Ben Johnson Throws a Curveball: Lions Fans Joke Offensive Coordinator Outpitches Tigers’ Kenta Maeda

Detroit sports fans have never shied away from humor — especially when it comes to coping with frustration. That familiar blend of sarcasm and loyalty was on full display this week as fans turned to social media with an unexpected punchline: Ben Johnson, the Detroit Lions’ offensive coordinator, might just be a better pitcher than Detroit Tigers starter Kenta Maeda.

It began innocently enough. Johnson, who has become a household name in Detroit thanks to his brilliant play-calling and the Lions’ offensive renaissance, was invited to throw out the ceremonial first pitch at a recent Tigers home game at Comerica Park. The event was a cross-promotional moment — a way to honor Johnson’s role in revitalizing the Lions, whose upward trajectory has energized a city long burdened by sports heartache.

But what happened after that first pitch ricocheted through the Twittersphere like a Justin Verlander fastball back in the day. Johnson’s pitch was solid. Not a flame-thrower, not a 12-6 curveball, but a strike — and certainly nothing to be embarrassed about. Yet in the age of instant replays and even faster memes, fans found the perfect opportunity to fire off a series of lighthearted jabs. The target? Kenta Maeda, a Tigers right-hander whose recent struggles on the mound have left much to be desired.

Detroit fans — especially those riding the emotional high of Lions football and the return of relevance to Ford Field — took the pitch as a chance to vent some baseball frustrations with a generous helping of humor. Tweets began popping up almost immediately: “Ben Johnson’s ERA is 0.00 — sign him now!” and “At least Johnson knows how to locate the zone.”

In a city where winning has often been seasonal — and sometimes absent entirely — it’s not surprising that fans have embraced Johnson as something of a local legend. The Lions made the NFC Championship Game for the first time since 1991, and Johnson’s play design and leadership have been integral to that rise. Meanwhile, the Tigers — in the middle of what seems like a never-ending rebuild — have offered little hope in recent years. For fans desperate for something to cheer about, Johnson has become more than just a coordinator; he’s become a symbol of what Detroit sports could be.

Kenta Maeda, to his credit, has had a respectable career. A veteran from Japan with postseason experience and a crafty approach on the mound, Maeda was seen as a stabilizing piece when the Tigers added him to the rotation. But the 2025 season hasn’t gone as planned. Maeda has been plagued by command issues, high pitch counts, and untimely home runs. His ERA sits in uncomfortable territory, and the Tigers — despite some signs of growth among their young core — have failed to build momentum in the win column.

The juxtaposition between Johnson’s competence and Maeda’s recent misfires created the perfect storm for fans’ commentary. “Maeda can’t get through the fifth inning, but Ben Johnson just threw a full nine on that first pitch,” one fan joked. Others photoshopped Johnson into vintage Tigers uniforms, referencing him as the “ace Detroit’s been waiting for.”

Naturally, some fans warned not to take it too seriously. It’s all in good fun, they said — a city’s coping mechanism for yet another frustrating baseball start. And they’re right. Detroit fans aren’t malicious. They’re passionate. And they know how to turn a moment into a movement — even if it’s just a tongue-in-cheek campaign to replace a starting pitcher with a football coach.

The humor, though, does highlight a real undercurrent in the Detroit sports landscape. The Lions, for the first time in decades, are leading the way. In a town that once rode the backs of the Pistons’ “Bad Boys,” the Red Wings’ dynastic dominance, and the Tigers’ World Series runs, football is now the crown jewel. Ben Johnson is more than a coach — he’s a face of the franchise, a sign that things are finally different in Detroit.

That kind of spotlight invites admiration. And with admiration comes influence. When Johnson takes the mound, even symbolically, fans pay attention. Not because he’s Nolan Ryan, but because he represents something rare in Detroit: competence, creativity, and a sense of direction.

Meanwhile, the Tigers find themselves in a now-familiar bind. Another season, another rough start, another set of questions about development, direction, and whether the front office’s plan is actually a plan at all. Maeda, fair or not, is the symbol of that malaise — a respected veteran struggling to find consistency in a rotation desperate for it.

The metaphor writes itself. Johnson steps onto the Comerica Park mound — cool, confident, crisp — and delivers. Maeda steps onto that same mound days later, and the narrative dissolves into walks, long counts, and a chorus of groans from the stands. The fans see it. They feel it. And they process it the way they always have: with jokes, tweets, and a whole lot of exasperated affection.

To be fair, nobody’s actually suggesting Johnson should trade his playbook for a glove. But what the response highlights is deeper than just one pitch or one player. It’s about trust. Lions fans trust Johnson. Tigers fans? They’re still waiting. Waiting for a spark. Waiting for the front office to get it right. Waiting for Comerica Park to feel like a fortress again.

And while they wait, they turn to the one sports entity in town that finally seems to have figured it out. So when Ben Johnson throws a ceremonial pitch and hits the glove — yeah, it’s going to resonate. Because in that moment, he’s not just a football coach. He’s the embodiment of Detroit sports dreams finally being realized.

Will Maeda bounce back? It’s possible. Baseball is full of peaks and valleys, and few pitchers are immune to slumps. He’s a competitor, a professional, and someone who’s shown he can contribute at a high level. But the optics — at least for now — aren’t doing him any favors. And in Detroit, where patience wears thin and humor is always in season, the jokes are going to fly.

It’s also worth noting how rare this kind of crossover praise is. When’s the last time an offensive coordinator — not a head coach, not a quarterback — became a citywide hero to the point that fans are calling for him to join another sport? That kind of energy says something about what Johnson has done and how far the Lions have come. It’s a testament to the cultural shift he’s helped engineer, where competence is celebrated like championships.

Detroit fans aren’t just laughing at Maeda. They’re celebrating Johnson. They’re leaning into a moment that reminds them sports can be fun. That winning, or at least the hope of winning, doesn’t have to be some abstract concept. And for one brief night, when a football coach lobbed a baseball over home plate, they were reminded what it feels like to have pride in their city’s teams.

Of course, it’s also just funny. Maeda gives up five runs in three innings, and Johnson throws a single strike? You’re going to hear about it. That’s how sports fans are wired. That’s how cities like Detroit — gritty, loyal, and endlessly resilient — make sense of it all.

So no, Ben Johnson won’t be signing a Tigers contract anytime soon. But he doesn’t have to. He’s already thrown the kind of pitch this city’s been waiting decades to see: one that hits the mark, energizes the crowd, and gives people something to believe in again.

And in Detroit, belief is the real ace in the hole.