A Walk Off and White Out

It's almost like there's no describing what happened on Sunday. I am going to annoy you and try anyway. For starters, I lied to myself and everyone else by swearing up and down that I was not going to go to any games over the weekend. This, despite the fact that my family had made a last minute decision to go out of town, leaving me behind alone and unsupervised. Apparently, I am sadly predictable and in need of Miguel Cabrera's accountability partner. By Saturday night, I surveyed the mountain of work I had to do, and decided that the best course of action would be to blow it all off and go to the game on Sunday. When I texted my husband to inform him, he replied simply, "I know." He later said that everyone he was with yukked it up at my expense over the whole situation. My resolve to get some much needed painting done had crumbled in a matter of mere hours.

In hindsight, my dead-beat slacking turned out to be the wisdom of sages, because YOU SAW THAT GAME, DIDN'T YOU? DIDN'T YOU?? Even if you didn't see it, you watched the highlights. You heard replays of Dan Dickerson's calls. You learned of the historic double comeback. You saw Miguel Cabrera erase a three-run, bottom of the 9th inning deficit with one mighty swat. You witnessed Alex Avila, a man who had caught 200 pitches over the course of 4.5 hours, club the ball to right field, and put the game in the W column.

Of course, all of this glory did not occur without a few minor irritations along the way. Nick Punto threatened to impact the game, which of course sent Tiger fans into a torrid, frothing rage. Max Scherzer pitched out of his brown eye and got shelled. Some loser blogger guy pretended that he and I attended the game together, when in reality, we passed each other on the concourse, I couldn't avoid his grotesque, oversized person bearing down on me, so I said hello out of pity, then hurriedly got lost in the crowd so he couldn't follow me back to my seat.

Small inconveniences, considering the ultimate outcome, which comes close to being the greatest game I've ever witnessed in person, playoffs and no-hitters notwithstanding. I walked out of the stadium the same way I entered it: with a goofy grin plastered across my face.

Today's pilgrimage to the CoPa was a planned event, with a good friend of mine and her boyfriend, whom I had not yet met. A glance at the radar showed a giant blotch of snow straddling Southeast Michigan. Wheeee! April baseball, bring it on! I began assembling layer after layer of clothing, winter boots, hand warmers, hats, scarves, and long underwear. It took a while, but I managed to don it all or stow it in my bag. I was unfazed by the doomsday forecast, because Desmond Howard himself had replied to a tweet of mine this morning, and it rendered my disposition unflinchingly sunny. Anyway, the lovebirds were all gallantry and sweetness, not saccharine, but just fun to be around.

I got the chance to meet up with a bunch of cool people I follow on twitter before the game, and it was really nice to put faces to avatars and hear voices instead of just reading words on my screen. Give a follow to @ashleigh_briana, @mike_is_bored and @mcintyrepatrick.

As for the game, you don't need a rundown of it. Although the wind did its best to flay the skin from our faces, and the snow assaulted us no less than five times, sometimes rather sleety, stinging as it pelted us, the crowd, paid attendance at 22,000, actual quite a bit less, but still impressive considering the wintry blast, stayed. A section near home plate began chanting "Danny" when Worth came to the plate, and it was just so stinking adorable, I had to smile.

Austin Jackson continued his tear, notching a home run, and spurring a movement to change the favorite twitter hash tag from #austinjacksonstrikesout to #austinjacksonstrikesagain. Groan. Sorry. Anyway, Papa Grande was sufficiently recovered from his illness to record an uneventful save, and the sun came out just as the game wrapped up.

4-0. Soon we'll begin talking about a challenge to 35-5. Soon. Not just yet, but I look forward to it.

While I Was Out

Um, so I go on vacation for a week, and come back to THIS:

Mi Magglio has been demoted to bench player as we have acquired horrible defender and perennial underachiever Delmon Young from the Twinks. I guess that bench player is better than released player, which was my immediate thought/fear/nightmare when I heard of the Young trade. But still, the ignominy of it just makes me want to jerk the wheel into a bridge embankment.

Brandon Inge is recalled from Toledo when Alex Avila has been playing 43,798 games in a row, and is ready to spontaneously combust this very minute, not to mention the fact that we have twenty players on the roster currently who can play third base, ONE OF WHOM WE JUST TRADED FOR!! PLEASE DAVE DOMBROWSKI AND JIM LEYLAND TELL ME WHY IN THE NAME OF BALLS AND STRIKES DID WE NOT BRING UP A CATCHER????? I know we're thin at catcher in the farm system, but until Martinez can go out there and don the gear again, we need someone. I don't care if Avila is 14 years old and made of rubber, HE CANNOT BE RUN OUT THERE EVERY DAY LIKE A DROID.

I apologize for all these caps, but how else can I show you that I am screaming....at the top of my lungs....at 1:45 am...and waking all my neighbors...and scaring the cats...and....(sorry)

Anyway, I didn't see any games for a week, well unless you count going to a Milwaukee Brewers game and seeing them turn a triple play against the Dodgers, but I don't count that. So, to come home and see the Tigers finish off a sweep of the Tribe, and to see Austin Jackson and Alex Avila cut down Fukudome to end the game and seal it, and to hear Rod Allen's throaty "OH, JACKSON," was well, let's just say it's good to be home.

Objectification

Why do the powers that be in sports assume that only males are interested? Why is every commercial full of scantily clad women? Why does FSN use a sexy girl dolled up in some Tigers gear for its segues? I must protest. There are a lot of women who love ball. I am one of them. Do I want to watch bimbos during every break from play?

I'm gonna have to give you a big fat no on that one. Could we strip (pun intended) the chauvinism out of sports please? I mean, it's only 2011. Sigh. /kicks wall, stubs toe, refuses to cry out in pain

Anyway, I'm done with that topic. If I were to say anything else, I wouldn't trust myself to be rational and cool-headed. I was already going on tilt, so I will simply shut my mouth on the subject.

I must tell you that I called Jackson's RBI double tonight. I said he would get off the schneid moments before he swatted the ball (as my husband was deriding him for having a .174 batting average). I was right. Yes, you may bring offerings and gifts. Season tickets, for example, are always a tasteful choice.

Our pitching, outside of Justin Verlander's sparkling outing last night, has left much to be desired. Brad Penny will soon draw catcalls and jeers. Relievers are allowing runners to circle the bases at a dizzying rate. I was concerned about a few areas, but this...this is not pleasing. Let us hope that the healing properties of Comerica Park turn these fellows around.

Alex Avila. Early MVP Candidate

Tonight Alex Avila had a career game. He had 5 RBI, the most in his career. He STOLE A BASE. He had a home run and a double. His nomination has been filed. Just when Tigers fans were ready to start calling for Victor Martinez and his weak arm to get behind the dish, Avila steps up and says, "put the breaks on that freight train."

I jest, of course. Avila just had one good game. The first good game he's had in......a while. Do I hope he keeps this up? Um, does Justin Verlander wear his pants too tight? Do I think he will? Um, is Miguel Cabrera going to steal 40 bases this year? This is not a breakout moment for Alex. Maybe tonight will give him a little confidence boost, however, and allow him to relax and stop pressing.

Our ace had his stuff tonight, my friends. His curveball was falling off the table. I was so nervous going in, because last I read, he hadn't fully recovered from food poisoning. How could he pitch if he couldn't keep food down? Those concerns were quickly swept aside as Justin had a perfect game going into the fourth.

Victor Martinez and Miguel Cabrera went back to back tonight. Vmart kind of needed that. He hadn't been putting together the best at bats. I can confirm that it is impossible not to smile when you see back-to-back jacks. It's a physiological fact.

The other night, I nearly jinxed the game twice by smiling. I smiled first when the Puma hit his second home run of the game. I was chided for being happy, the Yanks proceeded to put runs on the board, and I vowed not to smile again until we put one in the W column. Then Austin Jackson made me lose my resolve by making an outrageous catch. I'm sorry, my mouth mutinied. When Papa Grande began to falter in the 9th, I knew it was my fault. You have my pledge that I will try to hold smiling at bay when games are in progress. Funny, I used to scoff at superstition. Now, I am a solemn adherent. Baseball's funny that way.

Will our home opener never arrive? The season seems artificial until our boys come home and christen the CoPa. Things hardly seem underway until I get to the park for my first game. Those games I've been watching on TV seem rather like elaborate video games. It's time for home whites and the Old English D.

FreezeFest 2011

Did you know that certain extremities refuse to be warmed when exposed to icy temperatures? My nose was frozen and red all day at TigerFest yesterday. That didn't stop me from enjoying myself. I was armed with foot and hand warmers, and the Tigers were also passing out free hand warmers to the hardy fans who defied the weather.

Although I had several failures yesterday, my friend Nicole triumphed in a way I hadn't imagined possible. I had brought my scorecard from the no-hitter in hopes of meeting Justin Verlander in the autograph lines. NO. Of course, I wanted to see Mi Magglio. Well, I saw him, all right. I got to the photo booth area in time to see him LEAVING! I would have liked to meet Max Scherzer. He did walk by my friend and I, and she gasped audibly, but I was busy digging in my bag, so I barely glimpsed him. Sigh.

Now, allow me to regale you with my friend's tale of victory. Nicole follows both Will Rhymes and Casper Wells on Twitter. We were standing in an autograph line, when Will Rhymes walked by us. Nicole told him she followed him on Twitter and he high-fived her. She tweeted it, with a shout out to Wells to top it, and Rhymes proceeded to retweet it. That was quite exciting, needless to say. Well, a while later, we get to the front of an autograph line, and who is there, but Casper Wells himself. Nicole shows him the tweet and the challenge. You could see the wheels turning in his mind for a moment as he signed her hat. Then, he slowly stood up and enveloped her in a big, genuine hug! Then he told her she better tweet THAT to Will. Holy cow, a twitter war had broken out! Nicole's feet didn't touch ground for while after that. I was happy for her, despite my epic failures.

We attended one of the panel discussions, which featured Justin Verlander, Joaquin Benoit, and an empty chair for a tardy Phil Coke. Rod and Mario were allowing audience members to pose questions, and people kept asking Justin the most pointed questions. He took it all in good grace, laughing at how Jim Thome owns him, talking about how he has ZERO major league hits, and discussing his April woes. Funny stuff. Then Phil Coke finally walks in the room and flashes an expression that put the whole room in stitches. You just had to be there, I can't describe it. Then he says the reason he was late is because he was down in the team store trying to find out why there were no Coke shirts in there. He's priceless. Really.

I did get to tell Austin Jackson he was robbed for ROY, and how much we appreciated his season here. He is very humble, trying to deflect all that praise coming his way. Here are a few snaps from the frozen tundra.

Haikus To Warm a Winter's Night

winter solstice looms

dormant ballfields quiet sit

as I look for spring

jackson rookie jilt

miggy held in low esteem

'mando imperfect

always a tiger

magglio should here remain

scott notwithstanding

shirts for david d

plentiful stripes and sailboats

lead to many laughs

I'm sorry. This is what you get when there's no baseball.

There's No Whining in Baseball?

I realize this post will classify me as a first class cry-baby, but I'm sorry, it can't be helped. I know that most people are all gaga over the Hot Stove, free agent frenzy, blah, blah, blah. Of course, the whole process is captivating, but does it hold a candle to actual baseball being played? I'm gonna have to shout a resounding 'No' from the top of a ten story building. It's only November. Pitchers and catchers don't report until February 13. May I kindly ask what I am supposed to do until then? I may have to break down and attend Tiger Fest in January. I'll be desperate by then.

I recognize that I'm annoying you beyond all reason, and come off as a pathetic, sniveling loser. I know that this is a horrible way to keep readers. I must apologize, and I do. Sincerely. I offer to you a genuine "I'm sorry." But don't you find yourself just pining, yearning, longing for some baseball? Doesn't seeing the CoPa shuttered, the diamond tarped over, the grass going dormant, just make you feel like Ndamukong Suh's muscled fist grabbed your heart and squeezed as hard as it could?

I even missed the AFL championship, because I had a stinking eye exam. Is there any justice in the world? That was probably my last shot at live baseball for the next twelve weeks. Again with the whining. I know.

If I had MLB network, there would be some pretty cool archival baseball watching in store, but do I have MLB Network? Nooooooooooooooooooooo, indeed not. Excuse me while I go write a nasty-gram to my cable provider.

Do you think that lame movies, or even good movies, or even great baseball movies make a nominal substitute for our nation's past time? No. They don't.

I've already endured the devastation of Austin Jackson losing out on Rookie of the Year. I'm still a mite bitter about the empty spot on Jackson's mantle. Now I find myself guarding my heart against Cabrera getting the snub for MVP. Today, the Freep gave us the cheery news that a Tigers hitter hasn't won the MVP since 1940, when Hank Greenburg brought home his second MVP. Sigh.

You can depend on me for countless uplifting posts like this one throughout the off-season.

Who Stuffed the Ballot Box?

I am sorry, but is there anyone else out there that feels our poor boy got the shaft in this whole Rookie of the Year voting process? I know I may be biased, but really now, REALLY NOW, I believe that Austin Jackson should be bringing home some hardware today. Neftali Feliz was brilliant. No question. I give him all proper credit for a spectacular season.

However, Austin Jackson was in some rarified air. He joins only three other rookies EVER to accomplish the following:

180 hits, 100 runs, 30 doubles, 10 triples, and 25 stolen bases

The other three blokes?

Hanley Ramirez, Juan Samuel, and Shoeless Joe Jackson

That's not enough for Rookie of the Year for sobbing out loud?

Apparently that effort was good for only eight first place votes. Puh-leeze tell me this is a crazed nightmare and I will soon awake in a cold sweat. Eight out of 28 first place votes? Did the esteemed BBWAA writers watch Young Jackson in action at all this season? Did they not see at least twelve catches in which it at first appeared that there was no chance at all that Jackson would catch up to the ball? He hauled it in each and every time. He saved a Perfect Game. He made countless over the shoulder catches. He hit the ball. Well.

Ok. I'm done whining. I apologize, but my feelings were just a mite wounded this afternoon around two o'clock.

Breezes and Big Knocks

Pat Burrell struck out eleven times in five games in the 2010 Fall Classic. That total is two whiffs shy of Ryan Howard's record 13 Ks in six games, set just last year. Willie Wilson had maintained his grasp on the World Series Strikeout King title belt since 1980, when he fanned 12 times over six games.

Watching Burrell's futility at the plate was, um, rather brutal. I'm sure that noone felt this more keenly than he did. When he struck out yet again, with runners on second and third, it seemed like the hole in his bat might cost the Giants game 5.

Edgar Renteria swatted Burrell's troubles away with one stroke. I never saw a ballplayer lock another man in a death grip's embrace. I wasn't sure Renteria would be able to extract himself from Burrell's clutches. Edgar certainly did rescue Pat from lasting humiliation and self-condemnation. Renteria went on to win the MVP for the Series. Many sighs. Once again, I must ask, Whyyyyyy could you not perform well in the American League, Edgar? I don't understand it. You were hitting AL pitching in the Series, Edgar. See? It's not that hard.

Ah well, soon we'll see how the Tigers manage a pretty nice bundle of cash. We'll see how well they compete with the New Yorks and Bostons of the league for free agent talent. We'll see if Dave Dombrowski goes from the Hot Stove to the Hot Seat. We'll see if the Puma and little Ajax can come home with some hardware. Can't wait.

Chicks Dig the Long Ball

Seeing Curtis Granderson play against the Tigers in pinstripes--not a pretty sight, but a sight made more tolerable by young Austin Jackson's performance this year in the Old English D. It has been reported that Curtis has not yet been the target of Yankee fans' ire, despite a rather disappointing season. I'm glad, because little CJ does not deserve boos. He just doesn't. Unless he beats us, then Tiger fans will be showing him with boos.

Ryan Perry is our reliever with the best strand rated for inherited runners. He does this job again beautifully tonight in the 8th. So lovely. He needed a little help from Papa Grande to finish the eighth, but I'm happy.

During Valverde's phantasmagorical loss of control during the ninth, I found myself sitting in front of the TV blinking--like if I blinked enough, I might miss the horrors playing out in front of my eyes. Sadly, the blinking did very little. Let's see, he's walked a run in, buzzed Jeter, BUT GETS HIM TO HIT INTO THE DOUBLE PLAY TO END THIS THING!

Here's the bad news. Coke will not be available tomorrow, Perry will not be available tomorrow. Valverde? He's coming off an abdominal strain, and threw like a wild man tonight--38 pitches, only 16 of them strikes. Oh, how jocular. Verlander better be thinking complete game vs. CC Sabathia.

All of our runs tonight came via the home run. Ryan Raburn continues to prove us wrong, and raked a two run shot in the second. Miguel Cabrera flicked one off his shoetops (and off the end of his bat) to give us three. Miguel, you are the MVP.

I will be sojourning in the wilderness for the next five days, so have fun kids! I may tune in to parts of games via a hand crank radio. Seriously.

No Joy in Mudville

In the first inning of this series finale, Ramon Santiago hit a one-out double down the right field line. With two outs and first base open, Miguel Cabrera strode to the plate, and Maddon pitched to him. Once again, strategy works, and Miggy strikes out swinging, stranding Santiago in scoring position. The frequency of this occurrence begins to wear me out. I don’t blame Miguel Cabrera. He can’t be 100% of our offense. It’s just that it appears that no break will ever come our way, whether it be incredible defensive plays, biased umpiring or voodoo.

It’s possible that I am a mite cranky due to our recent fall off a cliff, but if I have to see another Sam Bernstein commercial, or watch the Labatt Light Refreshment Duo even once more, I may take a fork to my own eyeballs. Not sure if that’s an overreaction, but like I said, I may be slightly irrational at the moment.

In the bottom of the second, former Tiger Carlos Peña hit a bomb to right field. Rod and Mario tell us it hit a catwalk BEYOND the right field wall. I just nod mechanically, yes that’s how things are going for us at the moment. At least I didn’t burst into tears.

Next, a pop foul drops harmlessly between Danny Worth and Ramon Santiago. Tears threaten but do not fall.

Will Rhymes leads off the third with a standup triple. It coaxes a small, no teeth showing smile. Rod says that Will looks like a track star the way he runs with his hands pumping up and down. Rod. You do go on. Hey, maybe Rhymes will hit for the cycle today. (Sarcastic laughter.) Sorry. I know that hardened cynicism is ugly. I’ll try to be sunnier.

Jhonny Peralta arrives in the Tiger dugout during the third inning. Sporting an awkward smile, he is greeted by handshakes and hugs. Must feel a bit odd to arrive mid-game. He is wearing number 27.

Ever informative, Rod lets the viewer know that the Tigers are 3 for 23 with RISP this series. Rod, need I remind you that tears are barely being held at bay here? Geez. Santiago beats out a double play to score Rhymes, and we’re tied at 1.

I absolutely adore the Rays striped socks. They really are all that. The dark blue socks are punctuated by rings of white and powder blue. Very nice. Every one of them should wear high socks at all times.

Cabrera makes a great diving stop on a grounder, but Crawford is too fast, and Porcello can’t beat him to the bag. Bases loaded. Eyes momentarily fill up. Choked back in time to see Porcello strike Longoria out for the second time. Two outs, bases still juiced. Two runs score on a liner that ricochets off Cabrera’s glove. Tough break number 5,427 for the Tigers. Sob. Hey, I held back as long as I could. You’re lucky I wasn’t boo hoo-ing two innings ago. Bases re-loaded on a walk to Matt Joyce. Forget that he saved a helpless kitten when he was here in Detroit. He hit a grand slam to squash Scherzer’s no-hitter on Monday. He’s on my list.

Boesch’s first hit of the series comes on a broken-bat infield single to short. We will take that, along with any other help we can get. Could the thunder rumbling outside the Trop strike any of the Rays occupants inside? Just asking. Raburn swings under an elevated fastball to run the count full. I can never say this enough about the high hard ones, “can’t him ‘em, can’t lay off ‘em.” It holds true most of the time.

The stupid carpet at the Trop is said to be wearing on free-agent-to-be Carl Crawford. He has a sore back every night from standing on the artificial surface. Can anyone steal him from the Yankees? I would appreciate that.

Ha. Laird comes up with runners on first and second with one out. Would you take the over or the under if I said the odds on him hitting into a double play were set at 85%? I’m not going to apologize for being jaded any more. It’s just what this season has done to me. Deal with it. I have to. Well he flies out to right, so at least it wasn’t the GIDP. It’s up to little Rhymes now, who sort of resembles a flea. Joyce runs down a fly ball, which had threatened to shoot the gap in right. Side retired. Bernstein commercial follows. I change the channel.

Miggy strikes out looking to start the sixth. Price has struck him out three times today for sobbing out loud! I almost just said “what more could happen to us?” but that would have brought on a hailstorm of destruction, so I refrained. Boesch strikes out. Quickly. I mean, he was hardly at the plate for three seconds. Two outs. None on. Raburn at the plate. He singles to bring Laird to the dish. Laird ground out weakly to second. Ahem. Another Bernstein commercial.

Porcello has now retired 9 straight batters and there are two outs in the bottom of the sixth for Willy Aybar. Porcello strikes him out for another 1-2-3 inning. There’s a little bright spot.

Price balks Worth over to second in the seventh with one out for Austin Jackson. A RISP? Oh, sadly, we can predict what will happen next. Well, we did score one run, but then Maddon walks Cabrera AGAIN to load up the bases when runners were on first and second, and Boesch grounds out weakly. I…just…

Porcello then dispatches the Rays in order to help me retain the vestiges of sanity. Thanks. Rod and Mario marvel about that new-fangled gadget the iPod touch. Guys. Please.

In the top of the eighth, we are carved up like so much roast beef. Porcello comes back out and gives up a single, then balks the runner to second. Are you serious? The balk looked suspect to me. Umpires are in a conspiracy against the Tigers. I am now convinced. Groundball advances runner to third. Leyland walks Longoria intentionally. Brings in Coke to pitch to Peña. AGAIN a groundball glances off Cabrera’s glove to score a run. Some evil puppeteer is orchestrating this game with the deliberate intention of driving Tigers fans to Bedlam. There IS NO OTHER explanation for the repetition of such horrors.

Down 4-2 and here come our last at bats. Danny Worth flies out to right to lead us off. Woo hoo! Austin Jackson does have an RBI single today, soooo let’s see what he can do with nobody on and one out. He chases two high hard ones to strike out. Here we go kids! Ramon Santiago remains our last hope of avoiding a four game sweep at the Trop. He grounds weakly right back to the mound to end this thing. Excuse me while I go lose my lunch and my mind.

A Game Was Won and Other Nonsense

In the fourth inning of today’s game, Austin Jackson hit a soft ground ball right back to pitcher Ricky Romero. It was as sure an out any, yet Jackson ran down the line as if he sniffed an infield hit. He was thrown out easily, but I was impressed by Jackson’s hustle. Now, some might say work smarter not harder, meaning Jackson should have jogged down the line, because in case of an error, he would still have time to make it to first safely. I think young Jackson just has an all-out mentality, which is impossible not to admire. He shows us every night that he never gives up on a ball. Many times, I’ve thought he had no shot at getting to a ball, and he has proven me wrong more often than not. A lot of people have joked about how Jackson has put Curtis Granderson out of the minds of Detroit fans. It’s hard to argue that he hasn’t. He’s played defense way above expectations, and his hitting has been fantastic too, if overshadowed a little by fellow rookie Brennan Boesch. I grant you his batting average on balls in play (BABIP) is outrageous and unsustainable, but if he cuts down on strikeouts as that number comes back to earth, he’ll be ok.

Sigh. In the bottom of the seventh, Rod Allen warns that if Leyland sends Worth and Jackson strikes out, he’s a dead duck at second. Moments later the warning is unheeded and we have a strike ‘em out, throw ’em out double play on our hands. Sigh. Mike Rogers could pretty easily revive his Fire Jim Leyland blog right now. I guess he’s too busy over at Bless You Boys, but just sayin’.

Well, all’s well that ends well here today as Papa Grande got the save, and got right back on the hill after the wildness that characterized last night’s outing—an outing calculated to give us all nightmares. Thank you Big Potato for showing us that was just an anomaly. WHEW.

In the Fox post-game show, Ryan Fields interviewed Miguel Cabrera. He asked Miggy how he continues to come through in the clutch. The Puma played the humble hero’s role, deflecting the praise, giving credit instead to teammates for getting on base in those big situations, and saying how they all have to work together to get it done. Adorable. And I really don’t get why people whine about a big language barrier with Miguel. I speak virtually no Spanish, and I understood him perfectly. Sure, there’s an accent, but if you just listen a smidge more carefully than usual, you’ll be fine. I like when it’s not just Brandon Inge in the post game interviews.

Finally, I must protest against stupidity. Someone on sports talk radio was talking about acquiring Adam Dunn and moving Miggy to third. Are you a moron? Miguel has shown he just doesn't have it at third. He plays very well at first. He's a legitimate triple crown candidate. And you want to mess with this???? Please, go away. Stay away from my Tigers. Go become a Milwaukee Brewers fan, would you?

Carl Pavano, Evil Incarnate, and Other Irrefutable Truths

All good things must come to an end, I guess. The Tigers are no longer undefeated this year in games I've attended. This thanks to Satan's underling Carl Pavano, and the, ahem, Detroit Tigers pitching staff.

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.

Orange Birds Verboten

I'm going to have to go ahead and say NO to losing to the Orioles. I mean, I am sorry, and no disrespect intended, but this is a series we need to sweep. Today's game was spinning along just fine until Armando Galarraga stayed in one inning too long and gave up a two run shot to Nick Markakis. Markakis also caught some long fly balls in right tonight. Hmmm. Not too happy with YOU, Mr. Markakis, not too happy at all.

Now, I think that Brennan Boesch is very deserving of an All-Star nod, but the whining over the snub is now beginning to enter ad nauseum territory here. FSN keeps throwing up graphics comparing Boesch's numbers to the AL outfield reserves. No doubt, his numbers compare favorably, more than favorably. It just doesn't make sense to keep grumbling. It happened. It was wrong. Let us move on now, shall we? I recommend this as a means of preventing ulcers, migraines and all manner of nasty stress-induced conditions. That does it for the public health announcement.

Many sighs. Magglio just check-swing struck out to end the seventh inning with a runner stranded on third. Many sighs. Speaking of Magglio, I was happy to see an article on MLB.com stating that Ordóñez was worthy of an All-Star berth. I like when my guy gets credit where credit is due. Viva Magglio! (I would say All-Star in our hearts, but it sounds way too corny, and I don't go in for that sappy stuff. He knows we love him.)

Daniel Schlereth got a major shearing. I was at Friday night's game, sat behind the bullpen, and saw Schlereth sitting on a bench chatting it up with Jeff Jones, sporting long hair. Now it is cropped short. It definitely beats the static electricity look (scroll down on that page for the hilarious photo). Actually, our pal Kojak, er, I mean Rogo, of DesigNate Robertson is probably jealous even of that strange hair. Schlereth does appear to have the ability to grow instant facial hair like Alex Avila. The club's going to be spending a lot of money on razor blades. Invest in Gillette.

Binge knocks Boesch in and stretches a double into a triple, securing Player of the Game honors, even if someone else actually knocks in a game winner. That's just how POG works. Inge wins it unless he's on the bench. A very strange group of minions mans cell phones all over the country, texting in for Binge scores of times every game. There is no plumbing such minds to find answers. Trust me.

No pressure, Ajax, you're just pinch hitting in the bottom of the 8th with a runner on third and two outs. I repeat, no pressure. Breathe in, breathe out. Jackson takes the first two pitches for strikes. Um, ok. Maybe there is some pressure. He grounds out harmlessly. Sigh.

Johnny Damon got his 2500th knock tonight. Congratulations! I'm happy for the guy. Damon got a nice ovation and they saved the ball for him, so he should have some warm fuzzy memories of the milestone, even if it did occur in the not-so-cosmopolitan city of Detroit, Michigan.

In the bottom of the ninth, Quiet Riot's "Feel the Noise" was blaring at the CoPa. Funny. It wasn't 80s night, or metal night, as far as I know.

Swing and a drive, way back...gone! Miggy crushes one to left to knot things up at five. Thank you, big fella. We needed that since the evil Twinks beat the Jays tonight. You could just see in Miguel's face that he had decided he was going to belt one out of there in that at bat. Wow. Just. Wow.

Rick Knapp goes out to the mound in the 11th to talk to Perry with runners on first and second and one out. Perry is deferentially nodding and earnestly repeating, okay, okay over and over again, while looking Knapp square in the eye. So stinking adorable.

Johnny Damon decides hit number 2500 just isn't enough, and jacks a two run walk off shot deep to right field to end all this Baltimore-Orioles-possibly-winning-the-game nonsense. Cheers!

Many Happy Returns

While an Opening Day win does not signal a trip to the playoffs (though it was hard to tell based on how zotzed up the FSN boys sounded during the Tigers Live post-game show) it feels good to put one in the W column. It's hard not go with the feel good vibe after a Game 1 victory, because "winning, it's like better than losing."

I know this is a Tigers blog, but David DeJesus is one of my favorite players to watch. His mannerisms and reactions to things make me laugh--bonus points to him for that. He laughed at himself after dragging his face through the dirt on a botched slide. He pumped his arms like a little girl striding away from a bad play date in a huff after striking out. I love this.

Also scoring some make-me-laugh points is Phil Coke. He runs out from the pen looking like a total schlump. An 80s baseball player schlump, no less. He does a sort of WWF wrestler flex and growl (in keeping with his 80s persona) when a good defensive play helps him out of a jam. He's, um, bulky, and I dig that, because I can relate.

Joel Zumaya fans Betancourt on a high hard one. There.

Young Austin Jackson showed us what he got in a very satisfying way on both sides of the ball (please don't rain on the happy parade by saying the ump got the call wrong--I watched the replay too). His parents were there to see his debut, so that's just as warm and fuzzy as can be.

Johnny Idiot Damon showed up to play. Go ahead, do that all year, and then go show up for some other (show-me-the-money, glam-tacular) team next year.

Poor Kansas City. I think they got an all too accurate glimpse of their pen yesterday. Hey, at least they have Soria--too bad save situations could be um, limited.

Finally, I have to say that I like Ryan Perry, I like him A LOT.

See you tomorrow for the awkward partial broadcast.

The Yankees Taketh Away

Today's trade has countless Tiger fans reflecting on Curtis Granderson's career in the Old English D. Many feelings of pride, joy (think all of the highlight reel catches), fondness, loss, denial, sadness, and anger are affecting us. Losing Curtis to the New York Yankees exacerbates these feelings to the highest degree for me personally. I could even handle him playing for an AL Central team. But pinstripes? No. No. No. Why is it the Yankees have their way with the rest of the league? Truly, I had to console myself with a big dinner from my favorite Thai restaurant.

On paper all the analysis says we win in this trade, although a lot will have to play out first to confirm that. Poor young Austin Jackson will have to cover the expanses of centerfield at Comerica Park flanked by Carlos Guillen and Magglio Ordóñez. Now, Carlos and Magglio are among my favorites, but it's near lunacy to think the boy will be able to cope. Curtis Granderson himself has said that the CoPa centerfield is very difficult. Wow, nothing like being thrown into the fire (barring another acquisition).

Edwin Jackson was only with us for one season, but he'll be missed for his ripped physique, bared for charity, sporting a huge cross tattoo over his entire back. No, seriously, he pitched out of his mind for the first half of last season, routinely taking his outings into the 8th and 9th innings. While he faded a little the second half, he earned my affection, so I'll be checking his game logs for the D-backs next season.

Many sighs. Stupid winter meetings. I know the holidays are for giving, but I didn't know we'd be giving up our Grandy.