About five o’clock on Monday evening, in a dimly lit public house in downtown Detroit, the door opens, and through the bright sunlight, a silhouette appears. As the door closes and the figure moves closer, a young man in his early thirties wipes his brow with a handkerchief, which he tucks into his front pants pocket as he bellies up to the bar. He is dressed in jeans, a pair of Nikes and a navy blue polo shirt with the Olde English D embroidered on the chest. "Bourbon" he tells the bartender, "and let’s make it a double, please.
MLB trade deadline: Should the Tigers buy, sell, or stand pat?
