No Hero

I wasn’t a big fan of the Johnny Damon signing. The best thing I could say about it at the time was that it was a one-year deal, not two. Damon has turned out pretty well for us, I guess. I’m not overly gaga, but satisfied. Now, he has been virtually deified by choosing to remain in Detroit over going back to Boston to relive his “Idiot” days.

Excuse me if I don’t hand the guy a medal. He didn’t want to be the constant subject of ire among Boston fans who still remember his turncoat ways. Sure, he probably likes playing in Detroit, with our softie fans and media. It’s a pretty nice gig. The CoPa is usually a full house, and you’re not going to get skinned alive by the beat writers every day. Suddenly, Johnny has realized that Detroit is a lot more cosmopolitan than he thought. Somerset Mall is so enchanting. In reality, Boston doesn’t have much more of a shot than we do at the playoffs, so what’s the point of switching teams with a month left in the season? It’s too much upheaval.

Also, Damon probably knows that Mr. I has pretty deep pockets, and isn’t afraid to reach into the coffers for a valued player. He knows he has a decent shot at getting a nice payday for next season from Detroit. It’s a win-win-win-win for him. He gets paid, likes his teammates and coaching staff, enjoys easy treatment from fans and media, and has the added bonus of becoming a candidate for sainthood for “sticking up for downtrodden Detroit.” Please.

Adding fuel to my fire, FSN showed the following stat during last night's game, in which the team went 1-16 with RISP. This season, Johnny Damon was hitting .200 with RISP. Then he came up with the bases loaded and two outs in the tenth inning. He flied out to the right fielder.

The guy is milking this whole thing for all its worth. Don’t expect to find any two-percent here, Johnny.

This is What You Get

Well, I got shafted by a friend with whom I was going to watch tonight's game, so guess what? You will now be subjected to my lame commentary about game 128 versus the Toronto Blue Jays at the Rogers Centre. If you're really bored, feel free to read on. You may want to reconsider and enjoy some of this beautiful weather we're having, however.

In the middle of the second inning, Rod says something to the effect that Max Scherzer is filthy tonight, and clearly has his best stuff. Um, how many times have we seen a guy look good through three or four only to get tagged shortly thereafter. Let us attempt to withhold judgment of a pitcher's performance until the sixth inning, shall we?

Ryan Raburn throws out Edwin Encarnacion at second as he tries to stretch a single to a double. I must offer a personal apology to Ryan, because earlier this year, I was grousing about his defense, recommending that he take extra fielding practice. He must have done so, because he is much, much improved. Several nice plays of late spring to mind. Mr Raburn is simply scorching right now, between the ramped up defense and his fiery bat. I see you, Ryan!

Jhonny Peralta hits a three run shot to left in the fourth of Romero. Wow, I guess apologies must be passed out all 'round tonight. My comments upon the Tigers acquiring Peralta: "You know a players stinks when a team will deal him within the division." Again, so sorry.

Casper Wells had 21 home runs in Toledo this year. Now he gets a chance to prove he can do it in the Show. Who's left in Toledo at this point?? Leyland said as much when referring to September callups. There won't be many. Between injuries and callups at this level, and some injuries to players already in AAA, we're more than depleted, we're gutted.

Oh for the love of pine tar--Gerald Laird racks up two RBI in one swing to make it 6-0 in the fourth! I am agape and amused. So is he, as he exhibits a rueful smile upon approaching the dugout. Kind of a mixture of "I know, I can't believe it either" and "finally, I've made an offensive contribution."

I know this is not from tonight's telecast, but poor Rod has made some, um, interesting comments lately. The other night vs. KC, Willie Bloomquist got handcuffed by a screamer hit by Johnny Damon. Rod says that third basemen are not accustomed to the ball coming at them so hard. Huh? Isn't that why it's called the Hot Corner????

Miguel Cabera enters the batter's box with the bases loaded and nobody out in the 7th. I think I was holding my breath. Escobar snares a sharp, low line drive to rob Miggy of a hit and an RBI. Pure larceny.

Oh dear, Raburn whiffs. Two out, bases still juiced. If we strand all three right here, I cannot be responsible for what happens to my home. I could claim that it was burglarized. It will look that way when I'm through with it. Doesn't much matter anyway, I found out yesterday that the place is worth about as much as a bucket of batting practice baseballs.

Peralta saves the interior of my crib by working a bases loaded walk. Two apologies to the same player in one day? Unprecedented.

Scherzer makes little hearts appear in my pupils right now by coming out for the 7th. Our pen was just about spent after yesterday's extra innings affair with KC. Hey, so he gives up a solo shot to Bautista. Who doesn't give up a home run to Bautista? You tell me that. He gets a free pass with me. See how the rest of the inning is uneventful? More hearts.

Scherzer, having thrown 102 pitches, comes to the mound for the 8th. Oh my. Now, I give Rod the green light to gush on at will. THIS is the time to do it. Scherzer ends the inning by making Fred Lewis hack helplessly for strike three. Eight innings! One run! I feel a little giddy.

Cabrera shoots the gap for a double to lead off the 9th. I'm pretty drunk with baseball happiness at this point.

Eddie Bonine gets two quicks outs and then goes 2-0 to Vernon Wells. He pauses, looks around like he's a lost six year old in a department store and then gives up a double. Sigh. It's ok. Wells is promptly stranded at second to put this one in the W column. Enjoy the afterglow.

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.

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.

Damon Hits Walkoff Winner, Walks Off with Shaving Cream

Dramatics have been the modus operandi for the Tigers of late. Yesterday, Scott Sizemore and Brennan Boesch hit their first major league home runs in the same inning, Boesch's a Grand Salami to cap off an 8-run fourth. Today, Damon hit his first home run in a Tigers uniform, and came at a time calculated to endear himself to his teammates and the Detroit fan base.

Personally, I am maintaining a strict professional distance with Damon. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate his production, his loosey goosey clubhouse vibe, veteran/mentor status, blah, blah, blah...however, I do not forget that he comes here strictly as a merchant marine, hired gun mercenary. It's a one year deal. He'll be doing all this somewhere else next year, you dig?

Anyway, none of that tempers my adoration of the conclusion of today's festivities. I was there in spirit as the bench emptied and surrounded Damon in a riotous scrum.

I watched the Tigers post-game show for the first time all year, and saw the on-field interview with Damon, who was talking about the wind affecting his home-run's distance when he was blind-sided by Gerald Laird and a towel full of shaving cream. Laird scored a direct hit, and Johnny scooted away to the dugout to towel off. He actually returned to complete the interview, with shaving cream still clinging to his face, hair and ears. Very endearing indeed.

My heart remains detached as ever...

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.

A Modest Proposal

Miguel Cabrera. His off-field behavior may have impacted our shot at the playoffs last year. Some people can’t let it go, and I get that. Me? I still roll up into a ball and rock back and forth when I think about a collapse that rivaled the Bridge of San Luis Rey. Miguelito is making mad money, and many reckon that a giant performance yardstick is thereby created. The Puma better measure up, or the fans will crucify said cat.

My “muse” for today’s editorial is none other than the dreaded Sports Talk Radio, specifically Mike Valenti and Terry Foster on 97.1. Don't judge, you probably watch Jersey Shore. Some fans called in and said there is no way they’ll root for Miggy, no matter what he does this year, on or off the field. Mike Valenti agreed, and swore never to don his Cabrera jersey again. Terry Foster asserted that Cabrera’s got little margin for error, and because of his contract, fans in this (economically challenged) area will not embrace him unless he puts up Albert Pujols-esque numbers.

Persons who become incredibly wealthy playing a game rightfully do not receive a lot of sympathy. Persons who desecrate our hallowed pastime receive the unmitigated ire of ardent followers. Persons who imbibe obscene amounts of alcohol with the opposition the night and into the morning before a critical game are asking to be tarred and feathered and then defeathered by a hungry African tiger from the Detroit Zoo.

All that being said, Miguel Cabrera may have taken the weight of the Tigers’ world on his shoulders and found it too much. Much was made of his lack of clutch hitting last season. For quite a while, he had little protection due to slumps and injuries to other players. That’s part of it. The other part may be that a young kid who loves to play the game and have fun playing it was so burdened that he couldn’t stay loose enough to perform. Michael Rosenberg's piece is quite compelling. People who feel that kind of duress need an outlet. What’s it gonna be?

I’m not really under any undue strain, but when I do get stressed, my outlets are working out and Tigers games. Those are pretty healthy options (uh, the Tigers games are debatable), but it’s not always easy to make a good choice. Insert food binge and subsequent self-loathing here. We all know that working out is a proven physiological stress-breaker. Professional sports give adults all over the world an escape from the mundane. For athletes though, working out and playing games are part of their jobs, so they’ve got to get creative. Johnny Damon thinks the answer is naked pullups in the clubhouse. Um, don’t see how too many teammates would appreciate eye-level views of his package, but ok.

Another issue is whether Cabrera is in denial. He scolded reporters for saying he was an alcoholic, and said that his problems were not alcohol-related. Huh? I think getting drunk and using abusive language on an overweight teenager qualify as alcohol-related. Cabrera better have a little chat with Josh Hamilton. A lot people take exception to having a “babysitter” for an adult professional. I look at it more as a support system/outlet that some people might need. If calling in the Big Cat himself works, I’m all about it. Who wouldn’t want a player of Andres Galarraga’s caliber around anyway? It’s win-win-win-win....

Denial or not, Cabrera did the right thing this off-season. He got some treatment. I hope one of his assignments was writing a brain-stormy list of good alternatives to booze on one of those giant pads of paper with an oversize sharpie. Scratch that--too many inhalable fumes.

I think most of us fans make emotional decisions about players at times. We have our predilections about guys that we may not even be able to quantify. So if someone we don’t really care for anyway does something reprehensible, it results in permanent banishment.

What a windbag. What I should have just said instead of wasting time you could have spent catching up on these glorious Spring Training photos, is that I’ll be giving Miguel Cabrera another chance this year. If pervy, rug-wearing Marv Albert can get another shot, the Puma ought to get one too.

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.

Finding a Free Agent

So, Marcus Thames signs a minor league contract with the New York Yankees (boo, hiss). This prompts Buster Olney to point out Thames' "isolated power" as a good fit for Yankee Stadium. He also listed the 15 major leaguers who rank higher than Thames in this category. Number 11 on the list is Russell Branyan, who fellow blogger Rogo of Designate Robertson told me a while back would be one of his picks for the Tigers to sign. Branyan would bring a lefty bat at a much lower price tag than Johnny Damon, eater of octopus, fan of Steve Yzerman (spare me).

Are we too late for Branyan? What have the fish got on Motown? Sunny climes? The ocean? Michigan sees its fair share of the sun in the summer months, and we have the Great Lakes.

Who's your pick among the remaining free agents?