I feel all guilt-ridden and shamed because my mom, dad and sister had come in from out-of-town, don't get to go to many games, and...THIS is what they got.
Andrew Oliver--no can find strike zone.
Eddie Bonine--no can strand inherited baserunners.
Brad Thomas--gives back runs after we just scored.
You guys make me sick. Sorry. I don't mean to be shrewish when we took two of three from the Twinks, but it was just the circumstances. My poor sister dejectedly trudged down the concourse, mumbling about being bad luck. She doesn't deserve that. She's all gung ho long distance from the corn fields of Indiana. She could be rooting for the Cubs for sobbing out loud. She told her fourth grade class she was going to come up for a playoff game last fall. The little rugrats were ready to turn the classroom into a sweat shop, churning out all manner of adorable fourth grade-y posterboard signs. Oh. Yeah. We didn't make the playoffs last fall. Well then. Bitterness.
I did warn the family of Pavano's eerie dominance over the Tigers, and Oliver's, um, uneven performance in the bigs so far. It didn't really help to temper the optimism that we'd be Sunday afternoon victors, in first place at the All-Star break. Well then. Sulk.
We did see a couple of REALLY nice defensive plays, which had us jumping out of our seats and yelling ourselves hoarse. Ajax made an outrageous running, over-the-shoulder snag...never thought he'd get to that ball. Boesch must have been taking extra fielding practice, because he made a nice diving grab. Santiago flashed some leather at short. Alex Avila completed a nice strike 'em out, throw 'em out play on a Nick Punto attempt to steal. Well then. Half smile.
Once again, Inge provided us with the game-ending out. Mercifully it was not a strikeout looking, or I would have become yet another sordid baseball-security incident statistic. Hmmm. Does getting Tasered curb the appetite? I really could use a jump start to some weight loss.