It's No Mystery

As a member of the Baseball Blogger's Alliance, I am privileged to cast my vote for the American League's top pitcher. The BAA award for the top pitcher is known as the Walter Johnson award. If you don't know who Walter Johnson is, click here. Although I would love to provide a lot of insightful analysis, I am serving jury duty this week, and have to use the evenings to do some work for my day job. I know, cry me a river.

My top five American League pitchers appear below.

Justin Verlander, Detroit

Jered Weaver, Los Angeles

James Shields, Tampa Bay

Josh Beckett, Boston

Dan Haren, Los Angeles

All I have time to say is, what a year by Verlander. It was so much fun watching him take the hill this season. Kudos to him for taking his game to a whole new level. Almost every outing, it felt like there was a chance he could throw another no hitter.

I wanted to include Doug Fister, but didn't want to seem like a homer. His numbers were very comparable to Haren's.

Enjoy the World Series (if that's possible). I know I'll be watching, but will be thinking with every pitch "that should be my Tigers out there." To add insult to injury, a radio station played "Written in the Stars" on my way home from the Detroit court house today. I ask you, is that humane?

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.

THE PLAYOFFS ARE HERE

My hands are a bit shaky as I type this. I am awash with nervous anticipation. I'm not nervous because I'm worried about our boys playing the Yankees. I'm just overamped, something I hope Justin Verlander is NOT.

Bring on the stupid Yankees of New York City. Bring on Nick Swisher and his extra large mouth that said that the Yankees would beat the Tigers "hands down." I hope we can stuff those words down his throat along with some sod and dirt and stuff. Bring on Lord Jeter and his overhyped, overrated, overworshipped self. Bring on Alex Rodriguez and his mirror kissing, centaur painting, image obsessed, fake personality. Bring on the whole stinking Yankee roster, and match them up with Justin Verlander. I want to see it.

I don't know how much longer I can wait for this game to start. The past two days have crawled by at a pace so glacial, it appeared that 8:37 might never arrive.

I really hope tonight's game isn't a nail biter, because I'm not sure my constitution can stand it. I mean, I guess a nail biter would be better than a Yankee blowout, but....please....have pity on me......

OK. I am ready. I want this thing underway already. I want to stop hearing about the Yankee mystique and the Yankee dominance, and the Yankee tradition, and the Yankee post-season magic, and....sigh. All that's left to say is:

We're all behind our baseball team, go get 'em Tigers!

and:

PLAY BALL!

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????????

Two for Flinching

While Daniel Schlereth was pitching during the eighth and ninth innings last night, I would imagine that most of the Tiger faithful were a mite on edge. Me? As the ball left Schlereth's hand, I actually flinched in anticipation of the carnage to follow. Once again, I find myself in a humbling position. Sigh.

Mr. Schlereth, I apologize for doubting your ability to get the ball over the plate. I am sorry that I did not believe that you could get major league hitters to make outs. I will stop flinching when your fingertips release the ball.

Of course, we never would have been forced to white-knuckle it through Schlereth's outing if Jim hadn't rushed the hook out when Porcello had given up a couple singles and had thrown all of 82 pitches. However, in the light of a Tigers win in extras, and a Tribe loss (snicker, whoop, fist-pump) in extras, I won't quibble.

Give our skip credit for scrubbing Brad Penny's start so that Justin Verlander can face Cleveland twice in the next two weeks. Yeah, we want our ace toeing the rubber against our closest divisional competition. But don't misunderstand me. I mean no disrespect to Penny. As Rogo pointed out, he's done a fine job as fifth starter. It's just.....Justin Verlander, you know! Anyway, the decision got me just a little bit juiced for the playoff chase.

Don't worry though, I haven't forgotten my vow not to jinx this team again by purchasing playoff tickets before we've made it in. I'm turning tricks on the street...I mean I'm clipping coupons and eating expired foods to afford the brazen prices of heartless scalpers. I hope you appreciate the sacrifices I'm making to help the club. Geez.

Pants on Fire

Rod and Mario, I have a bone to pick with you. Early on in Monday's game, the two of you were discussing how Toronto is being careful with young Brandon Morrow's arm, and you then went on to say that it's the same way the Tigers are careful with Justin Verlander's arm.

Luckily I didn't have a mouth full of, well, anything, because it all would have come spewing out after hearing a "star-spangled, triple decked, gold-plated lie" like that one. (And if you know where that quote is from without looking it up, I'd love to hear from you.)

I am sorry, but we all know that Verlander's arm is abused until it's about to fall off almost every game. He threw 127 pitches in six innings just last week for sobbing out loud. We should just be thanking Ty Cobb's lucky spikes that Verlander has durability as the main component in his body composition. He hasn't been on the DL in the bigs. He hasn't missed a start since his rookie season.

Let us be honest with ourselves ok? The Tigers were careful with Porcello's arm his rookie season. In his last outing (the one before yesterday's hail-delayed affair), he threw 120 pitches over seven innings. Not exactly kid gloves for Kid Rick. I don't mind a little homer in my announcers, but I want the truth, not this steaming pile of guano. I will say this, it didn't sound like they really even knew they were feeding us a line of nitrite-ridden meat by-product. Rod and Mario aren't calculating enough to cook up a lie like that and sell it like it's a tasty treat. I think they believed what they were saying! Who's been washing their brains?

I can't believe they didn't burst out into uproarious guffaws after hearing the words come out of their own mouths. "Just kidding folks, we know that our club famously abuses young arms. Just having a little fun with you there."

To be fair, Rod Allen did school me later in that game or in one of the games from the last couple days. During a Miguel Cabrera at-bat, the Puma fouled off a pitch. No big deal, routine stuff right? Not so fast, says Rod. He explained that he could tell that Miggy was looking for a specific pitch, got something totally different, and still put wood on it. He was quite impressed that his swing didn't look completely awkward and he broke the whole thing down in x-mo. Quite educational, and it's not something I would have picked up on.

Just don't let the organization put the Vulcan mind meld on you, 'k fellas? I mean, next time you might find yourselves telling us how Little Caesars pizza is the epitome of epicurean delight, coming to us straight from Tuscany.

No No Redux

Justin Verlander.

The Magic Is Gone?

I have failed you in a tragically catastrophic way. Wednesday night, I braved certain rain showers to attend the game. I felt confident that Justin Verlander would put down a stellar performance. I even hinted that he might touch greatness again. I had a “feeling” about it. I never doubted my ability to bring home a win for the club. I’ve never been more wrong.

What in the name of balls and strikes happened here? Verlander threw exactly 100 pitches over five innings, and went on to pitch the sixth for a total of 114. He gave up a three run homer to Justin Smoak in the first inning. Why did we even pitch to Smoak? Cust is scuffling so badly right now. Sigh. Justin wasn’t horrific, but he wasn’t spectacular as I somehow mistakenly felt he might be.

The rain. It was almost plague-like. It would come down lightly for ten minutes, then taper off. Then I’d just take of my rain jacket hood for five minutes, and down she’d come again, sometimes picking up in intensity for short periods, but never lasting too long. Relentless, she reappeared again and again. I have to give it up to the fans, though. It wasn’t a large crowd, but hardly anyone left (until the wheels came off and we gave up six runs in the 9^th, then it was mass exodus.) I was duly impressed with the hardiness of those in attendance. It was no fair weather bunch.

Although I’d like to blame the rain for my inefficacy, I can’t do it. It would be a cop out. Thankfully, I have a proper scapegoat. I invited Rogo of DesigNate Robertson to join me at the park, but was brutally rebuffed. He said something about Lost reruns, or watching birds eat vomit or something. Loser. He should be the target of your ire. If he had been there, Justin would never have given up a three-run homer to Smoak. Never woulda happened. Yes, I am selling it, and you are buying. Would you prefer me to provide details of the meltdown from the top of the ninth? Didn't think so.

Objectification

Why do the powers that be in sports assume that only males are interested? Why is every commercial full of scantily clad women? Why does FSN use a sexy girl dolled up in some Tigers gear for its segues? I must protest. There are a lot of women who love ball. I am one of them. Do I want to watch bimbos during every break from play?

I'm gonna have to give you a big fat no on that one. Could we strip (pun intended) the chauvinism out of sports please? I mean, it's only 2011. Sigh. /kicks wall, stubs toe, refuses to cry out in pain

Anyway, I'm done with that topic. If I were to say anything else, I wouldn't trust myself to be rational and cool-headed. I was already going on tilt, so I will simply shut my mouth on the subject.

I must tell you that I called Jackson's RBI double tonight. I said he would get off the schneid moments before he swatted the ball (as my husband was deriding him for having a .174 batting average). I was right. Yes, you may bring offerings and gifts. Season tickets, for example, are always a tasteful choice.

Our pitching, outside of Justin Verlander's sparkling outing last night, has left much to be desired. Brad Penny will soon draw catcalls and jeers. Relievers are allowing runners to circle the bases at a dizzying rate. I was concerned about a few areas, but this...this is not pleasing. Let us hope that the healing properties of Comerica Park turn these fellows around.

Alex Avila. Early MVP Candidate

Tonight Alex Avila had a career game. He had 5 RBI, the most in his career. He STOLE A BASE. He had a home run and a double. His nomination has been filed. Just when Tigers fans were ready to start calling for Victor Martinez and his weak arm to get behind the dish, Avila steps up and says, "put the breaks on that freight train."

I jest, of course. Avila just had one good game. The first good game he's had in......a while. Do I hope he keeps this up? Um, does Justin Verlander wear his pants too tight? Do I think he will? Um, is Miguel Cabrera going to steal 40 bases this year? This is not a breakout moment for Alex. Maybe tonight will give him a little confidence boost, however, and allow him to relax and stop pressing.

Our ace had his stuff tonight, my friends. His curveball was falling off the table. I was so nervous going in, because last I read, he hadn't fully recovered from food poisoning. How could he pitch if he couldn't keep food down? Those concerns were quickly swept aside as Justin had a perfect game going into the fourth.

Victor Martinez and Miguel Cabrera went back to back tonight. Vmart kind of needed that. He hadn't been putting together the best at bats. I can confirm that it is impossible not to smile when you see back-to-back jacks. It's a physiological fact.

The other night, I nearly jinxed the game twice by smiling. I smiled first when the Puma hit his second home run of the game. I was chided for being happy, the Yanks proceeded to put runs on the board, and I vowed not to smile again until we put one in the W column. Then Austin Jackson made me lose my resolve by making an outrageous catch. I'm sorry, my mouth mutinied. When Papa Grande began to falter in the 9th, I knew it was my fault. You have my pledge that I will try to hold smiling at bay when games are in progress. Funny, I used to scoff at superstition. Now, I am a solemn adherent. Baseball's funny that way.

Will our home opener never arrive? The season seems artificial until our boys come home and christen the CoPa. Things hardly seem underway until I get to the park for my first game. Those games I've been watching on TV seem rather like elaborate video games. It's time for home whites and the Old English D.

I'll Take Do-overs for a Thousand, Alex

Opening Day has finally arrived! The one sure harbinger of Spring, the coda to an ugly winter, the promise of summer is here today. The usual fanfare was absent for me, because I had to work. The holiday feel was missing. This country ought to declare Opening Day a national holiday, command workplaces to shutter their doors, and allow baseball to take its proper place on the center stage of our consciousness. A Sirius radio station that was playing at my job did sprinkle in various clubs' baseball songs, and that did warm my heart a little.

The disappointment spiral continued when I got off work. I was in time to see the latter third of the game, and, um, was not impressed. Verlander's pitch count climbed to dizzying heights, and when I saw 118 I got trigger finger for the panic button. Tigers relievers struggled to throw strikes, and the results were like "pow!" Grandy launched a blast that struck the innermost chamber of every Tiger fan's heart. To see him frolic in the dugout in pinstripes, ugh, it was scalding to my eyeballs. Wild pitches led to baserunners advancing and scoring, and I found myself writhing with worry as the count repeatedly went 3-0.

I kept telling myself not to get all twisted. It's one game. One of 162. Don't be a fool. Histrionics would be childish. Don't act like some fangirl whose emotions are tossed about with every pitch.

Here's the problem. I found myself in a genuine funk. I hate losing in the Bronx. I loathe feeling overmatched by the Yanks. Moreover, I felt like we had prepared well in Spring Training. I was ready for us to come charging out of the gate, not faltering and falling short.

Sigh. Shake it off. Implement the buddy system. Hang out with someone who clings to the positive, like how Justin Verlander threw a change with wicked movement to strike out Jorge Posada to end the sixth and how Ryan Raburn made a spectacular diving catch to shut my mouth about his shoddy defense.

Let's change the subject. Rogo of DesigNate Robertson invited me to play over/under with him. Get your minds out of the gutter, people. We predicted results in various statistical categories. Check out our sooth-saying here, and use it for your sports betting. Rogo just read all my answers and copied them, but give it a look just the same.

FreezeFest 2011

Did you know that certain extremities refuse to be warmed when exposed to icy temperatures? My nose was frozen and red all day at TigerFest yesterday. That didn't stop me from enjoying myself. I was armed with foot and hand warmers, and the Tigers were also passing out free hand warmers to the hardy fans who defied the weather.

Although I had several failures yesterday, my friend Nicole triumphed in a way I hadn't imagined possible. I had brought my scorecard from the no-hitter in hopes of meeting Justin Verlander in the autograph lines. NO. Of course, I wanted to see Mi Magglio. Well, I saw him, all right. I got to the photo booth area in time to see him LEAVING! I would have liked to meet Max Scherzer. He did walk by my friend and I, and she gasped audibly, but I was busy digging in my bag, so I barely glimpsed him. Sigh.

Now, allow me to regale you with my friend's tale of victory. Nicole follows both Will Rhymes and Casper Wells on Twitter. We were standing in an autograph line, when Will Rhymes walked by us. Nicole told him she followed him on Twitter and he high-fived her. She tweeted it, with a shout out to Wells to top it, and Rhymes proceeded to retweet it. That was quite exciting, needless to say. Well, a while later, we get to the front of an autograph line, and who is there, but Casper Wells himself. Nicole shows him the tweet and the challenge. You could see the wheels turning in his mind for a moment as he signed her hat. Then, he slowly stood up and enveloped her in a big, genuine hug! Then he told her she better tweet THAT to Will. Holy cow, a twitter war had broken out! Nicole's feet didn't touch ground for while after that. I was happy for her, despite my epic failures.

We attended one of the panel discussions, which featured Justin Verlander, Joaquin Benoit, and an empty chair for a tardy Phil Coke. Rod and Mario were allowing audience members to pose questions, and people kept asking Justin the most pointed questions. He took it all in good grace, laughing at how Jim Thome owns him, talking about how he has ZERO major league hits, and discussing his April woes. Funny stuff. Then Phil Coke finally walks in the room and flashes an expression that put the whole room in stitches. You just had to be there, I can't describe it. Then he says the reason he was late is because he was down in the team store trying to find out why there were no Coke shirts in there. He's priceless. Really.

I did get to tell Austin Jackson he was robbed for ROY, and how much we appreciated his season here. He is very humble, trying to deflect all that praise coming his way. Here are a few snaps from the frozen tundra.

Dog Days

Well, we completed a sweep of the Cleveland Indians today. Excuse me if I don't do any cartwheels. You see, the Twinks continue to win at a seemingly unsustainable pace, which they somehow manage to sustain. Go take a flying flip off the top of the Metrodome, would you, Ron Gardenhire? Sorry. I really respect Gardy. I just want him to stop sticking it to us, you know?

Justin Verlander rebounded nicely from a crap-tastic outing against the Yankees (which I mercifully missed). Once again, however, we must temper any good feelings with the reminder that this was the Cleveland Indians. Actually, I didn't really have any good feelings to temper after today's win. I feel so underwhelmed.

Maybe part of my malaise is related to the doom and gloom news that Magglio may not return at all this season, and may have played his last game as a Tiger. NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I cannot handle that. I want Mi Magglio to stay here. Retire here. Be enshrined here for eternity. Sigh.

Kansas City tomorrow. I will be attending the festivities. Whoop-de-do. Bondo, do me a favor and hold the head case antics for one game, okay? Bruce Chen, do me a favor and give up a boatload of runs, okay? Umpires, do me a favor and don't screw us over tomorrow, okay? Jim Leyland, do me a favor and run out a lineup that doesn't feature Gerald Laird hitting second, okay?

Maybe I'll try to muster up some rah rah for tomorrow's game. Meanwhile...meh.

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.

The Unbearable Sadness of Being...

... a Tigers fan. I really hate to be such a baby, but I am unable to cope with yet another loss. Mercifully, I missed most of the game for my son's baseball picnic. What a blessing. I didn't see Justin Verlander give up two runs in each of the first two innings. It's a good thing, too. You would think by this point, I would just be desensitized to all the losing, but no. It still stings. Every day. Day after day after day.

Ok. Big deep breath. This cannot go on. Even horrible, terrible teams don't lose this much. So, by sheer probability, we cannot continue to lose at this pace.

But seriously, who is going to be the stopper in this skid? Verlander couldn't do it. Scherzer pitched quite well yesterday, and where did that get us? I wore the lucky bracelet, attended the game, and...nothing.

It's going to take something extraordinary. Jeremy Bonderman, who sounds like baseball has become rather a chore, and has contemplated retirement after this season, faces off against Scott Kazmir tomorrow. Could Bondo's family come to the game and give him some moral support? Jeremy once said that one of the greatest thing about being a father is that his daughter loves him regardless of how he pitched that day. We need her at the game tomorrow. I am dead serious. Please, I'm begging here. My pride is non-existent at this point. Shame? Don't even know the definition.

Bats. That's another mountain to move. I say we sacrifice a live chicken before the game. All of us. Individually. I mean, if 20,000 fans sacrifice a live chicken, there's no way our bats can fail, right? If you can't stomach taking the life of an innocent winged creature, buy a bucket of KFC.

My last key for victory tomorrow involves sabotage. Part of the work may be done for us, as Torii Hunter quite possibly earned himself a suspension after tonight's histrionics, including throwing a bag of balls onto the field and maybe making contact with home plate umpire Ron Kulpa, or at the very least spitting in his eye (not purposely). Anyway, if you can break into the CoPa and steal equipment, that would be really great.

Tigers vs. Yankees: A Fairy Tale

In a miraculous turn of events, today's game was not rained out. You can thank me for that, because I was going to the game, and therefore the weather had to conform itself to my wishes. I am not even kidding, I checked the forecast at least twenty times and each time it predicted rain to occur every hour of the day. EVERY hour. You figure it out, I sure can't. Not a single drop fell on Comerica Park the entire game. All of this was very fortuitous, because my mom was in town joining me for today's game, and can you imagine the bitter dregs of disappointment that a rainout would brew?

Also, the Tigers have won all four games I've been to this year. Today was no exception. We not only beat the Yankees, we shut them out, we scored SIX runs off CC Sabathia (/giggles with glee), Verlander pitched 6.2 innings of shutout ball, so what more could I ask for?

Oh, I guess I could have ordered up back-to-back home runs by Miguel Cabrera and Brennan Boesch. Even Gerald Laird had two RBIs today. I mean, come on, I couldn't script this stuff any better.

Derek Jeter, although leading off the game with an infield single, otherwise continued his hitting ineptitude that has characterized this series. I just got to use the words Derek Jeter and ineptitude in the same sentence! Alex Rodriguez had zero hits today! (/bursts into uproarious laughter)

It wouldn't be a fairy tale without a happy ending. Although Justin Verlander's pitch count reached 119 before the seventh inning was complete, Joel Zumaya and Eddie Bonine came in and combined to allow zero hits and zero runs. We took three of four from the most loathsome team in the league. Hurrah!

...and the Tigers continue to win games, Brennen Boesch and Austin Jackson play like veteran superstars all season long, the Tigers win the pennant, go on to the World Series, and all the little Tiger fans live happily ever after...

A Wrinkle in Time

Today's off day gives me a chance to post a piece I had previously written, but didn't get a chance to finish. Here goes.

I know that I have already penned a post about Justin Verlander’s no-hitter, but I could not resist a little self-indulgent, nostalgic stroll down memory lane when I heard that FSN was replaying the no-hitter on the eve of the 2010 Tigers season opener. Besides, a fellow blogger revealed to me that he teared up when watching the replay. It made me smile and chuckle with delight to hear it. It really was a sacred moment in Tigers history.

By the time Pudge rushed the mound and lifted Justin Verlander up off the ground in a surge of emotion, I was flailing my arms around wildly, screaming and embracing my mother like we hadn’t laid eyes on each other in twenty years. I jumped up and down for so long it counted as a workout, and I could not leave the park for anything. I watched rapt as Justin Verlander stood down on the field, talking with FSN’s John Keating--not that I could hear a word he was saying. It didn’t matter. I could not believe what I had just witnessed. I remember telling my dad later that night in a breathless voice that a person could go to hundreds of games in his/her lifetime and never see a no-hitter. After all, this was the first home no-hitter for the Tigers since 1952 when Virgil Trucks hurled two of them in one year (but still went 5-19).

I had spent the previous hour and half or so in a state of rapturous agony. I was so nervous for Verlander, my stomach ached as if someone had taken my intestines and twisted them up like a downtown Chicago cloverleaf. Out after out, I clutched my pencil with increasing intensity, white knuckles showing. As the innings wore on, I made the marks on my scorecard with greater care, knowing now that it could be a card I would want to place in a shadow box with my tickets stubs one day.

After the game, I carefully penciled in all the zeroes across the card. Zero hits, zero runs, zero errors. There were four bases on balls, but am I one to quibble with walks when a no-hitter occurred? It was funny anyway that three of them went to one batter—Bill Hall. Who cares that the Brewers then went on to win the remaining two games of that interleague series? Is that important? No. It’s trivia noone will remember in the wake of Justin Verlander making the Brewers’ lineup miss everything that night. And that he did in spectacular fashion. He racked up 12 Ks as the whiffing hacks harmlessly swished air around the batter’s box.

The two defensive plays that saved the no-no are as memorable as Justin’s work on the hill. First, Magglio Ordóñez, known never to leave his feet to make a play, made a nice sliding catch to save a sinking flare to right. Then, defensive specialist Neifi Perez turned a double play of the decade to keep things going. Leyland’s penchant for over-valuing certain players comes in handy now and again. I won’t ever gripe about Neifi’s spot on the squad, I promise. He earned it all on that singular play.

Thanks for putting up with a trip in the time machine. I know it can only stir up the fondest of memories. Tomorrow, King Felix. Bring it.

Verlander Backs Bondo

MLB Network's Hot Stove caught up with Justin Verlander to discuss that fat contract he just signed. Most interesting to me, however, were Justin's comments about Jeremy Bonderman. He said that he and Jeremy worked out together in Florida last week, and Bondo's stuff is "night and day" compared to last year.

Is Bonderman poised for comeback player of the year? I don't know about all that, but it sure would be most gratifying to see Jeremy on the mound NOT giving up three runs the first inning of every outing. A return to form would go a long way toward our shot at the weak AL Central.

Go Bondo!

(Also watch the video to see Sean Casey telling JV that he owes him some steak dinners, since Casey picked up many a tab back when Justin was a young'un in 2006.)

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.

Upcoming Series

I finally came up with an idea for an off-season series that should prove interesting (well, interesting to me at least). I score all the games I go to with very few exceptions (like when my ten year old joins me at the park). For this series, I'm going to analyze all the games I attended during 2009 based mainly on my scorecards (supplemented with information from Baseball Reference).

My current estimate is that I went to approximately 25 games last season. We'll find out more specifically as I get into the scorecards. It should be interesting to see how many times I saw each starter pitch, and how they did at games I attended. If any trends emerge, I'll be sure to superstitiously follow along for next season. For example, if Justin Verlander pitches atrociously when I'm in attendance, I'll eschew the park on days he starts, promise. I'm all about superstition now that I've got a stash of unused playoff tickets stacking up in my desk.

Watch for the first installment of the series soon.