Without a Net

After spelling Alex Avila for one game, the Tigers have sent Omir Santos back across the State line to Toledo. Is anyone else worried about this? If Santos isn't recalled by August 31, we won't have a playoff-eligible backup catcher in the event that Victor's knee doesn't mend. I don't find this to be wise. I don't believe that Brandon Inge's knees can stand up to the rigors of catching, so I don't include him in the catcher discussion. Is Don Kelly your idea of a suitable backup? Bwahahahahahaha. Don't let the fact that he's played all nine positions fool you.

Maybe the Tigers have consulted a psychic (asked Kevin Rand) and they are fully confident that everything will be fine with Victor. I hope so. I hope with all my heart so.

Because, you know what? I'm sprung. I've allowed myself to be infected with playoff fever. I was trying to be all sensible...cautious...guarded. But after we beat the Rays on Tuesday, in a game in which we had Brad Penny (no offense) go up against David Price, in a game in which both Benoit and Valverde were unavailable, in a game in which Phil Coke was not supposed to appear, and in a game in which he was then asked to go two innings and close out the thing, I just lost it.

My heart is now fully invested in making the playoffs. I know. I am a fool. I set myself up for yet another heartache. If the unthinkable happens, no one will be able to deal with me...no one. Sick leave will be taken from work, and you'll find me sitting alone in a dark room, unshowered, wearing the same stanky Tigers t-shirt, muttering incoherently. Not a pretty picture. But true.

So Tigers, you darn well better know what you're doing walking the tightrope without a net. Everything's riding on it. EVERYTHING.

Water is Wet

Allow me to recount for you just a couple of the many hardships that had to be endured to make it through last night’s game.

1. The monsoon. I’m no wimp. I come prepared with rain jacket every game. However, the heavy rains at the end of the game left everyone waterlogged and dripping. Even my mints, which were in a closed aluminum tin, were soggy. Also, it was genuinely interfering with Valverde’s ability to pitch. The game should have been called, but I understand why they were trying to finish it. If the outcome had been disastrous, however, there would have been a lot of (justified) complaints from the Tiger fan base.

2. Annoying fans. There were four young kids (just out of high school?) sitting behind us. Here are a few of the comments from their non-stop, loud, inane conversations. “tee hee, I throw like a girl.” (High,tittery voice with a lot of giggling) “I like when someone makes decisions for me.” Please. Please don’t be a quivering mass of man-pleasing flesh. The guys were no better. “No girl I know will drive in a thunderstorm.” WHAT? You must not know many girls. “My ex-girlfriend cheated on me with my best friend, and I had lost my virginity to her to boot.” Girl sympathetically replies, “What a bitch.” Many sighs.

3. The spouse. My husband is no Tigers fan. He likes Josh Hamilton. Funny how he calls Miguel Cabrera a drunk, but likes Hamilton so much. Anyway, he was noisily cheering for Texas, while mocking my Tigers all night long. Needless to say, his antics intensified when Benoit laid two eggs in the eighth. We may have had to arrange for a cab for one of us if the Tigers hadn't won on Boesch's dinger. Ha. It was all in good fun, but still. So nauseating. He can stay at home from now on. He did walk all the way around the stadium in search of cotton candy for me, though. Thanks, hon.

In all, I never complain when the night results in a W. So, these minor inconveniences faded away in the light of Boesch's towering drive (that landed about eight rows directly behind me). Thanks Brennan. I owe you one.