The last time I went to a home opener, I was driving an ’85 Pontiac Sunbird called the Swamp Thing, with my friends Wes and Donna, creeping down Michigan Avenue with Blood Sugar Sex Magik on the tape player. We sat in the upper-deck bleachers, right next to the cage where the centerfield camera was housed. Cecil Fielder hit a home run off Jack Morris (why did you ever leave, Jack?) to lead off the 9th, and that camera swung around and caught the three of us jumping up and down. The Tigers lost 4-2 as Morris pitched a complete game (remember those?), but we were on Tigers commercials for a couple of weeks.
Ah, 1992. Ah, Tiger Stadium.
(And then we got home and found out that Isaac Asimov had died.)