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.

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.

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.

This, That and an Abomination

This afternoon, I was watching an episode of Baseball Tonight I had recorded, and I heard a very funny quote attributed to Red Sox third baseman Kevin Youkilis. He reportedly said he's glad to be playing third base instead of first, because it's "a less social area." Make of this what you will. Here's my interpretation: "I hate making bleeping small talk with those jerks I play against," or "Now I won't get beat up by Rick Porcello any more." Kidding, but it did make me laugh.

I hadn't heard much about Jose Valverde lately, so I had to take a little looky loo at his spring numbers. In eight innings, Papa Grande has the following line:

1.13 ERA, 4 hits, 4BB, 4K, 1.00 WHIP, .154 batting average against

Good to know our closer is on track. Would be nice to see him cut down a little on the walks, but he's not getting hit around, that's for sure. /claps hands and longs for Opening Day

I'm sure you say this as often as I do, but "WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?" Specifically, what is wrong with T.J. Simers of the LA Times? What would make him launch such a mean-spirited attack on Marcus Thames of all people? Did his significant other just run away with his best friend and send him a video of them being "intimate" together? Did his beloved pet (and only friend) just die? Sadly, I don't think either is the case. Simers has a reputation for being a bit of a slimy provocateur. Craig Calcaterra of NBC's Hardball Talk says that Simers' regular MO is to "insult, bait and pester a given Dodgers or Angels player and hope against hope that they’ll spout off in anger so that he can print a juicy quote and follow it up with his 'man, what’s his problem'?" Is your writing and reporting talent so non-existent that you resort to such tactics? Thankfully, Rogo of Designate Robertson has shredded Simers on our behalf. Please read it. It will help to diffuse your righteous indignation.

In closing, I would like to shout from my rooftop that Opening Day is now only eight days away. Our home opener is only sixteen days away, and my first game is only twenty days away. Happy face.

Things That Cannot Be Explained

I mentioned in a previous post that I have hardened my heart against the Tigers for the remainder of this season. It was a purely preservationist measure, as I could not endure any further breakage of that organ.

When we were down 6-3 last night, I decided to bail on the game and just pack it in for the night. It marked the first game this year that I just stopped watching. However, circumstances conspired to pull me back in. First, my husband called up the stairs to me that the game had been tied up. I groggily answered, "yeah, yeah." I did NOT plan to get out of bed to resume watching this thing. Then, a spider bit me. I am not joking! I had a red welt on my back that was smarting like nobody's business. Once I was out of bed to tend to this wound (the audacity of that spider!), I had to start watching again. Have I mentioned that I am very stupid?

Well, you know the crazed adventure I was in for. Countless botched double play balls on both sides, two starting pitchers burned by the Twinks in extras (hoooooooray!), and a home run by GERALD LAIRD capped a Tigers victory. Papa Grande went three innings, blew the save (not really his fault), but got the win. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.

Very, very odd. I could not celebrate this "too little, too late" win, but I managed a half-smile over the fact that the Twins rotation had suffered quite a blow. That's the impact we can look to have on the playoffs at this point--spoilers. Ah well.

See how I am all resigned now? I have finally given up, given in, given out for the 2010 season. It was freeing. If, by some amazing chance, you have not yet done so, I advise that you undertake letting go immediately. You'll thank me.

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.

Wrapped Up in a Bow

I've got to revel in the little things here. As a special little birthday gift to me, the Tigers managed to put one in the W column today. I realize it's one win. I realize we may not get another one for a week or more. But, it's better than a loss on day of my birth, you know? I accept this little offering. It's a nice gesture. Ryan Raburn parked one in the bullpen just for me today. What? You don't think so? Really? Huh. Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Justin Verlander once again piled up the pitches to the tune of 119 pitches over six innings. Sigh. But he kept runs off the board. He knew he couldn't give away a whole truckload of runs, because our offense is, um, impotent. Then I had to sternly warn Ryan Perry to do his job when he walked two. He listened to me. Again you doubt? Get over it.

Jose Valverde continues to be inconsistent when he has to pitch more than one inning. I wish we had some other trustworthy arm, but Leyland is severely limited in his choices. He doesn't trust, and I don't blame him. A lot of guys have proven themselves to be gas cans, incapable of stranding inherited runners. I'm going to stop now so I don't ruin the good vibes from our little victor's party.

I strongly advise you to relish this moment as long as possible. Another opportunity may not be right around the corner.

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.

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?

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.

In the Midnight Hour

In a miraculous turn of events, I stayed up for last night's game. We really needed to come away with a W. I mean, things were getting ugly. We had dropped 2 of 3 to the Mariners, and were staring 3 straight losses to the Angels in the face. Enter Miguel Cabrera. One mighty swat tied the game at three in the ninth. MVP candidacy has been filed. What? It's only April? Ok, ok. Calm down. It's just a little dramatic-come-back-late-innings-victory hyperbole.

The remainder of the Tigers' half of the ninth was filled with a see-saw of emotions, with Carlos Guillen taking a base on balls, Brandon Inge striking out (the predictability of this at bat is painful), Gerald Laird entering the game as a pinch hitter (with curses heard 'round the world), Guillen stealing second, Laird drawing a walk, Carlos getting picked off attempting to steal third, but staying in a rundown long enough to get Laird down to second (or he may have been drawn and quartered upon returning to the dugout), Ramon Santiago hitting the unlikeliest of bloop singles to left off his shoetops, and Gerald Laird hauling himself admirably around third, and executing a gorgeous slide, swiping the bag with his hand to avoid the tag.

Papa Grande garnered the save in merciful 1-2-3 fashion. I would've whooped and hollered in jubilation, except everyone else in my house had already entered their REM cycles, and it would've been a little rude to wake them all up. Oh well, I settled for silent glee.

Our RISP woes subsided a bit last night as we went 2-4, while the Angels managed only 1-7. Five runners were marooned on the basepaths, which compares rather favorably to 10 on Tuesday, 8 on Monday, and 12 on Sunday.

Is it asking too much to split with the Angels tonight? Come on Justin, let's bring that 6.88 ERA down a smidge.