El Cardquistador

I’m stacking Max Anderson. Kevin McGonigle. Max Clark. I know their swings. I know their tools. I know their ceilings.

And now—because I was a die‑hard in the ’80s and ’90s, disappeared for decades, and only came back at the tail end of 2024—I’ve walked straight into a game I barely recognize.

The future here doesn’t stay here. These guys won’t be Tigers legends. They won’t be the backbone of a championship window. They’ll be Dodgers, Yankees, Mets—whoever’s waiting with the checkbook.

Analysts rave about our farm system. Prospect hounds drool over our hitting depth. Middle‑order bats. Playoff weapons. And I know I’ll get maybe one or two competitive seasons before they’re gone.

This isn’t pessimism. It’s pattern recognition. And that certainty of loss is exhausting.

We Deserve Better

Detroit fans deserve more than being a development league for coastal elites. We deserve to watch homegrown talent mature into championship cores without bracing for their inevitable departure.

The Ilitch family owns the Tigers and Little Caesars. They print money. Yet somehow, we’re told they can’t afford Tarik Skubal long‑term. We’re told extensions are impossible while they pocket revenue‑sharing checks and sell us “the process.”

I’m tired of it. Tired of developing talent we won’t keep. Tired of watching vultures circle Comerica every September. Tired of the emotional calculus that comes with every call‑up: How good will he be? And how soon will we lose him?

What We’ve Lost

I grew up with Alan Trammell and Lou Whitaker. Lifetime Tigers. Two decades together. A championship together. Retired in the same uniform they debuted in.

That continuity built identity. They weren’t just great players—they were ours. No arbitration anxiety. No trade‑deadline dread. No watching them flourish elsewhere while we rebuilt again.

That’s what’s gone. Not just talent—continuity. The chance to watch a career arc unfold entirely in Detroit. Rookie struggles, breakout, prime, veteran leadership, farewell tour. To know that when they make the Hall of Fame, they’ll wear a D on their cap.

When’s the last time we had that? When’s the next time we’ll get it?

The Emotional Toll

Attachment feels like liability now. Every prospect ranking is a countdown timer. Every breakout is bittersweet—He’s going to be great… somewhere else.

I watch Max Clark take batting practice and see future highlights in another uniform. I track McGonigle’s strikeout rates and imagine the Dodgers’ analytics team salivating. I sleeve their cards now because soon they won’t feel like Tigers anymore. Collecting them will be nostalgia for a version of themselves that never fully materialized here.

Small‑market fandom has become preemptive mourning. We love players we know we’ll lose. We build emotional investment on sand, knowing the tide always comes in.

And Now, Scherzer

The cruelest irony? I’m stacking Max Scherzer now. Not because I lived through his prime in Detroit—I didn’t. I only learned this year what we let walk.

The Cy Young we refused to pay. The ace who won a ring in Washington while we spun our wheels. And now—the 41‑year‑old version. The rumored reunion tour.

We develop stars, watch them win elsewhere, and almost never see them again. That’s the reality.

This is the cycle: draft well, develop talent, lose them to teams that actually try to win. If they come back at all, it’s only as nostalgia—rare, symbolic, and long past their prime.

But even nostalgia can carry weight. A return like Scherzer’s wouldn’t rewrite history, but it could restore a sliver of continuity. A reminder that the uniform still matters. And in his case, maybe something more—a mentor’s presence, a leader’s voice, a rotation learning from one of the best to ever do it.

Detroit Deserves More

Detroit fans deserve better. We deserve ownership that matches our passion. We deserve to keep the players we develop. We deserve more Trammells and Whitakers—players who wear our uniform for life, not just until arbitration.

We deserve to stop being a farm system for franchises that already have everything.

But until that changes, I’ll keep stacking cards. Max Anderson. Kevin McGonigle. Max Clark. Future stars. Just not ours.