It took the Washington Post two days after the death of Mark Fidrych before it ran an obit, but it got it right when it called him “irrepressible.” For the youngsters in the audience, Fidrych was the wild-haired, ball-talking, mound-smoothing 21-year-old kid from Northborough, Massachusetts who won 19 games and the rookie of the year honors in 1976 for a woeful Tigers ball club. In the following four years he won only ten more games and was out of the majors by the time he was 26. An injury-shortened career such as his, given its meteoric rise, might have made another man bitter but it never seemed to bother Fidrych.

Dubbed “Big Bird” (after the affable Sesame Street character), while still riding the bus in the minors, Fidrych played the game with the arm of a man and the heart of a little boy. If anyone could be said to be simultaneously intense and joyful it was him. Fidrych would talk to the ball as he paced the mound during a tight game and a moment later would cheer for a teammate after a good play, just as any Little Leaguer would. Given the boyish exuberance he brought to the game perhaps it should be no surprise that after his ball playing career was over he went out and bought a dump truck to start a business.

A couple of months ago, on a slow Saturday afternoon in February, I decided to check out the new MLB Network to see what they had to offer. Not being much a football fan I never did understand the attraction of the “classic” games that air on the NFL network; I didn’t expect too much from whatever MLB might throw on the air in late winter either.

What I came across was the eighth inning of a game from June 28, 1976. It was an otherwise meaningless contest in Detroit with the Tigers, barely one-third of the way through their schedule already 10 games out of first, facing the World Series-bound Yankees. Ordinarily, it would have been a sleeper of a game. But on that warm summer night 30-plus years ago a skinny kid named Fidrych was on the mound for the home town team trying to nail down his eighth win of the season. It was riveting.

Bob Prince and Al Michaels were doing the play-by-play and color analysis for ABC which carried the Monday night games back then. More than once in the two innings I watched, Prince, who by that time had been a broadcaster for three decades, said “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” What he, Michaels and the 48,000 raucous Detroit fans saw was Fidrych loping around the mound, fervently urging on his teammates and talking to the ball while putting the finishing touches on a masterful seven-hitter in an hour and 51 minutes.

After the game ended, Fidrych embraced his catcher and greeted the other players as they came off the field as if they’d clinched a playoff spot. When he finally entered the dugout the 48,000 Detroiters who ventured out on a Monday night to watch the sub .500 ball club refused to leave. They were all on their feet roaring. A few moments later Fidrych came out with a huge smile and a large wave to the adoring crowd before ducking back in. For a rookie his timing was superb — he didn’t wait too long to emerge and his bow wasn’t prolonged. But it was far too brief an appearance for the faithful. They refused to leave still and Fidrych obliged them with a second curtain call accompanied by a look of disbelief.

In the post-game interview, which was conducted on the field amidst the continuing cheers, Fidrych said he couldn’t believe the reaction he was getting or how far he’d come. “I just throw the ball,” he said with his accent revealing his Massachusetts roots. And his smile revealed a total joy for the game.