A Walk Off and White Out

It's almost like there's no describing what happened on Sunday. I am going to annoy you and try anyway. For starters, I lied to myself and everyone else by swearing up and down that I was not going to go to any games over the weekend. This, despite the fact that my family had made a last minute decision to go out of town, leaving me behind alone and unsupervised. Apparently, I am sadly predictable and in need of Miguel Cabrera's accountability partner. By Saturday night, I surveyed the mountain of work I had to do, and decided that the best course of action would be to blow it all off and go to the game on Sunday. When I texted my husband to inform him, he replied simply, "I know." He later said that everyone he was with yukked it up at my expense over the whole situation. My resolve to get some much needed painting done had crumbled in a matter of mere hours.

In hindsight, my dead-beat slacking turned out to be the wisdom of sages, because YOU SAW THAT GAME, DIDN'T YOU? DIDN'T YOU?? Even if you didn't see it, you watched the highlights. You heard replays of Dan Dickerson's calls. You learned of the historic double comeback. You saw Miguel Cabrera erase a three-run, bottom of the 9th inning deficit with one mighty swat. You witnessed Alex Avila, a man who had caught 200 pitches over the course of 4.5 hours, club the ball to right field, and put the game in the W column.

Of course, all of this glory did not occur without a few minor irritations along the way. Nick Punto threatened to impact the game, which of course sent Tiger fans into a torrid, frothing rage. Max Scherzer pitched out of his brown eye and got shelled. Some loser blogger guy pretended that he and I attended the game together, when in reality, we passed each other on the concourse, I couldn't avoid his grotesque, oversized person bearing down on me, so I said hello out of pity, then hurriedly got lost in the crowd so he couldn't follow me back to my seat.

Small inconveniences, considering the ultimate outcome, which comes close to being the greatest game I've ever witnessed in person, playoffs and no-hitters notwithstanding. I walked out of the stadium the same way I entered it: with a goofy grin plastered across my face.

Today's pilgrimage to the CoPa was a planned event, with a good friend of mine and her boyfriend, whom I had not yet met. A glance at the radar showed a giant blotch of snow straddling Southeast Michigan. Wheeee! April baseball, bring it on! I began assembling layer after layer of clothing, winter boots, hand warmers, hats, scarves, and long underwear. It took a while, but I managed to don it all or stow it in my bag. I was unfazed by the doomsday forecast, because Desmond Howard himself had replied to a tweet of mine this morning, and it rendered my disposition unflinchingly sunny. Anyway, the lovebirds were all gallantry and sweetness, not saccharine, but just fun to be around.

I got the chance to meet up with a bunch of cool people I follow on twitter before the game, and it was really nice to put faces to avatars and hear voices instead of just reading words on my screen. Give a follow to @ashleigh_briana, @mike_is_bored and @mcintyrepatrick.

As for the game, you don't need a rundown of it. Although the wind did its best to flay the skin from our faces, and the snow assaulted us no less than five times, sometimes rather sleety, stinging as it pelted us, the crowd, paid attendance at 22,000, actual quite a bit less, but still impressive considering the wintry blast, stayed. A section near home plate began chanting "Danny" when Worth came to the plate, and it was just so stinking adorable, I had to smile.

Austin Jackson continued his tear, notching a home run, and spurring a movement to change the favorite twitter hash tag from #austinjacksonstrikesout to #austinjacksonstrikesagain. Groan. Sorry. Anyway, Papa Grande was sufficiently recovered from his illness to record an uneventful save, and the sun came out just as the game wrapped up.

4-0. Soon we'll begin talking about a challenge to 35-5. Soon. Not just yet, but I look forward to it.

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????????

It's Settled: Max Scherzer is a Fan Boy

Did you see Max Scherzer's reaction to Miguel Cabrera's walk off four-sacker last night? If you didn't, please click here and watch the clip. His reaction is priceless. He is running out of the dugout with a look of absolute joy, his arms whirling wildly at this sides. STINKING ADORABLE. This is not the first time this year that I've seen Max react this way.

When Austin Jackson robbed Alex Gordon of a home run on August 6, Scherzer went wild on the dugout rail. Check it out here. Scherzer's reaction made my night. I laughed so hard, tears sprang to my eyes.

I love Max Scherzer for showing his unbridled emotions. He gets excited. He doesn't hide it. He doesn't try to feign disinterestedness. He doesn't pretend that something isn't a big deal. Coming back from a seven run deficit IS a big deal. Increasing our lead to 7.5 games over the dreaded Sox is a big deal. Making Ozzie Guillen lose his marbles is a big deal. (I would give anything to have been in the Chicago club house after yesterday's game.)

Max Scherzer tells us all that it's ok for a player to react to something a teammate does. A stone-faced, stoic calm is not required in MLB. Thanks Max.

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.

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.

Did I Stutter?

I hope you had faith in me. I delivered. Indeed. I am not smug or full of braggadocio. No, I am just happy to back up yesterday's promise. We needed this W. Badly. I'm just happy to be here, glad I could help the ball club.

When Victor Martinez drove Ryan Raburn home in the fourth on a sac fly, a young fan in our section calmly said, "Ha ha, Texas." It was so great. In fact, it's my new catch phrase.

Brad Penny, in a Tigers uni, has not inspired the highest levels of confidence. Today, I'm not gonna lie, some balls were hit hard. In particular, a potential three-run shot by Michael Young had to be reeled in by the Rhino in an against-the-wall-over-the-fence effort. Whew. A one-run sac fly was a happy result under the circumstances, folks. After a rocky, but ultimately one-run sixth, I thought Penny was through. No way Leyland would put him back out there. WRONG! Groans were audible all over our section when Penny took the hill for the seventh. It seemed like tempting fate too much. Penny got Torrealba to ground out, then gave up a single to Moreland, and got Moreland on a fielder's choice. Leyland finally brought the hook, and Villareal came out of the pen. All he did was pick Borbon off first before throwing a single pitch! Spectacular. Stupendous!

Then Benoit had to make things queasy by giving up the tying run in the eighth. Granted, it was his first run allowed this season in five appearances, but it did lead to consternation. Let us revert back to the clean inning from now on, Joaquin.

After Victor Martinez drew a walk in the Tigers half of the eighth, he was lifted for pinch runner Don Kelly. Rangers' reliever Strop threw over to first at least twenty times in an attempt to hold Kelly on, but he STOLE THE BASE ANYWAY! HA HA TEXAS! Sadly, Boesch and Peralta K'd right after that to kill the rally.

In a show of confidence, Leyland had Valverde pitch the top of the ninth, and he gave up a quick single, but then got a flyout and a double play to face the minimum three batters. Thank you Papa Grande for not breaking our spirits by giving up run(s).

Now, the Tigers' ninth was like a little story book. Inge ignored my mutterings about his strikeouts and produced a leadoff single. Avila laid down a beauty of a sac bunt to advance him. Jackson walks. Santiago strikes out. RABURN DRAWS A WALK TO LOAD THE BASES FOR CABRERA, I DEFY YOU TO SCRIPT A SCENARIO BETTER THAN THAT!! Bases juiced, two outs, bottom of the ninth, club on a skid. You know the fairy tale ending. Miguelito laced a single through the left infield to lift us to a walk-off win. A little tear of happiness rolled down my cheek, and my friend and I high fived our way out of the park. Too perfect.

I hope you realize now that I can be trusted to bring a halt to losing streaks. Count on me throughout this season to deliver a win when it's needed most.

HA HA Texas!

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.

It's Spring Somewhere

Although I spent half an hour trying to get off my (one block) street to go to work this morning, apparently there is spring-like weather in Florida. Hmmm. Can I sell twenty quarts of plasma so I can hop the next plane to Lakeland?

Let us turn our attention to some actual baseball matters in Spring Training, shall we? I don't want to speculate about whether Miguel Cabrera has a drinking problem. I don't want to pretend I'm a substance abuse specialist. I just want to talk about ball.

Who will be playing second base on opening day?

Will Ryan Raburn shake the first-half offensive droughts that seem to haunt him until June?

Will Phil Coke turn into a quality starter, and how many different hair incarnations will he go through?

Will Mi Magglio have a great season?

Will Zumaya make it through the season without an arm implosion?

Will we see Andy Oliver or Jacob Turner in the Old English D this year?

Will Jim Leyland be fined by the State of Michigan for smoking in his workplace?

How many striped polo shirts does Dave Dombrowski own?

These are the burning questions.

Soon, there will be an actual game on TELEVISION! A game in which the Tigers take on another team. I realize this will be a meaningless spring contest in which Tigers regulars log one or two at bats, but I DO NOT CARE! Tune in to ESPN on March 3 at 1:05. (I don't have MLB network, so I'm ignoring those games. I have pleaded with my cable provider to add MLBN, to no avail.)

When Real Life Intrudes

When I received a text early on Thursday morning from someone who I call "vampire," I should have known something was wrong. My immediate reaction was denial. No. NO. NOOOOOOOOOOO. Then I starting feeling worried. About Miggy, about his family. I'm a worrier sometimes. I try not to be. It's not a productive activity. But sometimes, it can't be helped. Then I thought about the potential impact on our season. When I read the police report, things got worse. Every new revelation just sent me spiraling ever downward. Drinking in front of an officer, non-violent resisting arrest, repeated wandering into the road (into traffic??)...sigh.

Luckily, I had a lot going on, so I was able to avoid hearing all the analysis, hash, rehash, pundits, idiots, etc. I have not listened to a moment of talk radio since this happened. Toxic. I've read a lot of pontificating, and a few thoughtful takes. To me, the most important thing is to just wait. That's why I'm just now writing word one on this topic, and I still don't have much to say.

Mostly, I just want Miguel to be okay. I hope he doesn't have a serious problem. He may not. He may just be a dude who can't handle his liquor. His trainer doesn't think he could have been hitting the bottle this off-season due to their intense, daily outdoor workouts in sweltering heat. Miggy could not have performed during those workouts if he were hung over. That's encouraging to hear. I hope he's right.

This whole things just serves as a check to me. It checks my "baseball is everything" mentality. Clearly, baseball is NOT everything. It's a lot, don't get me wrong. But sometimes, I lose sight of real life when I'm just wrapped up in how many games out of first we are, who's pitching today, who's on the DL, what relief pitchers are available, who's in a slump....

Miguel, if I could say one thing to you, I would tell you that I support you. I don't just like you because you hit opposite field home runs that look like they might never come back to earth. I just want you to be healthy and happy. Don't let baseball be the weight of the world on your shoulders. Don't try to fulfill a million fans' expectations. Just live your life. Enjoy being on the field with your teammates. Play with your little girls. The rest will take care of itself.

Haikus To Warm a Winter's Night

winter solstice looms

dormant ballfields quiet sit

as I look for spring

jackson rookie jilt

miggy held in low esteem

'mando imperfect

always a tiger

magglio should here remain

scott notwithstanding

shirts for david d

plentiful stripes and sailboats

lead to many laughs

I'm sorry. This is what you get when there's no baseball.

There's No Whining in Baseball?

I realize this post will classify me as a first class cry-baby, but I'm sorry, it can't be helped. I know that most people are all gaga over the Hot Stove, free agent frenzy, blah, blah, blah. Of course, the whole process is captivating, but does it hold a candle to actual baseball being played? I'm gonna have to shout a resounding 'No' from the top of a ten story building. It's only November. Pitchers and catchers don't report until February 13. May I kindly ask what I am supposed to do until then? I may have to break down and attend Tiger Fest in January. I'll be desperate by then.

I recognize that I'm annoying you beyond all reason, and come off as a pathetic, sniveling loser. I know that this is a horrible way to keep readers. I must apologize, and I do. Sincerely. I offer to you a genuine "I'm sorry." But don't you find yourself just pining, yearning, longing for some baseball? Doesn't seeing the CoPa shuttered, the diamond tarped over, the grass going dormant, just make you feel like Ndamukong Suh's muscled fist grabbed your heart and squeezed as hard as it could?

I even missed the AFL championship, because I had a stinking eye exam. Is there any justice in the world? That was probably my last shot at live baseball for the next twelve weeks. Again with the whining. I know.

If I had MLB network, there would be some pretty cool archival baseball watching in store, but do I have MLB Network? Nooooooooooooooooooooo, indeed not. Excuse me while I go write a nasty-gram to my cable provider.

Do you think that lame movies, or even good movies, or even great baseball movies make a nominal substitute for our nation's past time? No. They don't.

I've already endured the devastation of Austin Jackson losing out on Rookie of the Year. I'm still a mite bitter about the empty spot on Jackson's mantle. Now I find myself guarding my heart against Cabrera getting the snub for MVP. Today, the Freep gave us the cheery news that a Tigers hitter hasn't won the MVP since 1940, when Hank Greenburg brought home his second MVP. Sigh.

You can depend on me for countless uplifting posts like this one throughout the off-season.

Breezes and Big Knocks

Pat Burrell struck out eleven times in five games in the 2010 Fall Classic. That total is two whiffs shy of Ryan Howard's record 13 Ks in six games, set just last year. Willie Wilson had maintained his grasp on the World Series Strikeout King title belt since 1980, when he fanned 12 times over six games.

Watching Burrell's futility at the plate was, um, rather brutal. I'm sure that noone felt this more keenly than he did. When he struck out yet again, with runners on second and third, it seemed like the hole in his bat might cost the Giants game 5.

Edgar Renteria swatted Burrell's troubles away with one stroke. I never saw a ballplayer lock another man in a death grip's embrace. I wasn't sure Renteria would be able to extract himself from Burrell's clutches. Edgar certainly did rescue Pat from lasting humiliation and self-condemnation. Renteria went on to win the MVP for the Series. Many sighs. Once again, I must ask, Whyyyyyy could you not perform well in the American League, Edgar? I don't understand it. You were hitting AL pitching in the Series, Edgar. See? It's not that hard.

Ah well, soon we'll see how the Tigers manage a pretty nice bundle of cash. We'll see how well they compete with the New Yorks and Bostons of the league for free agent talent. We'll see if Dave Dombrowski goes from the Hot Stove to the Hot Seat. We'll see if the Puma and little Ajax can come home with some hardware. Can't wait.

An Open Letter to Magglio Ordóñez

Dear Magglio,

Things have been a little rough around here since your ankle was broken trying to slide into home plate. I know you haven't been around to see it, but it's been painful. As painful as your broken ankle? Hmm. I've never broken a bone, but let's put it this way. I have considered ingesting strychnine on multiple occasions.

We've been pining for you in many ways. I've missed sitting behind you in right field and seeing you turn around and interact with the fans. Not too many players do that. Most of them try to pretend no one is sitting behind them. Your bat...the lineup hasn't been the same without it. You were on pace for a stellar season. I promise, I'm not trying to torture you here, but poor Miggy has been walked intentionally 30 times this season. That's more than twice as many as the next highest AL player--Joe Mauer with 14. You provided some protection for Miguel, and now that you've been gone, we've seen managers walk him to load the bases more than a few times. Sadly, this strategy has often been effective. Like I said...excruciating.

I know it has probably been just as agonizing for you to sit at home knowing our season may have gone very differently if you hadn't gone down. I will not try to ignore the fact that you were on pace for your option to vest. I would have been thrilled to have you as a Tiger for one season more. In fact, I would like for you to retire as a Tiger, so that you could be one of ours for all time. Sappy, I know. I'm not overly prone to such outbursts, but if you decided to kick Scott Boras in the chiclets and stay here, I would write your name all over my notebook and draw a myriad of little hearts around it. Wait, I'm not in middle school anymore. Oh well. I'd find a suitable gesture, I assure you.

Remember, we embraced you here in Detroit. We weren't stingy and stupid like the White Sox, who declined to offer you a contract after you had knee surgery. I know that broke your heart, and it shows what kind of person you are. You are a throwback to the era when a player would play his entire career with one team, doing commercials for local car dealerships and earning a key to the city. I thank the Sox for making such a colossal blunder, because I got to watch you swat us into the World Series, win a batting title, make a great sliding catch to save a no-hitter, and hit two home runs in one inning (which hadn't been done in a Tigers uni since Al Kaline did it). Add to that countless other everyday baseball moments.

What I'm trying to say is won't you please consider Detroit for the twilight of your career? It would make one spectacular sunset.

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.

No Joy in Mudville

In the first inning of this series finale, Ramon Santiago hit a one-out double down the right field line. With two outs and first base open, Miguel Cabrera strode to the plate, and Maddon pitched to him. Once again, strategy works, and Miggy strikes out swinging, stranding Santiago in scoring position. The frequency of this occurrence begins to wear me out. I don’t blame Miguel Cabrera. He can’t be 100% of our offense. It’s just that it appears that no break will ever come our way, whether it be incredible defensive plays, biased umpiring or voodoo.

It’s possible that I am a mite cranky due to our recent fall off a cliff, but if I have to see another Sam Bernstein commercial, or watch the Labatt Light Refreshment Duo even once more, I may take a fork to my own eyeballs. Not sure if that’s an overreaction, but like I said, I may be slightly irrational at the moment.

In the bottom of the second, former Tiger Carlos Peña hit a bomb to right field. Rod and Mario tell us it hit a catwalk BEYOND the right field wall. I just nod mechanically, yes that’s how things are going for us at the moment. At least I didn’t burst into tears.

Next, a pop foul drops harmlessly between Danny Worth and Ramon Santiago. Tears threaten but do not fall.

Will Rhymes leads off the third with a standup triple. It coaxes a small, no teeth showing smile. Rod says that Will looks like a track star the way he runs with his hands pumping up and down. Rod. You do go on. Hey, maybe Rhymes will hit for the cycle today. (Sarcastic laughter.) Sorry. I know that hardened cynicism is ugly. I’ll try to be sunnier.

Jhonny Peralta arrives in the Tiger dugout during the third inning. Sporting an awkward smile, he is greeted by handshakes and hugs. Must feel a bit odd to arrive mid-game. He is wearing number 27.

Ever informative, Rod lets the viewer know that the Tigers are 3 for 23 with RISP this series. Rod, need I remind you that tears are barely being held at bay here? Geez. Santiago beats out a double play to score Rhymes, and we’re tied at 1.

I absolutely adore the Rays striped socks. They really are all that. The dark blue socks are punctuated by rings of white and powder blue. Very nice. Every one of them should wear high socks at all times.

Cabrera makes a great diving stop on a grounder, but Crawford is too fast, and Porcello can’t beat him to the bag. Bases loaded. Eyes momentarily fill up. Choked back in time to see Porcello strike Longoria out for the second time. Two outs, bases still juiced. Two runs score on a liner that ricochets off Cabrera’s glove. Tough break number 5,427 for the Tigers. Sob. Hey, I held back as long as I could. You’re lucky I wasn’t boo hoo-ing two innings ago. Bases re-loaded on a walk to Matt Joyce. Forget that he saved a helpless kitten when he was here in Detroit. He hit a grand slam to squash Scherzer’s no-hitter on Monday. He’s on my list.

Boesch’s first hit of the series comes on a broken-bat infield single to short. We will take that, along with any other help we can get. Could the thunder rumbling outside the Trop strike any of the Rays occupants inside? Just asking. Raburn swings under an elevated fastball to run the count full. I can never say this enough about the high hard ones, “can’t him ‘em, can’t lay off ‘em.” It holds true most of the time.

The stupid carpet at the Trop is said to be wearing on free-agent-to-be Carl Crawford. He has a sore back every night from standing on the artificial surface. Can anyone steal him from the Yankees? I would appreciate that.

Ha. Laird comes up with runners on first and second with one out. Would you take the over or the under if I said the odds on him hitting into a double play were set at 85%? I’m not going to apologize for being jaded any more. It’s just what this season has done to me. Deal with it. I have to. Well he flies out to right, so at least it wasn’t the GIDP. It’s up to little Rhymes now, who sort of resembles a flea. Joyce runs down a fly ball, which had threatened to shoot the gap in right. Side retired. Bernstein commercial follows. I change the channel.

Miggy strikes out looking to start the sixth. Price has struck him out three times today for sobbing out loud! I almost just said “what more could happen to us?” but that would have brought on a hailstorm of destruction, so I refrained. Boesch strikes out. Quickly. I mean, he was hardly at the plate for three seconds. Two outs. None on. Raburn at the plate. He singles to bring Laird to the dish. Laird ground out weakly to second. Ahem. Another Bernstein commercial.

Porcello has now retired 9 straight batters and there are two outs in the bottom of the sixth for Willy Aybar. Porcello strikes him out for another 1-2-3 inning. There’s a little bright spot.

Price balks Worth over to second in the seventh with one out for Austin Jackson. A RISP? Oh, sadly, we can predict what will happen next. Well, we did score one run, but then Maddon walks Cabrera AGAIN to load up the bases when runners were on first and second, and Boesch grounds out weakly. I…just…

Porcello then dispatches the Rays in order to help me retain the vestiges of sanity. Thanks. Rod and Mario marvel about that new-fangled gadget the iPod touch. Guys. Please.

In the top of the eighth, we are carved up like so much roast beef. Porcello comes back out and gives up a single, then balks the runner to second. Are you serious? The balk looked suspect to me. Umpires are in a conspiracy against the Tigers. I am now convinced. Groundball advances runner to third. Leyland walks Longoria intentionally. Brings in Coke to pitch to Peña. AGAIN a groundball glances off Cabrera’s glove to score a run. Some evil puppeteer is orchestrating this game with the deliberate intention of driving Tigers fans to Bedlam. There IS NO OTHER explanation for the repetition of such horrors.

Down 4-2 and here come our last at bats. Danny Worth flies out to right to lead us off. Woo hoo! Austin Jackson does have an RBI single today, soooo let’s see what he can do with nobody on and one out. He chases two high hard ones to strike out. Here we go kids! Ramon Santiago remains our last hope of avoiding a four game sweep at the Trop. He grounds weakly right back to the mound to end this thing. Excuse me while I go lose my lunch and my mind.

Breakdown

I have now been reduced to a blubbering pile of snot, tears and tissues. I am in a state of total inability to cope. There's nothing left on which to maintain a hold. It has all slipped through my fingers and gone bye bye into the stratosphere.

Jim Leyland suspended for spitting sunflower seeds on umpire.

Tigers run out a lineup in which Will Rhymes is leadoff hitter.

Tigers acquire Jhonny Peralta.

I begin to laugh in maniacal, frightening bursts that are akin to wracked sobs.

Rays walk Miguel Cabrera when runners are on first and second to load bases and face scuffling Brennan Boesch. Strategy works.

Seriously. I got nothin'. Am totally bereft of sanity.

That's it. I can't write another sentence.

Lucky Bracelet Works Its Magic

I had a Detroit Tigers bracelet that looked much like the one pictured above, but it had blue stitching instead of red. Late last season, the bracelet went missing. I wore it to every game, so I was extremely disturbed that it was apparently lost.

Lo and behold, what did I find last week? The very same Tigers bracelet, which had found its way into a hole in the lining of my purse, and had been languishing in the very bag I use only for Tigers games. So, in point of fact, it had accompanied me to the games, but was not adorning my wrist. Well, lost treasure was found, and I wore the bracelet to last night’s game.

And what do you know?? After the Jays inexplicably pitch to Miguel Cabrera, but intentionally walk Brennan Boesch, unlikely hero Ryan Raburn hits a three-run double to put us ahead for good. Yes, the lucky bracelet is responsible. Yes, you can thank me for the win. Yes, I believe in its power. You should too. It may salvage this wreck of a season. It may help Magglio Ordóñez’ ankle to heal in record time. I am only sorry I wasn’t there Saturday night with my talisman to prevent the injury from happening in the first place. I’m sorry Magglio. I let you down.

Hey, if you send money, I will travel to St. Pete and bring us victory against the Rays. I am willing to make such sacrifices.

Rogo of DesigNate Robertson and I agreed, it felt like someone close to you died after Saturday night’s game. It was if our season had suddenly been terminated, but we still have to go through the motions for two more months. Now don’t get me wrong. I haven’t totally given up on us, but things are looking more than a little bleak, you know? I hope the young rooks go out there and play their tails off, and show everyone a little something, but you just can’t bank on it. Things might get a little weighty for them. Two outs, two on, down a pair of runs…that sort of thing.

So, encourage the youngsters, pull for them, and be patient with them...and never underestimate the power of the bracelet.

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?

Wonder Twin Powers, Activate!

Brennan Boesch went two for four with a stolen base today. The kid now stands at .387 AVG, .397 OBP, .680 SLG, 1.077 OPS. If that doesn't make you giddy, I'm not sure what will. First Austin Jackson and now Boesch. We are getting oh so spoiled by these young children bursting out of the gate, taking MLB by storm. It's fun though, isn't it?

Yes, they will come back down to earth. Jackson has perhaps already begun his descent. That's ok. We're prepared for it. We are ready to be patient with possible slumps. Boesch misplayed a ball today. I swallowed my frustration. I mean, come on. What are you going to say to the kid? He's still learning left field. He's six foot four, and he stole a base with ease today. You gotta love that. I do, anyway.

Many sighs today for Miguel Cabrera. He comes up with the bases loaded, and we're down two, and he fails, epic fail. Magglio Ordóñez walked three times ahead of him today, and he had zero hits, zero RBI...sigh. Actually, more like AAAARRRRRGGGGHHH. Not a cute pirate-y arghh, either. Well, I'd better temper that since Miggy was 4-5 with the bases loaded coming into today's game. Ok. Ok. But still, we needed that, and the failure only brought up questions about him partying with the White Sox last night (especially since the game was rained out).

Now, our second and final west coast trip of the season. Get ready for some dark circles under the eyes, and some reduced production at the job site.

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...