Mark Fidrych will be forever known as the pitcher who talked to the baseball.

He'll always be a topic of conversation.

"The Bird" died this week in an accident at the age of 54. His career ended more than a quarter-century earlier, a right-hander with a bad rotator cuff. Fans of Fidrych, the Detroit Tigers and baseball in general are left with two different questions. What was he? And what might The Bird have become if he played today, when image often seems to be everything?

The writers, announcers and analysts who delivered their eulogies praised Fydrich as they mourned his passing. He made the game fun, they said. He played with joy, they said. He gave us one great year, and so many vivid images.

By now, even the kids who knew nothing about Fidrych have seen the film clips - acting as his own groundskeeper on the mound, sprinting to congratulate teammates when they made a great play behind him.

Above all, the defining image of the Bird is this one: standing on the rubber, talking to the baseball. He treated it like a silent partner.

And maybe it was. If he hadn't been so good at throwing it in 1976, when he went 19-9 on the way to being Rookie of the Year for Detroit, we wouldn't remember him so well.

After all, baseball has produced a character or two. A lefthander named Rube Waddell earned passage to the Hall of Fame and drove managers crazy at the turn of the 20th century. The St. Louis Cardinals of the 1930s put a team on the field known as the Gashouse Gang, and it wasn't because they liked hanging out at filling stations.

As someone who lived through Fidrych's short but brilliant run in '76, I understood his appeal ran on parallel tracks. Sure, he did crazy things on the mound. Television played no small role in his fame, specifically a magical Monday Night Baseball appearance against the mighty New York Yankees.

But he backed it up, again and again and again. What appealed to a 21-year-old college student was The Bird's ability to succeed on his own terms. At times, he tried to tone down the act. For the most part, he remained true to himself while winning.

As the men who played with Fidrych reflected on his life and times, they pointed out that he was genuine. The pitcher reflected the young kid and then the man who retired to a farm and family. An Associated Press story quoted a friend as saying he remained grateful for the short career he enjoyed as a big-league pitcher.

Thirty years ago, Fidrych stood out because he was good and colorful. Today, we see more athletes who have acts as spontaneous as a deodorant commercial. They strut, they pose, they change names. Most of it is good fun. At other times, you want to swat them away from the camera. Just let us enjoy the game.

In that light, The Bird might have a tough time flying above the radar today. Or his career in the 21st century might have gone the other way. His routines would be dissected on replay constantly in the 24/7 news cycle. Talk radio would argue about him and the money he'd be making. Inevitably, someone would suggest that Fidrych is overrated. Or underrated.

We don't know, of course. But if Fidrych attracted plenty of attention in the pre-cable 1970s - even Rolling Stone profiled The Bird - he'd be everywhere in 2009. Would we tire of him? Or embrace him?

Today, Fidrych is gone. The good life was too short. Now, the images endure. Curly hair peeking out of a baseball cap. Gangly body uncoiling. A baseball receiving a pep talk before it began the journey to the plate, where more often than not a hitter would wave at it. And a young kid winning with great stuff.

The conversation about the The Bird is not about to end. It never will, as long as we celebrate the game.

Contact Jim Sullivan at (319) 291-1434 or jim.sullivan@wcfcourier.com