Brandon Inge, Usurper of Spring Training Headlines

Why is Brandon Inge dominating Spring Training headlines? I may have to retire to Bedlam. First, media are all atwitter (see what I did there?) over Inge showing up "on time" to camp instead of early. Spare me. Aren't there enough real story lines in Lakeland?

Now, when Inge finally speaks to media after today's first full squad workout, he says a few things that perturb me just a wee bit. I didn't hear the remarks in person, so I may be applying connotations improperly, but...

Jason Beck posted the following quotes on his blog:

On the Tigers’ decision: “It’s pretty simple for me, actually, if you think about it. Put yourself in a general manager’s position and not think as a player. I put myself in Mr. Dombrowski’s position and tried to figure out what I would do if I was in his shoes, and I respect that he’s going to go with Miggy. Miggy thinks he can do it at third. He’s going to go with him, and I respect that, because he’s sticking with his guys. Miggy’s done a lot to help the team. He’s a big part of the team, so he’s sticking behind him, showing faith in him that he can play third. And I appreciate that.”

Um, Miggy thinks he can do it at third? And Dombrowski is showing faith in him that he can play? sticking behind him?

These statements make it sound to me like Inge doesn't have much faith himself that Miggy can play third. It sounds to me like he thinks HE IS A VALID FREAKING ALTERNATIVE TO MIGGY AT THIRD.

You know what the problem is? Inge is quite simply full of delusions. He really believes he belongs in the lineup on a full-time basis. He thinks he's more than just a utility guy, which is what his career really should have been. These are the things that make me certifiable.

So here we are, reading article after article about Brandon Inge of all players, instead of things like how Brennan Boesch is doing, how Austin Jackson is eliminating his leg kick, how many grounders Cabrera booted at third today, and how many pounds over 350 Prince Fielder is. THE IMPORTANT THINGS!

So, please, do everyone a favor, and let ALL OF US stop talking about Brandon Inge. Let's just agree to leave him alone. Let him go about his merry way taking reps at second base. I don't want a daily update on his athleticism and grit. I don't want to know about Brandon's latest hideous tattoo. I'm don't want to hear about some feel good story of him beating the odds to earn playing time at second. You do realize he'd be taking playing time from a more competent Ramon Santiago, right?

Ok then. Stop the madness. Save my sanity. Preserve rationality for us all.

Game Three is Good to Me

I was at Game 3 of the 2006 ALDS. I was at Game 3 of the 2011 ALDS. These were good games. The Tigers won them both. I screamed myself hoarse. I got to see two Yankee fans practically RUN to the exits after DEREK MR. OCTOBER JETER struck out to end the game and the Yankee comeback threat.

This game was the cause of many near-hospitalizations. My stomach hurt almost all game long. At the end of the game, I was literally gulping for air, and my legs were a strange jelly-like consistency underneath me. It was all almost too much to bear. I had so much adrenaline rushing through my body, it lingered for hours afterward. I woke up yesterday at 5:00 am, and couldn't go back to sleep in anticipation of the evening's festivities. I didn't get home until after 1 am, and as you know, I'm old, so staying up for 20 hours straight takes its toll. I felt massively hungover today, even though I didn't have a drop of alcohol yesterday. I've been worthless all day. My body is moving in a very slug-like manner, and my throat is scratchy from all the raucous yelling I did last night. It's fabulous.

Justin Verlander struck out the side in the fifth, and it was nothing short of breath-taking. HE STRUCK OUT THE YANKEE SIDE. IN THE PLAYOFFS. COME ON PEOPLE! Crazy-tingly-high-fiving-strangers-wicked-stuff.

Delmon Young's seventh inning, game-winning home run came very near where I was sitting with Rogo of Designate Robertson. He is a total dork, and has posted a photo on his site in which he has circled himself in the crowd. Needless to say, we all went gonzo when it happened. I mean, how deflating that Gardner, newly annointed Tiger Killer, tied the game in the top of the inning. I am beginning to dislike this fellow very much. Anyway, Delmon revived us all with one first-pitch swing of the bat. Thank you Delmon, for picking Justin Verlander up so quickly.

When Don Kelly laid down a bunt single, I had to laugh and give Rogo a hard time. It was fun. Also, I declare that Rogo not-so-secretly likes and roots for Brandon Inge. Yes, the very same Inge he has mocked and derided on his site for years. You may not be aware of this, but the Rogo of Designate Robertson isn't much like Scott Rogowski. It's an alter-ego like Tony Plush or Larry Bernandez.

Jose Valverde had a ninth inning that gave the nickname Cardiac Cats new meaning. I am serious. At times, I could barely watch, and my breath was alternately held and gasping. I tried taking deep calm breaths, but with little success. Two walks, two outs, he buzzes Jeter and we all gasp some more. Finally, FINALLY he gets Jeter swinging, and the place roars.

Post season memories last a lifetime.

We Are the Champions My Friend

So, the division, it belongs to us. We own it. The Tigers are the Champions of the American League Central Division for 2011. It sounds so lovely. It seems like forever since we've said that because it is forever. We've never won the Central. We won the East in 1987. Sorry for reminding you about the black hole of suck we were for a while. Let's not dwell on that.

I hope you stayed up to watch the clincher. I mean, I know you could watch almost all of the highlights the next day, but it's not the same, you know. It's not the same as being bleary eyed at 1:30 in the morning, watching our boys pour champagne over each other's heads, smoking cigars about an inch and half in diameter (expensive ones provided by Papa Grande--who else?), and reveling in sealing their own playoff destiny. Of course Brandon Inge had a snorkel and mask on and looked like a total dork. Of course he did. I understand that champagne burns the eyes and whatnot, but come on. The boys also reportedly turned the plastic on the clubhouse floor into a slip and slide. Jim Leyland didn't want to hear about that or watch it. It scared him. But he didn't do anything to stop it. Imagine the nightmare injury scenarios running through poor Skip's mind.

Speaking of Skip, his interview was a blubbering mess, but endeared him to struggling Detroiters everywhere. He flat out sobbed about how he hoped this meant something to the fans, and he grew up with a factory worker dad who worried about the threat of layoffs. Jim Leyland cares about Joe Schmo, and he's not afraid to cry in front of the whole baseball watching world.

Saturday's game was one giant hangover. I appreciate that Miguel Cabrera and Victor Martinez wanted to play the day after a clinching celebration went well into the morning hours. Apparently, the team went to a bar together after all the clubhouse festivities for some private celebration time. Then Jim Leyland and Gene Lamont went to Carl's Junior to get some food and ran into Magglio Ordóñez. Imagine what time it was at that point. The game felt so meaningless. I even felt hung over and I hadn't drunk any alcohol. It was just too soon to process a game. I know we needed to reset and focus on home field advantage, but I doubt that anyone on Saturday could have broken out of a momentary listless fog.

On Sunday, Justin Verlander gave us all a swift smack and brought us back to the race against the Texas Rangers for first round HFA. Eight innings, NO RUNS, y'all. Justin Verlander, ladies and gentlemen. Just another day at the office. Just another case in point for MVP. Jose Valverde just, ho-hum, got his 46th save out of 46 opportunities this season. Are you not impressed?

So, now we are tunnel vision on winning out these last nine games, right? No, I'm not that unrealistic. I just want to finish strong. I just want the home field advantage. I just....I am greedy. Sorry.

One last thing. Could the next two weeks hurry by so I can GO TO A PLAYOFF GAME????????

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.

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.

Regrets, I've Had a Few

Gulp.

I'msorryRyanRaburnforcallingyouabutcherandI'msorryBrandonIngeforcallingyouarallykillerthereyougoIapologizedtwiceinarow.

On Sunday, my mother, my sister and I braved the withering sun to take in a game at the ballpark. Our seats were three rows behind the Tigers' pen. Apparently, Phil Coke made my mom's day before the game. I was elsewhere, and missed the following exchange, which my sister corroborated:

Mom: takes aim at Coke with her non-digital camera. No doubt, taking forever to center the shot, etc.

Coke: points right at my mom as she's taking the shot (I have no evidence as yet. This is a film camera, people.)

Mom: does a fist pump to Coke in a appreciation (!)

Coke: does a fist-pump/shaka combo back at her (Why do you have a film camera, mother, why, why, why? I could have posted the photo here in this post right now if you had joined the current century. [Love you mom.])

Before the game, my sister frets that this game will end in a loss, as all the games she's been to in the past several years have gone in the L column. I stoutly reassure her that we will win this game for her today (while also expressing mild concern at Porcello's recent struggles.)

In the bottom of the seventh, there we are, down 3-2, and the inning starts with a couple of easy pop-ups. More moaning from sis. Before Inge gets to the plate, I vow to stop calling him Binge if he comes through. He draws a walk, and my mom turns to me and asks "Does that count?" I waffle a little before grudgingly conceding that it does.

THEN, after another walk and an error, Mi Magglio rips a (two-outs, bases-loaded, down-a-run-late-in-the-game) two run single up the middle to give us a 4-2 lead, and we all go wild, but especially me, because after all, it is Magglio performing the heroics. Doubters, haters, "what have you done for me lately" morons, you are on notice.

Ryan Raburn moves from second to left in the eighth inning. I proceed to complain, out loud, about Raburn being a "butcher" in the field. Ryan hears me and does this. Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry RYAN. I A-P-O-L-O-G-I-Z-E with sincere and abject groveling. You saved my dear sister from a shame spiral of self-accusation and candied almonds. She no longer believes herself to be a wretched curse upon our boys of summer. She is free to purchase tickets with impunity.

Just to shame me, Brandon Inge swats a two-run triple in the eighth. I am done. I have sanctioned myself from calling Brandon derisive names. For the second time in one sun-soaked afternoon, I found myself cooking up crow and choking it down whole. Well done, fellas, well done.

Check out the goods. We stagger out of the park, barely able to walk under all our loot--the W, a clutch knock from Magglio Ordóñez, a stretched out, wind-knocked-out-of-his lungs diving grab by Ryan Raburn, and an insurance-runs producing three-bagger from Brandon Inge. That, my friends, is why we love the game.

A Puma Pummelling

I realize this is so last week, literally, but I didn't have a chance to write after the game. On Wednesday night (of last week), June 1st to be exact, my friend Nicole and I went down to the CoPa to see our boys take on the downtrodden Twins. Apparently, this year's Twins are a not a huge draw, because we were able to score two front row seats for the thrifty price of $5 per ticket. To sweeten the deal, the tickets were on eBay, and there were no service fees, processing fees, shipping fees, etc. To say I was excited may be the understatement of...last week. I love nothing more than to stop Ticketmaster and Stubhub in their grifting tracks.

Anyway, Nicole and I apparently have amazing powers to inflict injury. Wednesday was our third game of the season together, and in each game, a member of the opposition has been injured. In the first game, Josh Hamilton broke his shoulder in an awkward slide into home plate. The second game, the Yankees' Eric Chavez was our victim. He broke his foot. Yes, donations are being accepted if you have a most hated player and would like us to attend a game in which he is playing.

I can't explain it, but it's starting to feel a bit eerie. I mean, it was kind of like a joke the first two times, but I felt really badly when Thome left the game with a strained hammy. Thome is a guy that nobody hates. Noone wants to see him hurt. The guy's about to get to 600 home runs for sobbing out loud. Who wants to stop that train? He'll probably get laudatory gifts from everyone in the league when he gets his 600th jack. Geez. I would like to issue a personal apology to Jim. I meant you no harm, big fella.

Now I am conflicted, because I really want to go to the game on June 26th when the Tigers play Gibby's Diamondbacks and retire Sparky Anderson's number. I'm afraid, though. I don't really want to injure one of the Dbacks. I want Gibson to flourish as a manager. Please advise.

Enough about our hex. On to the game. Mainly, Miguel Cabrera launched a three run shot that was the game winner. This guy is just too much for the average pitcher. He cannot be stopped. I love it. I wish we could see the opposing pitcher's stream of consciousness running across the bottom of the screen when facing the Puma. It can't be pretty. Expletives laced with fear -- that would be my guess.

Brandon Inge struck out in all three of his at bats. Sigh. Although this comes as no surprise, it still disgusts. Now Binge is on the DL with mono, so everyone explains away his suck with viral malaise. I cry foul. I would be willing to bet my worthless house that he hits just above Mendoza when he gets back. Same as always. Same suck, different year.

Our seats were all the way down the third base line in the corner. Scott Pickens and some generic bullpen catcher guy came out to play catch with Don Kelly in left. A little boy came over the wall every time and asked for a ball. I told him to call out Scott Pickens' name and maybe that would help his cause. No. This poor kid tried all night to get a ball and came up empty handed. Pickens did eventually toss a ball up to a fan in a different area. Generic bullpen catcher guy was impervious to all requests. He was stonefaced and made no acknowledgement of the poor kid. Nicole and I tried to get his attention on behalf of the boy, but to no avail. Why? Why do you deny a young boy a ball? I see no valid line of reasoning here. Rude.

Delmon Young dropped a couple foul balls. It was fun. We jeered. He made this face back at us.

Papa Grande closed out the game for us in his usual fashion. Check him out as he makes his way out to the 'pen before the game. Priceless.

All photographs are the property of Nicole Maitland, and may not be used without expressed written permission.

We took two of three from the Black Sox, and are now 2.5 games back of a suddenly scuffling Cleveland. Smile.

Bad Weather Leads to Outlandish Sentiments

Rainout. It's a dirty word in my book. Postponements are loathsome. You see, fans go out to the ballpark expecting baseball, and what they get is....wet. Soggy, flooding downpours that make it difficult to see ten feet in front of you. Cold, sodden jeans that refuse to dry out. It's a misery. In this Spring-that-never-was, we Tiger faithful have endured more than our fair share of rainouts. Very disturbing.

Another thing I find unsettling is this Brandon Inge/Don Kelly situation. I won't call it a platoon as yet, because it's only happened a couple times. Binge is scuffling at the plate (as per usual--will you idiots who claim he will do better this season year after forsaken year please stifle yourselves and accept him as Mendoza???) Our alternative to Binge??? Don Kelly. I call him Donkey. It's not a compliment. Who can accept either of these two stiffs in the lineup? There is no lesser evil here. It's fail on the one hand, and incompetence on the other.

I'm not gonna name names and subject anyone to jeers and catcalls here (though public humiliation should be the penance for expressing that affront to sane people everywhere), but someone told me he/she felt sorry for Inge today. What in the name of balls and strikes?? I just....No. There's no pitying someone who is batting .208 with one home run, 36 whiffs and 12 RBI. This guy deserves to stockpile gigantic splinters in his derierre.

I would love to speak about other Tigerly things, but my basement looks like Lake Havasu, and I've got to board a plane to Atlantic City to appear in a Jersey Shore episode. So enjoy your holiday weekend, and may the Tigers put some holes in the Sox.

A Pretty Penny

Wow. I went to the park yesterday for my Mother's Day present. I thought we might be in for a bit of a disappointment after Justin Verlander followed up his no-hitter with eight innings of two-hit ball.

Not so fast, Miss Debbie Downer. Let us not denigrate Mr. Brad Penny. All he did was go eight strong, allowing five measly hits and ZERO runs. Penny did get multiple assists in the form of dazzling defensive plays. It was fun. Winning is fun. Shutouts are fun. Watching Papa Grande celebrate the final out was more than fun, it was grande. Everything he does is grande.

I had a lot of stars in my scorecard yesterday. Stars denote a particularly nice play. Brandon Inge went a few rows into the stands to snare a pop foul off the bat of Brayan Pena. In the fourth, Casper Wells saved a run after Billy Butler doubled. He made a nice sliding catch off a Francoer flare that threatened to shoot the gap. Then on the very next play, Austin Jackson ran down a deep Eric Hosmer shot to straightaway center. In the seventh, Scott Sizemore made a diving stop on a Billy Butler grounder that was "sure" to get through the infield. These flashes of leather made me smile. I'll bet Brad Penny smiled himself to sleep last night.

Jhonny Peralta got his 1000th hit in the sixth inning on a double over Alex Gordon's head in left-center. He got a nice ovation, but didn't seem to want any fanfare over the moment. He calmly called for time to remove his shin guard instead of tipping his cap to the crowd.

Today's game has been postponed due to the relentless rain. Boo. What is a person to do with her afternoon when it's raining outside and there's no baseball on? Guess I'll knit a throw blanket in the shape of the Old English D. Sigh.

Sunday Stupidity

Early in the game, Mario informed us that Toronto starting pitcher Marc Rzepczynski's nickname is Scrabble because of the high score his last name would earn in that game. Rod responds that he "likes the game. It's a good family game." I would be willing to bet my devalued house that Rod has never played a game of Scrabble in his life. I found it funny, though, because Scrabble is my most favorite of all games.

In the fourth, Inge had to make an off-balance throw to first to get John McDonald. Mario says that Brandon Inge "does not play around." Oh, because most third basemen do? They kind of just lazily go after balls hit their way and lob the ball over to first? Sigh.

None other than Jose Bautista broke up Porcello's no-hitter in the fourth. I'm pretty sure he's on steroids or HGH. Sorry. Just kidding. I'm not bitter. Actually, I blame Rogo of DesigNate Robertson. He always jinxes no-hitters. Ask him about how he messed up Jujstin Verlander earlier this year, Max Scherzer's no-hitter against Tampa Bay, and Armando Galarraga's August 20th effort.

It's been fun watching the shirt of home place umpire Brian O'Nora become increasingly drenched with sweat. It started out as a small circle on his abdomen, and is now just about soaked. Gross. Go change in between innings, could ya? It's kind of distracting me. Ugh, now the entire front of O'Nora's pants are wet too. HD is not always our friend.

John McDonald hit a home run down the left field line in the bottom of the sixth inning. Rod and Mario immediately express their incredulity. Rod especially, was like "not Johnny Mac!" Mario added, "You don't expect HIM to take you deep," Poor John, his power was dissed repeatedly by our broadcasting duo.

In the top of the seventh, Miguel Cabrera stole second base. I was laughing out loud with joy. So endearing. As if everything he does isn't already. We heart you. Inge followed with a two run homer, so you know what that means. Player of the game. Poor Raburn, he has no shot, even though he has gone deep TWICE in this game.

The boo birds (bad pun intended) came out for Jesse Carlson as he surrendered four hits and three runs in the seventh. I always hate when the camera zooms in on a guy's face as he's getting booed. You can almost always see a certain look in the poor guy's eyes. It makes me feel bad.

Porcello goes seven strong, and looked just outstanding. So happy. So happy. Phil Coke comes on for the eighth. I am mystified. Coke is battling tired arm or dead arm. And WHYYYY do we keep running him out there mercilessly, as if there is just noone else? Especially in a blowout like this, there is no good reason for Coke to be pitching. I don't care if Leyland wants to get the bad taste of Friday night's walkoff loss in extras out of his mouth. He should be resting.

Rod and Mario begin talking about some upcoming off day that will occur in Chicago. Rod keeps talking about "bellying up" somewhere to people watch, or watch the MSU game. Not sure what he thinks he means by that, but it sounds completely ridiculous.

Apparently Valverde is still struggling a bit, but at least we had enough of a cushion on this one. Sigh.

Beethoven's Symphony No. 3, Second Movement

Top story tonight--Rick Porcello's strong outing? No. Brandon Inge's 1000th major league hit? Hardly. Johnny Damon's benevolent choosing of Detroit over Boston? NEGATIVE. The hit parade put on by our Bengals? Nope. Mi Magglio will undergo season ending surgery tomorrow. Warm up the pipe organ for the of darkest of dirges. Break out the mourning clothes. Forge an anti-depressant prescription for me, would you?

People have been opining that the loyal Mike Ilitch may pick up Magglio's $15 million option for next year. I believe this to be highly unlikely. I do think the Tigers may try to negotiate a more reasonable salary with Magglio, but his agent is Scott Boras, savvy? Rest assured, the market will be tested. I know for a fact that Magglio likes it here in Detroit. He's made plenty of coin, so he may be inclined in his heart to give Detroit the hometown discount to stay around and retire in a blaze of glory someday, enshrined in all proper majesty at the CoPa (and in our hearts). However, Scott Boras will do his best to ruin all that and send Magglio off to the club with the deepest pockets. Have I mentioned that my loathing of Boras knows no limits, but extends off into infinity, beyond the reaches of human comprehension?

I hope that Magglio comes to the park for fan appreciation weekend, so that fans can shower him with love and gratitude. He was a big part of bringing baseball back to Detroit. I have so many happy baseball memories involving him. When he was dueling Ichiro for the batting title in 2007, and it was coming down to the final weekend in Chicago, I hatched half a dozen schemes of driving to the Cell to see it happen in person. Things didn't work out, but I reveled in hearing the Venezuelan announcers call each of his at bats (FSN cut over to them each time Magglio came to the plate).

I have a terrible confession to make. I had my chance to thank Magglio in person last year at no other place than US Cellular Field. I was there in late September for the Sox/Tigers tilt (remember those days, when we thought we would make the playoffs?? Sorry.) Anyway, we arrived at the park before the gates even opened, and I walked down to the wall during warmups. Magglio was walking straight toward me. I arrived at the wall, and a guy was getting an autograph. He finished, and here was my shot to gush about how much I've enjoyed watching him play, how he was MY Tiger, blah, blah, blah. Well, I stood mute staring like an idiot. Then, in slow motion, I began to reach for my camera to ask for a photo. Meanwhile, he moved down the wall toward other Tigers fans, leaving me behind in a sea of regret. Huge footprints were visible on my posterior (where I had kicked myself repeatedly for being such a first class moron). Don't let something like this happen to you. I'm content to be a cautionary tale, if I can prevent this disaster from affecting others.

Anyway, I would like to thank Magglio myself here and now, even though I know he will never read it. I would like to tell him that his baseball skills have brought smiles and joyful laughter to my face innumerable times. I must express that being at the park when he hit two home runs in one inning is a memory that I swell with pride to recount (even though I missed the second home run because my son wanted to ride the ferris wheel). I have to say that seeing Magglio Ordóñez play in the Old English D has been one of the greatest of pleasures of my baseball-watching life.

I'm sorry if I've overdosed you with high fructose corn syrup, but it just can't be helped where Magglio's concerned.

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?

In the Bell Jar

We have arrived. At a horrifying place. A fourteen inning gauntlet that ends in consecutive loss number six. Johnny Damon makes a baserunning gaffe on a play that should have ended the game and winds up standing at third. Carlos Guillen then grounds into a disastrous double play to end the eleventh.

I blame the hitting in such situations. If the pitching staff has gone out and put up zeros for four innings in a row, the offense has to do its part and push one stinking run across. How could one run prove so elusive? How can the boys of summer not buckle down and get it done to put a halt to this skid?

I'm not on the ledge saying our season is over and we should sell at the trade deadline and look at next year. No. I want to fight for our season.

BUT....

We do have some gargantuan obstacles to clear. Our starting pitching has not solidified. Andrew Oliver needs more time to develop. Armando Galarraga has had one outing of brilliance and many of mediocrity. Rick Porcello has barely put Toledo in the rear view mirror. I fear that Jeremy Bonderman is an incurable head case. He constantly lets one bad pitch bleed into the next 25 pitches. You can read it in his face.

Our defense. Can we talk about defense for a minute? Only the Nationals separate us from last place on defense. I am ready to hop the fence and start leading some fielding drills, despite a complete lack of athleticism. I could show them what NOT to do, and how horrible they look when they field like me! That would shock them into doing better, I know it. Noone wants to look like me out there. Even in a backyard family game, I get mocked and derided mercilessly. I am the ultimate cautionary tale.

Aaaaaaaand let's not forget about offense. We have what can only be called several automatic outs on our squad. The names, Laird, Avila, Worth, Raburn come quickly to mind. When these gentlemen stride to the plate, it's as good as a television commercial. People can walk away from the tv without the slightest worry that anything of note will happen. Unless you count strikeout looking as something of note.

Now Brandon Inge has a broken hand and is out for the next four to six weeks. You may be aware that Brandon Inge is not my favorite player. However, he shores up a shaky defense, and has raised his average to a respectable (for him) .263. We can't really well afford to lose him right now. There are too many holes already.

In addition to all these roster issues, we have scheduling issues. We are on the road more this half, where we, um, suck. We don't face the Pirates, Nats and Orioles so much this half, and they, um, suck, which helped us pad our record. Starting with Cleveland after the break, we have eighteen games in a row with no off-day. Are you screaming yet? Have you begun cutting yourself yet? Would that be weird? I haven't done that. No, I have not. I categorically deny doing that.

With all that being said, I hope Dave Dombrowski makes some savvy moves at the trade deadline. Moves that won't eviscerate our already paltry stock of prospects. I hope he can swindle the pants off some other GM to give us a couple pieces that could put us over the top. Use the power of those horrible sailboat sweaters, Dave. They could hypnotize an unsuspecting baseball executive into giving up say Dan Haren or Ben Sheets, or Stephen Drew (who Kirk Gibson says has really bad luck, which could certainly be changed by coming over the AL). Right? RIGHT???

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!

Off Day, Schmoff Day

Sullenness presides on days when there is no Tiger baseball. What, these athletes need a break from the rigors of travel and game-playing? Bah, humbug. Most players will tell you that when they’re hot, the last thing they want is an off-day to disrupt a streak. To make matters worse, my house was under a brown-out all weekend after a storm blew through on Friday night, so I didn’t get to see any Tiger baseball this weekend. I heard bits here and there on the radio, but by and large, missed out on the action. I tried to go watch Saturday’s game at Rogo’s bar, but he told me if I showed up he’d sic his 300-pound neanderthal bouncer on me. Can’t figure out why he’s so mean to me all the time.

So Miguel Montero doesn’t appreciate Jose Valverde’s rather demonstrative ways on the mound, huh? I missed all this due to the aforementioned brownout, and now I’m more sullen than ever.

I just got an email from Tigers.com, informing me of the terrifying fact that Brandon Inge is now in fifth place in the All-Star voting for third basemen. Eardrum rending screams issued from my mouth. What psychopath formed an army of idiots to stuff the ballot box for Inge? Don't get me wrong, I like Inge's defense and his qualities as a person who comes to the aid of suffering children, but he does not belong on the All Star team. At all. No. He doesn't. No. Nor does he deserve to win Player of the Game when he strikes out three times and makes an error, but somehow he wins it time after time. Add it to the list of unsolved mysteries. Sigh.

You Can't Stand There Like a House By the Side of the Road!

Brandon Inge.

He probably won player of the game last night, even though he ended the game by striking out LOOKING with runners on second and third. I'm sorry, but that is unacceptable. It deserves a serious penalty, like being forced to dress skin ulcers on a hospital ward full of diabetics. I cannot stomach striking out looking to end the game. I don't care if you weren't ready for the pitch selection, put an awkward swing on it. That would be infinitely better than getting rung up by the home place umpire, and walking away looking and feeling like the idiot you are.

Last year, Brandon was 2nd in the AL with 170 strikeouts. I wish I knew how many of those were game-ending. Actually, you know what? I have to find out. I'm going to look at all the game logs from Baseball Reference for 2009 and 2010.

Drumroll, please.

In losses during 2009, Brandon Inge:

Struck out looking in the 9th three times.

Struck out swinging in the 9th eight times.

Struck out swinging to end the game three times.

In losses during 2010, Brandon Inge:

Struck out looking to end the game once. (Yes, the agony is fresh in our minds.)

Struck out swinging to end the game twice.

Struck out swinging in the 9th twice.

Yes, folks, that's your player of the game. Enjoy.

Fever Pitch

Remember the scene from "Fever Pitch" after Jimmy Fallon's character and Drew Barrymore's character break up and it looks like the Red Sox are tanking? He is found by his friends sitting in his darkened apartment, watching the Bill Buckner error over and over again, while the Carl Yastrzemski song plays hauntingly in the background. He's unshowered, unshaven and sitting next to a pile of chicken bones stacked up on a newspaper.

I think I may have reached that point. You will find me sitting in my darkened living room, watching 2009 Game 163 over and over again, muttering, "Brandon Inge's jersey was hit by that pitch," and listening to "April in the D." I haven't shaved my legs in weeks, and the side table is littered with Thai take-out boxes. Too graphic for you? Sorry.

Thankfully, pitchers and catchers report in three weeks, so I may yet be saved from utter ruin.

So I took my son to basketball practice this week, which happened to be at a local elementary school, and lo and behold, what did I find on the hallway bulletin board? It was a public service poster featuring none other than Curtis Granderson and Paws. Curtis was running out of the center of the poster clad in his Tiger uniform (sob), and Paws was featured around him engaged in various fitness exercises: leg lifts, lunges, stretches and pushups, all set on the Comerica Park grass. Repeat after me, Opening Day is only two months away. Sigh.

What washed up player do you think the Tigers will target next? I was so thankful to see the Brewers sign Jim Edmonds to a minor league contract.

Games Attended 2009 Part I

Ok, so I broke out the scorecards and began to sift through them. Here's a little of the early data.

I attended 22 Tiger games, 20 at Comerica and 2 at U.S. Cellular Field.

Get ready for it, the Tigers won 18 of the games I attended in 2009! I'm way ahead of you here. I must purchase season tickets for 2010, because clearly I am a charmed woman who conjures Tiger victories out of my magic giant yellow knockoff Dolce bag that I take to every game (because each item necessary to a prepared fan can fit inside its capacious confines). Donations may be submitted to fund the aforementioned season tickets. A worthy cause, no?

Here are the starting pitchers (and the corresponding Tiger victories):

Verlander: 6 starts, 5 victories

Porcello: 3 starts, 3 victories (the kid likes cougars, what can I say?)

Jackson: 4 starts, 3 victories

Galarraga: 2 starts, 2 victories (no doubt, Armando needs me at each and every one of his starts)

Robertson: 3 starts, 2 victories

Figaro: 1 start, 1 victory

Bonine: 2 starts, 1 victory

Washburn: 1 start, 1 victory

Yes I saw the one good Washburn start, yes, believe it, revel in it. AND Inge hit the walkoff winner in the bottom of the ninth, AND my friends surprised me with tickets and a group outing, AND put a birthday greeting on the CoPa scoreboard for me, it's beyond storybook, kiddies.

Now it all began on April 14, when the first game I was slated to attend got rained out, and I found myself in a rank mood for a couple days. I mean, the season started late because of the World Baseball Classic, I didn't go to the opening series, I was supposed to see Porcello's CoPa debut that day...the gripe list goes on and on.

My first game of the year would then be the Yankees on April 27, which I happened to attend with a couple blokes you might know, Blake of the Spot Starters and Rogo from DesigNate Robertson. Ian, distinguished Editor Emeritus over at Bless You Boys, was supposed to join us, but had a better offer. I assume it was the likes of Zooey Deschanel, because what other influence could cause someone to ditch three such illustrious bloggers? It was great meeting Blake and talking some baseball, but Rogo kept interjecting details about his mancrush on Derek Jeter the whole game. It got a little nauseating after a while.

Part II coming soon to a theater near you.

I Have to What? To Whom?

Well, the time has come for me to evaluate Brandon Inge's season and determine whether an apology is indeed owed him by yours truly. I had scoffed this pre-season when the media and the Tigers were going all gaga over Inge's supposedly overhauled swing. I also said I would withhold judgment until after the season had ended and apologize to Inge if the stats so dictated.

And, the numbers do not lie........

AVG .230

OBP .314

SLG .406

OPS .720

HR 27

RBI 84

SO 170

Ahem. If Brandon had finished the season with a batting average of .250 or higher, I would have conceded that I owe him said apology, no question about it. That would have been a huge season for him. But .230? It is better than last year's abysmal .205, but we're not comparing Brandon Inge to himself here.

To be fair, I think that in light of Brandon's increased home run and RBI production (coupled with his stellar defense) I may owe him half an apology. Also, I saw something that showed him as being one of the top five in the AL in home runs in the 9th inning, or some such obscure stat that baseball is great at showcasing. Don't you love that about baseball? In the third inning when the sun is shining and a runner is on first base, Brandon Inge bats .342. We saw a lot of that spin on the scoreboard during the dark years of the late 90s and early 2000s. It was a kindness really. If all they had shown us was the hard stats, many fans would have impaled themselves on the nearest sharp object.

Also, Brandon showed us once again that his heart is tender toward little suffering children, visiting them in hospitals, hitting home runs for them and having them autograph his forearm. Many humanitarian, warm fuzzy points earned by Mr. Inge.

So, here you go Brandon...

I'm sor.......

Remember, half an apology, that's all you'll get from me.