on top of him, killing him.

For one glorious summer in 1976, Fidrych was the best pitcher in baseball. He was also the most colorful. I was eight years old at the time, and was just REALLY beginning to get into sports. To a little boy, Fidrych was close to God. He got his nickname from his resemblence to "Big Bird" on Sesame Street.

It wasn't just the devastating fastball and nasty slider. It was the way he carried himself on the mound. With his curly afro bouncing up and down, Fidrych would sling pitch after pitch, with a pace that would exhaust anyone else. He would meticulously manicure the dirt in front of the pitcher's mount before each inning. He placed the baseball in front of him and talked to it before each pitch! He would bounce up and down like a bunny rabbit when one of his infielders made a play---then would go out and personally congratulate them!!

His appeal to kids was obvious. He was one of us! This is exactly the way WE would act if we were to pitch in a major-league game!

But this wasn't an act. Everyone who played with Fidrych says he had an uber-bubbly personality. He was 21 years old when he made his Major League debut, going on ten! One teammate called him "the most natural and unaffected person I've ever met."

As further evidence of his naivete, Fidrych was a guest analyst on Monday Night Baseball once. During the middle of the broadcast, he said, "Where's the John, I gotta go!" Out of the mouths of babes...

How popular was Fidrych? The Tigers sold out his last 12 home starts. Tiger opponents would request that Fidrych pitch at least once against their teams when the Tigers hit the road, to ensure a huge turnout.

In Spring Training the following year, Fidrych suffered what would ultimately prove to be a career-ending rotator cuff injury. It was only natural the the injury would occur while he was horseplaying with a teammate in the outfield. He was never an effective pitcher again. To make the story even harder to swallow, he was hurt about two years before doctors perfected the now-famous rotator cuff surgery that would have brought that wonderful right arm back to full strength.

It would be trite to say that baseball needs more people like Fidrych, but it does. That unbridled enthusiasm was contagious. I can't remember how many times I asked Dad, "Is The Bird pitching tonight?" I wonder how many kids ask that same question today about Roy Oswalt or Jake Peavy?

The "personalities" we are left with range from assholes (Barry Bonds) to jerks (Randy Johnson), the aloof (Derek Jeter), media-savvy (A-Rod), and incomprehensible (Manny Ramirez.) The closest thing we've had to Fidrych the past thirty years is Kirby Puckett---another one who died before his time. Maybe David Ortiz fits the bill today. I don't know.

What I DO know is that no other sports figure struck this Little League Superstar like Mark Fidrych. Hopefully he's throwing a few sliders today to Ted Williams.