Idle Hands...

What in the name of balls and strikes does a baseball freak do with the mind-numbing down time during the off-season? You take three-plus hours out of every day, and there's a mighty big chasm to fill. Well, I don't know about other people, but I am stuck doing things like knitting scarves, watching the World Series of Poker, and baking a thousand batches of chocolate chip cookies. Does that sound like a life to you?

My mantra is simple. Life without baseball is hard.

Now, we've got to sit by as the Yankee brass goes down to Arkansas to meet with Cliff Lee. Wooing him. Wowing him with wheelbarrows awash with cash. Whacking him over the head with propaganda about what it means to "Be a Yankee." To wear the pinstripes. To be clean-shaven. Excuse me a moment while I go clean up the vomit I just induced.

OK. I am back. There are a few remaining chunks on my shirt, but luckily for you I'm not downloading photos of it to this post.

Hopefully things will pick up soon. We'll get news that Dave Dombrowski and his suitcase full of sailboat sweaters have spirited off to who knows where to negotiate with some top tier free agent. Yes. It will happen. Then the dark days won't seem so long.

The Way of the Ostrich

After yesterday's devastating 4-3 loss to the Braves, in which the game-tying run was denied due to yet another blown call by an umpire, I had no choice but to shove the whole thing squarely out of mind. If I hadn't, things would have gotten ugly. I'm not sure exactly how the horror show would have taken shape, but it might have involved me digging up worms from the back yard to play sous-chef with a hefty kitchen knife. Of course, if I had been thinking, I could have channelled that anger into some much needed eyebrow plucking, but I'm not sure inflicting more pain would have been the wisest move anyway.

As it was, I clicked off the TV, strode out the door, and calmly drove away to run an errand (not slamming the door on my way out, and not listening to the post-game show with Dan and Jim on the radio). Not quite sure how I did that, but I am proud of myself for not turning green, growing steroid-y Hulk muscles and shredding everything in my path.

To be fair, some of the frustration with yesterday's loss has to do with not playing well on the road, and not playing well against top-tier teams. It doesn't sit well, you know? It breeds unease. The mind fast-forwards to the end of the season, and has waking nightmares of not making the playoffs AGAIN.

Rumors of the Twins pushing hard for Cliff Lee only serve to set the mind whirling on a crazed carousel filled with Twinkies and White Sox, which always manage to stay one step ahead of the Tigers. Mariners GM Jack Zduriencik helped me stay out of Bellevue Hospital a while longer and traded for Russell Branyon, stating to MLB Fanhouse:

"The message we are trying to send is that we are trying to win as many games as possible. Right now [Lee] is part of this club. What happens down the road, we'll have to see.''

I realize that the Mariners are in last place, 14.5 games out of first. Lee may well be traded for the third time in as many years. It may be a probability. Still, I cling to the shred of hope that they are playing better and trying to win games, not scheduling an immediate fire sale. Believe me, I know it's stupid, but I'm committed to way of the ostrich.

Haul It Back in the Yard

Rod Allen was still giddy during the "Tigers Live Postgame" show.  Aren't we all.

Well, it's nice to say that the opposing team got Verlander-ed tonight.  I mean, Lee pitched well, but we had some hits off him and didn't capitalize.  The Indians didn't really have anything on which to capitalize.

11 Ks

2 hits

no hits from 2nd-6th innings

complete. game. shutout.

Oh, yeah, and then there's the game saving play by lil CJ.  Baby, you're going out on the town tonight, and Verlander's paying.  I'm hopping in my car right now, getting on the turnpike and hitting every bar in Cleveland to join the party.

Nice chaser to make us forget last night.

Slammed

Sometimes I am unable to write a post immediately following a bad loss.  I first attempt to cool myself off by slamming a few doors with all possible force.  I've had a mirror come unmounted from the back of a door and shatter all over the floor in a trillion polygonic granules.  My, wasn't it humbling (and hazardous) performing clean-up on that mess.   If that doesn't do the trick, I've got to break out the big guns and watch my copy of the no-hitter that I downloaded off i-Tunes.

All of this is done to spare the reader from invectives spewed in a disorderly jumble.  There certainly are times when an angry post is appropriate and cathartic.  In fact, it's why I started this blog after the 2008 season.  I just had so much bile poisoning my system, it had to be released.

So much for the blow-hard intro.  My point here is that last night's loss is now becoming a pattern.  We get Greinke-d, Buehrle-d, Pavano-ed.  Who's next?  Is Cliff Lee gonna make a run at a perfect game too?  Actually, that would NOT follow the pattern.  We usually follow up such a loss with a win.  We're playing .500 ball right now, and while that's a sight better than last year, it's not entirely satisfying.  I'm feeling that our team has a legitimate shot at contending.  We'll soon know whether Willis and then Bonderman can help boost us up to the next level.

If not, and in the wake of more tainting of our game coming to light, I may just move to following and blogging  my son's rec league team.