A miserable night turned into a silent night.
It turned into a mixture of silent rage, stunning endings and a tearful farewell.
I will never forget where I was Tuesday night when a triple header of doom hit Detroit. I sat watching the Red Wings game at Olde Chicago in Southgate with new friends.
An evening that began with promise and glee turned ugly.
The Tigers lost on a wild pitch. The Wings lost on a stunning two on one break and we lost our voice. Ernie Harwell died. He was our voice growing up and our hero in death.
It was like the spirit of Detroit was broken when news filtered that Harwell died following his heroic battle with bile duct cancer.
Before we found out Ernie died, the Tigers were battling Minnesota tooth and nail. The Red Wings were up two goals in a must win game and we still held out hope that a miracle would shower Ernie. But we began getting reports via text messages that Harwell died and everything turned miserable and then silent.
A woman named Nicole sat in stunned silence. She nursed a beer and kept saying what a terrible night it was. The day began with promise but it turned during the evening hours.
The tips were light during her job as a waitress, her beloved Red Wings now face a 3-0 deficit in their Western Conference semifinal with the San Jose Sharks and Harwell was no longer with us.
The poor woman just sort of sat there in silence. Earlier Joe Louis Arena turned silent and now our voice is silent.
There are some evenings you want to forget but you can’t. For Detroit Monday was one of those nights. You will always remember where you were and who you were with when a miserable night turned silent.