He was always more crust than sauce, a hardworking pizza magnate with a showman’s instincts and a shortstop’s energy, all tucked beneath a layer of shyness and wonder. No matter how rich he got, Mike Ilitch approached each new challenge like a kid spying a baseball field for the first time. A few years back, when he was 82, I asked him how he viewed his mortality.
“'Mortality,'” he said, a smile cracking his face, “that’s a big word.”
And the only big thing he couldn’t tame.
Say good-bye to Mr. I. No one outskates the clock in this life, and Ilitch’s time came to an end Friday, at 87, after several years of shaky health.