Miguel Cabrera is a soon-to-be two-time MVP winner. Pavel Datsyuk and Henrik Zetterberg have been linchpins of the Red Wings franchise for the last decade. Calvin Johnson might be the most dominating football player on the planet.
But sometimes it’s the lesser figures in Detroit sports that provide us with the most vivid memories. One need not be an All-Star or award winner to leave us with a funny story or unforgettable moment.
Here are a few lesser-heralded Motor City athletes that still managed to make their mark over the years.
PAUL GIBSON
Not to worry if you don’t recall the services of one Paul Marshall Gibson; the man was a lot of things, but memorable was not one of them. He was a left handed relief specialist that had a difficult time getting left handed hitters out. But as is often the case in professional baseball, if you fire the pill with your left arm, there is a spot for you somewhere.
So why the childhood infatuation with this bespectacled reliever? It’s pretty simple -- the man lived on my block. For a kid, there is really no greater thrill than having an actual big league player sharing a street with you. I might have played in a coach-pitch Pinto league, and he may have been counted on to retire the likes of George Brett and Don Mattingly, but at the end of the day, we were both just a couple of ballplayers from the Three Oaks subdivision.
There was only one time when I actually interacted with the not-so-legendary lefty. Taking a weekend stroll with my Dad, we came upon Gibby doing some work on his driveway. He offered a polite wave, but five-year-old me wanted more. I sauntered up and very matter-of-factly told him, “Hey, you are 3 and 5 with a 5.46 ERA!” I wasn’t trying to be mean to the guy. I had simply gobbled up the sports page that morning and thought I’d do my part in sharing this information. Needless to say, it was not well-received.
The red-faced southpaw gave me a menacing look, offered a very terse and sarcastic “Thanks,” and that was it; an actual exchange with a real-life Detroit Tiger.
Gibson never cracked 85 on the radar gun; and he once got taken deep during a neighborhood picnic; but...but...(searching for a silver lining)...the man sure was left handed.
JON BARRY
To say I was obsessed with the man known as JB would be an understatement. Simply put, I wanted to be him.
Jon Barry
In my Sunday morning hoops league, I etched the number 20 on the back of my gray jersey. I would only take shots from three-point land and would lock horns with the referee when a call wouldn’t go my way. I even got my hair cut to a close-trimmed buzz so as better to resemble my shining star.
All seriousness aside, Barry was an integral piece in the Pistons’ revitalization during the early 2000’s. He, along with Corliss Williamson, Zeljko Rebraca, and Damon Jones, made up one of the NBA’s most explosive bench units. Barry even gave a nickname to the crew, dubbing them “The Alternatorz.” It wasn’t exactly Marketing 101, but still, anytime your team’s bench has its own moniker, there are smiles all around.
While most fans enjoyed the creation, rival bench players were jealous. I still remember Shawn Kemp taking issue with the self-titled group during a playoff series in 2003, grumbling, “We don’t make up names, ‘The Warriors’ or ‘Alternatorz’ or any of that (expletive)...we just go out and play.”
Well, Barry and his boys sure did play. They played so well, in fact, that the Pistons created a whole highlight video devoted solely to their contributions. Sure, that may tell you something about the state of the Stones franchise at that time, but for us JB disciples, it was three minutes and three seconds of pure basketball bliss.
On a final note, let us never forget that pivotal Game 3 against the Celtics in the Eastern Semis in ’02. After Barry played such an important role throughout the year, routinely logging 20-25 minutes off the pine, Rick Carlisle made a decision he would regret for the rest of his life. Seeing JB as too much of a defensive mismatch on Paul Pierce/Eric Williams, Carlisle kept his secret weapon stapled to the bench for all but four minutes of this crucial contest. The Pistons proceeded to engage in a rock-throwing contest, unable to put the ball in the basket, amassing a shocking 64 points for the game. Amazingly, the Celtics scored just 66.
Had our hero been given his regular court time, the Pistons probably walk out of FleetCenter with a win. Instead, the series was over in a brisk five games, and I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in the 11 years since.
Aveion Cason
I pride myself on being a good speller and only needing to see a name once or twice before having it down cold. Aveion Cason is the exception. Not once have I been able to write the man’s name without first consulting his biography page first.
Aveion Cason
Cason did not have a great NFL career. He was a marginal offensive player with the slightest hint of kick-returning ability. Nothing he did on the field was memorable. But it was the unique path he took to find his way back on the Lions’ roster every autumn that made Cason more than just another ho-hum utility player.
The scenario would play out like this. The Lions would be chugging along, about three-quarters of the way through their season. They’d be well under .500, struggling to stay in games, getting little to no production from their special teams. Cason had not broken camp with the team that particular year, but rumors would swirl that he was just waiting for the call to return.
As the second-half kickoff fluttered down in Ford Field, all of a sudden you realized it was none other than our vowel-filled friend readying himself at the goal line for the return. Often times, he wasn’t even an official member of the team. He’d order a hand-stitched jersey from Brody’s, tape his name/number to the back, and hope nobody put two and two together. There was even one occasion when the store didn’t have his gear ready in time, and he was forced to return a punt barefoot while wearing faded jeans and an outdated Lions’ hoodie. He still found a way to pick up about 17 yards on the play, so nobody complained.
If there were ever to be a singular symbol for the prolonged ineptitude of this franchise during the 2000’s, it would be the inevitable mid-season return of Aveion Cason.
Nobody really wanted him back. Nobody even asked him to come visit. But come Week 14, there he’d be, zig-zagging his way through a busted middle wedge like a dog trying to find his way back home.
Usually such a return from an old pal is met with joy, laughter, and tears; when it was Aveion coming back, there were just tears. And a lot of drives starting from inside the ten.
