DAVE KLONKE

Easy money

So with the World Series upon us, how long ago was it now that the Tigers lost that play-in game at Minnesota? Nearly a month, right?

What I’m about to outline here might piss you off more than the fact that the Tigers failed miserably down the stretch — especially if you purchased playoff tickets.

The deadline for purchasing tickets was September 12 — more than half a month before the playoffs started. It’s the end of October and that money has yet to have been refunded to ticket holders. Take a single seat ticket package (12 possible games throughout three playoff rounds, plus a play-in game—more on this in a bit) priced at $1,250 (these are cheap, average seats) multiply by 40,000 seats (surely all weren’t sold, but consider the average price used in this math and the fact that lower bowl seats run nearly six times that price, I think it’s fairly safe to use these numbers) and the Tigers are holding on to $50,000,000 for a month a half. Now figure a PRIME rate of 3.25% and you’re looking at $4500 a day they are making on that money — or $135,416 a month.

That’s not bad. Now take that money and use it wisely. Consider the more realistic scenario that that $50MM is being used to pay down a line of credit that’s around 6% or more. The Tigers are now saving nearly $250,000 in interest over that period. You can say with Major League salaries and the boatloads of money these owners have that a quarter of a million dollars is chump change. Well it’s not. Especially when there’s little cost to get it.

Meanwhile ticket holders have already cycled through a credit card statement. They’ve either paid the bill or are now paying interest on that charge. What’s even crazier is that season ticket package holders had to purchase all 12 “possible” games by September 12. I place possible in quotes because there was no way the Tigers were going to have home-field advantage in the ALDS. So, why were fans forced to buy a ticket for a game that would never exist?

Why doesn’t every team sell playoff tickets unless they’re mathematically eliminated in early September? Why would you miss out on a quick quarter of a million bucks?

This whole business of tickets has always mystified me. How can organizations get away with things like this and why can’t the consumer take a ticket they’ve already purchased and sell it at a higher value? Why can’t I buy a World Series ticket for $150 and turn around and sell it for $5000?  Another story for another time. And what about Ticketmaster? That’s not a monopoly?  The whole thing is very strange, huh?

Why I love summer

So far this Saturday has been a pretty productive day. As I was doing some cleaning around the house I decided to take a break, jump on the bike and go for a ride.

I headed north into the farmlands of Macomb County and couldn’t help but daydream a bit—something I don’t particularly recommend while riding a two-wheeled bike 60 mph.

Riding those back country roads and seeing the corn rise up from the farms anchored by big white houses, barns and silos always reminds me of my childhood.

One of the best summer adventures would be when we’d all jump in the Cordoba and drive over to grandma and grandpa’s farm on Card Road between M-59 and 21 Mile Road. If you’re familiar with the area, it’s all pretty much developed now. A subdivision here, a new development going up there. A CVS on this corner and a Kroger over there. The only thing left is an old tree that used to stand next to my grandparent’s driveway.

It wasn’t always like this of course. It was once a dirt road with farms, a lot like what I rode through this afternoon.

I always think of those good times at grandma and grandpas. My grandpa passed away four years ago and I still really miss him. I miss his stories, his one-liners and his sense of humor. I miss going to Tiger games with him or sitting outside at his farm and watching him tune in Ernie Harwell and Paul Carey on the transister radio.

All great memories and they come back even stronger as the wind whips in my face and I smell that mix of dirt, grass and water and feel the sun beat down as I’m riding north. Today I had a clear vision of a farmer wearing a greenish brown grease-covered John Deere trucker hat with a Marlboro red hanging from his lips as he drove his tractor down the dirt road.

I remembered playing with the hose on a hot summer day and drinking grandma’s lemonade out of an aluminum cup. As I rode along, I thought about first learning how to ride a bike up and down their driveway and thinking I was actually driving the tractor as I sat on my grandpa’s lap.

Then I thought about the one day I was outside on the farm doing one of my favorite things — playing baseball by myself. I’d throw the ball against the side of the barn for hours; creating hard to reach ground balls and pop ups I’d have to dive for—all with the fantasy of it being two outs in the bottom of the 9th in game 7 of the World Series. You’ve heard the saying “you couldn’t hit the side of a barn?” Well, I can beat that. On the side of this particular barn was one little window. Impossible to hit, right? Not for me. I nailed it and shattered it. Nobody was there, but I freaked out. Grandma and grandpa came running out and told me not to worry about. For some reason, I thought my parents would ground me or something when they found out. They assured me nobody needed to know. A few years ago the secret finally came out. I no longer had to carry that burden.

My memories of summers on the farm finally took me to sitting a glass bottle of Vernors and watching the cars kick up dust as they drove by.

Well, my ride is done for the day. I can’t wait to go out again and I’m looking forward bringing grandpa along again as well.