The best Fielders are hitters, eh, Detroit?

It's a Tuesday in January in Iowa, and I'm not focused.

Prince Fielder signed with the Detroit Tigers today for Mitt Romney money. Fielder is a slugger. Fielding isn't why he's getting all that cash. But sometimes our names don't match our strengths or our tendencies. As Lionel Jefferson once told Archie Bunker, "There are people named Black who are white and people named White who are black. Why, I know a guy named Rockefeller ..."

"Black guy?" Archie interrupted.

"No, white," Lionel replied. "Sometimes it works out right."

Anyway, Prince Fielder is a bopper, hence the huge amount of money he's getting to leave Milwaukee for Detroit. His dad, Cecil Fielder, was a slugger himself. He had never played more than 82 games or hit more than 14 homers in a major-league season before 1990 when he hit 51 homers for the Tigers.

Steroids? Nah. He was a huge man the natural way, from genetics. As his son attests.

I was in Tiger Stadium on Aug. 11, 1994, the day before big-leaguers went on strike. Detroit had some players. Fielder, Lou Whitaker, Alan Trammell, Kirk Gibson. Big Cecil had 90 RBIs in 109 games. But the Tigers weren't very good. You still have to pitch. Four of their five starting pitchers had ERAs of 5.42 or worse.

It was an afternoon game that Thursday, the Tigers against the Milwaukee Brewers. It rained, and rained, and the game had a lengthy delay. But they played it. The mood in the ballpark -- and Tiger Stadium was a ballpark -- was gloomier than the weather. The season was ending prematurely, and everyone knew it.

Big Cecil went 2-for-2 with two singles, of all things, and he walked twice. Gibson had two RBIs. But second baseman Whitaker had two errors.

The Brewers entered the eighth inning down 5-4, but scored six runs in that frame for a 10-5 win. Both teams took 53-62 records for 1994 into perpetuity.

Whitaker was a fine player, and he was an interesting character. He once arrived at a players' union meeting in a stretch limousine. That didn't go over all that well with a public that wanted the strike resolved. It wasn't resolved until the following season, by the way.

I loved Tiger Stadium. The first time I walked into that place and took my seat in the upper deck, I couldn't believe how on top of the game you were. It felt like you were somewhere historical, sports-wise, and you were. It was basically a dump at the time, but what a great dump it was. It finally gave way to new Comerica Park in 2000. I've not been to a baseball game in Detroit since Tiger Stadium's demise, and doubt I ever will be. It isn't a protest. There are simply other places to go, other experiences to have.

Anyway, during that last game of 1994 in Detroit, a local TV reporter was in the upper deck (a dry sanctuary on a sopping-wet day) to ask fans what they thought about the prospect of a players' strike. Like "Yeah, we're all for it," would be the response.

From many rows back, I (not being known to anyone in Motown) shouted "THAT ... IS ... NOT ... JOURNALISM!" And people around me laughed. Little did they know all the inane questions I'd asked coaches, athletes and fans over the years.

Time passes, eh? Now Prince Fielder, as big as his mountain of a daddy, brings his big bat to Detroit. Hey, I hope he hits 51 homers and that city has a big old time with baseball in the summer of 2012.

A January Tuesday in Iowa. Nobody writes songs about that.