Irony. A lot of Irony.

Several attempts to write something have wound up a worthless scrap heap of unfinished sentences, jumbled letters, and orphaned titles.  Again, today, I sat down to write, but fell victim to people in my household clamoring for sugary treats of the homemade variety.  Selflessly, I gave in to their greedy desires, and abandoned the keyboard for the kitchen (wisely stipulating that they had to do all the clean up after my labors).

In a cruel twist, I have to thank Brandon Inge himself for worming his way into my thinking to the extent that I was driven to come back to this barren place, and try to cover the vacant white space with something approaching coherent words.

I don't even want to write about Brandon Inge.  He infuriates me by making me speak of him.  He is not a player that should be the subject of much thought in the realm of Major League Baseball.  But, as you well know, this game is a funny thing, and it often provokes its fans to alternately laugh, cry and cause collateral property damage.

FEELINGS.  Feelings toward Brandon Inge.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME???  I guess there is nothing else to do but spell it all out.

I have never hid the fact that Brandon Inge is not my guy.  His snivelly whining when losing his position to a player exponentially his superior was nonsensical, and irritated me to no small degree.  Nonetheless, I did NOT want fans booing him today at Comerica Park.  I'm not even sure why.  I guess  I just find it rude to boo a guy who genuinely loved it here and worked hard to do nice things for people in a less fortunate position, regardless of his other failings.

Later, I found myself vacillating between snarking about check-swing strikeouts looking, pondering the clichéd nature of the Brandon Inge check-swing strikeout, and fearing a heroic home run off the bat of Brandon Inge.  In the end, all I could do was marvel about so many thoughts and feelings centering around Charles Brandon Inge, and consider myself a candidate for Bedlam.

It is not remotely permissible that an entire post be consumed by Brandon Inge.  Let us turn to things more relevant to Detroit Tigers baseball.

Victor Martinez ripped a two-RBI double to left in the fifth inning, and then pointedly said something (WHAT DID HE SAY??? ANYONE?? ANYONE??) to the Tigers dugout.  My guess at his words is something like "It's about time I stopped getting BABIPed to death, and *&#$@ yes, I am getting back to form."

Also, Jhonny Peralta golfed a ball off his shoe tops to go 3-3 at the time, and all he managed was a tiny, tight smile.  Someone tell Jhonny it's ok to have a little fun and break out a toothy grin when you do something good.  In fact, could Miguel Cabrera have a sit-down with Jhonny and tell him that having fun is pretty much the whole point of playing a game, and he can have fun on the diamond any time he pleases?  I mean, I get that Peralta is a modest guy, a guy not prone to showing anyone up, or hot-dogging it.  Perhaps, in his mind, he was shouting his vindication to his harshest critic, Lynn Henning.  I like to think so, anyway.

Finally, although winning this game was infinitely satisfying, it almost pained me to see Andrew McCutchen strike out to end it.  Almost.  He'll have plenty of success against teams not named the Detroit Tigers.  I'll root for him then.