Championship teams in baseball carry with them certain requirements that must be fulfilled in order for confetti to rain in October.
You must have a superstar. This player must perform at a high level nearly all of the time. While the rest of team struggles, he produces. The Tigers take this criteria one step further; their superstar, Miguel Cabrera, happens to be the best player on the planet.
You must have a supportive fan base and a distinct home-field advantage. The Tigers fit the bill again. They rank third in the American League in attendance, and have rewarded their loyal followers generously. They have won ten straight games at Comerica Park, and their home mark is tops in the Junior Circuit.
You must have a manager that’s been through the wars and has seen all this game has to offer; guys like Jack McKeon, Charlie Manuel, Tony LaRussa. It helps if this gentleman can be described as “crusty.” Jim Leyland checks this box with ease.
You must have overcome adversity in some fashion. Maybe a popular team member suffered a gruesome injury during the season. Or more commonly, a group continuing to stubbornly climb the mountain, only to get sent tumbling back down time and time again. This describes the 1986-88 Pistons, and also the 2006-12 Tigers. A pair of World Series appearances; eight combined losses, one lonely win.
The last bullet point is not as obvious. It doesn’t make for giant headlines or get first billing on the 11 o’ clock news. But you can bet that it’s important, and a necessity if you want your team basking in champagne after the final out is recorded.
You need the “Sympathetic, Aging Veteran Still Searching for his First Championship.”
It motivates the team better than any rah-rah speech ever could. It gives them a reason to go out and give every remaining ounce of effort. They want it for themselves, but even more so, they want it for their Ol’ Warhorse.
The Avalanche practically devoted their entire Stanley Cup run in 2001 to Ray Bourque. Same goes for Jerome Bettis and his Steelers, who found their rallying cry in the goofy, non-rhyming slogan, “Win One for the Bus.”
Torii Hunter is 38 years old. He’s in his 17th major league season.
And he’s never been to a World Series.
Hunter's Journey
The journey began in Minnesota. Part of a talented, young core, Torii Hunter’s Twins were perennial playoff entrants. Hunter anchored the defense, patrolling center field with the grace of Andruw Jones and the showmanship of Willie Mays. He earned his first Gold Glove award in 2001, and would be honored again in each of the next eight seasons. You could safely pencil him in for 25 homers and 90-plus ribbies. Hunter was peaking, and so were his fellow Twinkies.
Yet every autumn, they would run into a bigger-budgeted team that they could not overcome. The Angels and Yankees took turns bashing the harmless bunch from Little Big League.
Fifteen years after being drafted by Minnesota, Torii decided it was time for a change. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” the saying goes. So he did just that, and hightailed it to the West Coast.
Even as Hunter entered the golden years of his career with the Angels, the numbers and performance stayed remarkably consistent. Not to be overlooked, his reputation as one of the all-time great teammates was cemented in Anaheim.
Center field had always belonged to Torii Hunter. It’s where he thrived, and where he belonged. You might see change and turnover elsewhere on the diamond, but #48 was always in center.
Then his legs started giving out just a tad. Younger, more fleet-footed Angels started angling for his spot. There were rumblings about a position change.
A more selfish player would have balked at the suggestion of giving up his spot. After all, it’s not every day that a player with a shelf full of hardware is asked to vacate the territory that made him famous.
Hunter did nothing of the sort. He merely picked up his glove, jogged over to right field, and set up shop.
The ever-present smile never left his face.
Until the postseason, that is. The Halos would play bonus baseball twice with Hunter on the squad. Neither run was very memorable.
All told, he had played in eight playoffs series, emerging victorious just twice.
Time to Be Rewarded
Which brings us to the present day.
The Tigers are cruising to a division title. They have the (soon to be) back-to-back American League MVP hitting colossal home runs on one leg. They have the likely Cy Young award winner spearheading a rotation of flamethrowers. The stands are filled every night and their manager is crustier than a loaf of Wonder Bread.
And now they finally have the grizzled, tough-luck veteran to rally around.
Torii Hunter has played in 2,088 games a big leaguer. Only one active player (Miguel Tejada) has appeared in more contests without ever hearing his name called on the game’s grandest stage.
He’s been waiting his turn for almost two decades.
It’s time that patience is rewarded.
