Don't Stop Believin'???

I am feeling very conflicted about a new tradition at Comerica Park. This season, in the eighth inning, the Tigers have taken to playing Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'." Now, I have always liked Steve Perry's voice. I like the song. It transports me back to my teenage years in the 80s. Yes, I'm old. Shut up. The reason I hesitate to embrace this new-found ritual is that in 2005, "Don't Stop Believin'" was the theme song of none other than the World Series champion Chicago White Sox. Steve Perry himself even sang the song at their victory parade. After watching that, I ask you, should we be adopting a song that has been already been used by our arch enemy? Can't we be more original than that? I realize the song mentions being "born and raised in South Detroit," but noone refers to South Detroit here anyway. I like the idea of our own song for the 8th, but let's all come up with some less stale ideas.

So, Jamie Samuelson has put it out there that he feels Magglio is not deserving of a spot in the lineup. I cannot let this pass without comment. Although Magglio may not yet be 100%, and he may not be ready to pursue a batting title, I have to say that he will be an upgrade in this lineup to several current placeholders. I just don't get how people, and even mainstream media members are so quickly ready to discard a career .310 hitter. So many have stopped believin'. I will love nothing more than when Mi Magglio begins scorching the ball and muzzles these buffoons. I will demand apologies on his behalf. As a matter of fact, start lining up now. He will not disappoint.

Rod and Mario continued to be stymied by Max Scherzer's heterochromia. Mario finally read it on the air last night, but only once, and would not repeat it when Rod asked him to. Rod continues to refer to it as a "condition." It's not a medical problem with a host of symptoms and side effects. It's a trait, not a disease. Just about everyone else thinks it makes Scherzer look bad. Only you two make him out to be a freak. Sigh.

I would like to end this evening in a first place tie with Cleveland. Make it happen fellas. Thanks.

Beyond the Pale

Apparently, the Tigers are in a place so dark, they are beyond the usual help I am able to provide. Ordinarily, I can boost the team to victory whenever I attend. Today, my powers were ineffective. Sadly. Heart-breakingly.

Mark Kotsay. You are loathsome. I realize that Jim Leyland's wife thinks you are hot, but you remain an anathema to me. A home run and a triple? Four RBI? Are you serious? Sigh.

Ryan Raburn nearly brought us out of the depths by swatting a three-run homer with two outs in the 9th inning to tie things up. How I ask you, Tigers, how could you squander this thing of beauty?

Valverde only threw 10 pitches in the tenth. It was ok that he went out there for the eleventh. And then, things went horrifically awry. Valverde gave up two singles. The guy in front of me said they needed to pull Valverde. I said maybe he could get a double play ball. You know what happened next. Mark freaking Kotsay hit a two-run triple. All the joy of the ninth inning was quickly sapped away. We'd need two runs in the bottom of the eleventh just to tie it up again. We went out 1-2-3.

The Tigers now trail Chicago by nine games...beyond the pale.

Let's Make a Deal

I have to tell you something. The past couple days, after the Tigers suffered successive walkoff defeats at the hands of the Red Sox, I have been afraid to let myself read any articles, or listen to radio, or...anything. I've been petrified, quite literally, into total inaction. I can't figure out what to do with all this. The Tigers are seven games back. We are about to play the White Sox four times in three days. We could either climb back into this thing (however temporarily, setting us up for more heartbreak), or we could get buried.

Best I figure it, Monty Hall has set up:

Door Number One: I can give up the season for lost, sit back and watch the kids, try to figure out whether any of them are future Major Leaguers, start dreaming up a free-agent wish list, watch Miguel Cabrera get walked twenty zillion times, and find some way to go to an Arizona Fall League game. If I do this, and the Tigers end up making the playoffs, I will be Benedict Arnold in my own heart.

Door Number Two: I can keep the faith. I can get my heart stomped every night. I can find some way to deal with the pain (some way that doesn't involve substance abuse or binge eating). I can keep telling myself that we can win this division. Shut up. Stop laughing. Seriously.

Actually, my problem is that I cannot commit to either of these oh-so-attractive scenarios.

I'm looking for door number three.

Anyone....anyone????

Johnny Damon Makes Us All....

Oh, Johnny Damon. You need to just keep your mouth shut until you make a decision on which of the lucrative, although less lucrative than you'd wish, offers on the table you will accept. Comments have been made. Feathers have been ruffled. Fans have alternated between wanting you to make our offense more left-handed and potent, to wanting you to fall into a volcano in Hawaii.

You'd love to play in Detroit and make us a winner.

Detroit isn't cosmopolitan enough for you and your wife.

You're a fan of Steve Yzerman and you eat octopi.

You and Beelzebub (I mean, respected agent Scott Boras) play us against our division rival the Chicago Black Sox.

You make us feel like our heads are spinning, and they are, because of all your spin.

Just stop it now. Just make your choice. Just pick a freaking city to play for 2010, then go out and play the free agent auction to the highest (and most cosmopolitan) bidder again in 2011. Just shut up and get ready to report to Spring Training. Just...just...stop toying with our emotions, which have been shredded up like so much confetti.

Ghosts of Weekend Past

Once again, I bring you day old bread. I won't bore you to tears with weak apologies about being out of town, having houseguests, helping with homework, blah, blah, blah.

I sojourned in the City of Wind over the weekend to celebrate my anniversary and take in some Tiger baseball. There were moments of solidarity on the L, as many Tiger faithful made the trek to the Cell. As we awaited our transfer to the Red Line, a man fully decked out in Sox gear was standing next to me. He espied my Tiger jersey, and gave me what I can only term the "stink eye." It was SO great. His disgust and ire were expressed in one small look. No words were exchanged. It was pure gall to him, standing next to me. He had no idea that his gesture made my day.

Everyone else was surprisingly good natured. I was prepared to have beer poured on me. No such tales can I provide here. Quite the contrary. Get a load of this "moment" between opposing fans. A rabid Sox fan behind us had her ring fall off and go bouncing down several steps to who knows where. Everyone pitched in to look for it, and I finally came up with it after a protracted search. As I handed it to her, I was stunned to receive a hug of gratitude. I hope SportsCenter got that--Sox and Tiger fan embrace!

Now to the game. Friday night, Eddie Bonine took a no-hitter going into the sixth inning. A Brandon Inge error planted Alex Rios at first, and the next thing you know, young Golden Boy Gordon Beckham goes yard (with two outs) to bust up the no-no most emphatically. I ask you this: when you get a quality outing from a spot starter, is it not criminal to then provide ZERO run support and lose the game, a game with pennant chase implications, no less? I'm sorry, it cannot be countenanced.

I was pleasantly surprised with U.S. Cellular Field. I wasn't expecting much, and our seats were fantastic, so perhaps I was unduly influenced. The Sox fans there were hype, despite the fact that their team was eliminated from playoff contention the previous night. I was impressed by the fervor. In fact, they put Tiger fans at last night's game to shame. I was there, and I was frankly embarrassed at the mausoleum Comerica Park seemed for such an important game. It was the ninth inning, and the place should have been on its feet screaming from Fernando's first pitch, and everyone was sitting in their seats like they were at the Opera (until there were two outs). WHAT...IS...WRONG...WITH...YOU...PEOPLE?

I love road games, because you get such great chances for player interaction. Our seats were four rows from the field about two section over from the Tigers' dugout, so I was standing down on the rail during warmups. Curtis Granderson, as you know, is from Chicago, and many people kept calling him over there to ask where to meet up with him after the game. He did a good job of not giving a specific location, rather speaking in code to them. Shucks. Anyway, he came over and was standing literally right in front of me about a foot and a half away, so I got to tell him how much I enjoy watching him play, and got a close-up photo of him. One guy who called him over (and obviously knew him) actually took Curtis' face between his huge hands and patted it. I could not believe my eyes.

Ok, so that was the supposed end of Tiger baseball for me for the weekend. I mean, I was in town celebrating a wedding anniversary, you know. Well, on the way back to the L, a Sox fan noticed my jersey and said it was a nice weekend for us and not so much for them, and asked whether I was going to all three games. I replied no, we had some other festivities planned for Saturday. He said he had lowers for Saturday's game 2 for $25. I tried to nobly shake him off, no, no we're going to a comedy club, we've got dinner reservations. My husband (insert picture of knight in glittering armor) says we have to take the tickets, it's too good a deal. What else could I do? I mean, when the stars align in your favor, you graciously accept, right? We checked the tickets for authenticity, and saw they were indeed for Saturday, and were only a couple sections over from where we were Friday night. The guy even gave us a tip on riding the L, so he earns five gold stars.

The weekend decided to bend itself over backward to please me. On Saturday afternoon, we went to some shops on the Magnificent Mile, splitting up for a short moment. Not sure why my husband didn't want to come into Crate and Barrel with me, but whatever. I was going to meet him outside of Niketown. So, I ambled over there, and he hadn't even gone in yet, because he was watching a street performer, who was spray painted silver from head to toe and was acting like a robot dancer. Quite a crowd he had, too. Weird. Anyway, I said I wanted to go into Niketown, too. We were looking at the kids section upstairs for a souvenir, when I gasped and blurted "TheresMiguelCabreraandRamonSantiagoIhavetogotalktothemrightnow." They were chatting with a friend, and I rudely walked right up and butted in. Miguel and Ramon were very friendly and gracious, as I gushed about how I was in town for the games, and so excited for the playoff run, and on and on like a babbling idiot. Then, I WALK AWAY WITHOUT ASKING FOR A PHOTO! Imagine my joy turning to self-loathing as I realize my mistake. Well, I directed another lucky Tiger fan to our heroes (sorry, guys) and he asked them for a photo right away. I decided to disgrace myself in a complete lack of pride and ask for one right after him. They obliged without any audible snickers, but I can only imagine the eye-rolling and worse as I walked away. I can only hope that I wasn't the subject of coarse clubhouse jokes Saturday night. Actually, even that's ok, because we won the game, and that's all that matters! Sign me up for buffoon duty anytime if it keeps the boys loose and helps us win ballgames.

Well, that's a wrap on yesterday's news, folks.

Magic Number: 2.

Stress level : 2000.

Game time: 1:00 pm Eastern.

Scott Baker's ERA vs. Tigers this year: 9.00

17, A Number I Loathe

I'm brimming with disgust right now that our magic number stands at 17, after four straight losses. I know that the Twinks and Sox continue to help us out by losing when we lose, but I'd like to put a dent in this number already. We have to play the Twins and White Sox seven and six more times respectively. That scares me more than the fact that my house is now worth less than a big bag of cat litter.

We need to win tonight. I'm sorry, but that's just how I feel. I'm not in panic mode, but I don't want to see us take this thing to the last game of the season. That was exciting in 1987. This year, it would cost me several thousand neurons.

OK. Our pitching is scuffling big time right now. Our bats are trying to enter early hibernation. Well, let's break out of this funk now, seal the division and focus on the playoffs. Please? I'm not too proud to beg.

I will say one thing about Fernando Rodney's suspension. I didn't see it happen, but watched the replay. His weak attempt to say he was tossing the ball to fans has no credence whatsoever. The penalty was excessive, but why appeal? Serve it right away and get it over with. We will need him down the stretch. I really find that whole move totally bewildering. Don't take a stand on principal when you're in a pennant race. If it had been like 10 games, fine, but three? More disgust.

I would like Sean of Trumbull and Michigan to break out his preseason blogger predictions and see how many of us thought the Tigers would make the playoffs. I believe that I responded yes to that question. Let's hope that holds up so I can brag about my foresight, defying baseball analysts and whatnot.

We Are Family

What a weekend to have a Family Reunion! It was a blast, but I missed seeing our Tigers pound the Sox three of four. Because I started this blog in September 2008, this is my first summer at it, and boy is it tough to keep up, what with family obligations, summer activities and whatnot. I did see the bottom of the 9th and 10th innings on Saturday, and then made it back for last night's loss. All I can say is domo arigato Tigers, well done, well done!

Carlos Guillen comes back contributing (way beyond my expectations, I'll tell you that much). Problem is, the trade deadline is looming, and can we get enough of a read on him before then? No. We need to add a bat. That much is clear. At least I hope those 2-1 losses piling up had the proper effect on Dave Dombrowski.

Casey Fien made his major league debut with his feet to the fire and responded quite well after falling behind 3-0. If that's not drama enough for you, you don't like baseball at all.

OK, it's the hard hitting Rangers in steamy Arlington next, while the Twinkies and Sox beat up on each other--Go Twins (for now). I've got my son's Twin Cities cap from little league to sport if necessary.