Showing posts with label Mike Ilitch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mike Ilitch. Show all posts

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Spinning a Royal Yarn

The Tiger's press conference announcing his highness Prince Fielder awaited me after I finished work. A whole lot of nothing gets said at these things, but it's fun to listen and watch for goofy moments, if you can avoid getting mesmerized by Mike Ilitch's hair/rug/whatever.

Here are a few items of which I took note.

Jim Leyland didn't look like he fancied the dress up duds much. You may say, how incredibly blunt, I wouldn't need to watch the presser to tell you that. He didn't visibly squirm or tug at his tie, but you know, the vibe was there. Jim had to tell us that he believes Miguel will do just fine at third, despite a deficit in athleticism, and he has the proverbial great hands and a stellar arm. I mean, there is some truth there, he played short once upon a time, so he must be able to throw. And of course, we were reminded that the bit lost on defense, is gained and then some on the other side of the ball. Yesindeedbecausedontmakemebringupbrandoningesnumbersdontyoumakemedoit.

Scott Boras is still a mighty smug guy, who holds the rabble at a fair distance, the better to cordon himself off in his self-edifying, lofty air. Unfortunately, Mike Ilitch bought into this with whatever's left of his fortune, and made Boras out to have Baseball-Reference-d the whole of the Tiger organization, right down to our last utility man. Sigh.

The Princely one himself is not especially fond of holding forth and analyzing a thing to death like we are. He's got a very comfortable way about him. I guess you would be comfortable when you can just flat out play, when you know you've got the goods, when there is just no question about your ability. Asked about the pressure of living up to the old "expectations" of a sizable contract, he appeared genuinely unfazed, and matter of factly stated he would go out and play hard and expected that all that stuff would take care of itself. He wasn't going to try to change his approach to the ball to hit the gaps at Comerica. He will go out there and hit the ball hard (meaning shred the cover off that orb) and try to hit line drives. He doesn't know AL pitchers that well, but then in the minors you don't know the pitchers either, and it all works out. This is a man who isn't going to get his jock strap in a twist over perceptions. And it's a good thing, too, as Lynn Henning straight up called him pudgy and asked Scott Boras if there was a weight clause in that there contract. I don't mind people asking the tough questions, because who wants a whole bunch of "how does it feel to be back in Detroit" swill," but Henning was just flatly rude.

Dave Dombrowski didn't wear a striped polo shirt, but suited up with the rest of the bunch in solemn acknowledgement of the coronation. He helped Prince into the home white jersey, and the awkward photo-op developed just as you'd expect, with Mike Ilitch crowing, "A Tiger!" It was adorable. As the GM, Dave has to become a veritable cardboard cutout cliché. He simply has to go down the line and thank the principal players, be deferent and executive all at once. Poor Dave. Ha.

Mike Ilitch was really the presser's show stopper, and it was hilarious and touching and quite appropriate. He spoke like a proud grandfather about Prince and hearing about him from Cecil, following his career, just missing him in the draft. He was a sweet old husband, calling his wife out to stand and look around at the crowd of media members who'd gathered to hear the tale of how Prince Fielder came to Detroit. He handed Chanel Fielder a bouquet of flowers in a courtly display of manners. He didn't come across as a pompous, fake, or heavy-handed. He looked happy, really thrilled to have this whole thing come together. A great moment of satisfaction. I must say that my own immediate reaction on Tuesday was just to be agog at this man's willingness to initiate such deals as this and the Cabrera trade.

I wish I could recreate for you my absolute frenzied astonishment on Tuesday as the news broke. It was incredulity, followed by a high brought on by being hammered from behind with the most joyous news. The wake we'd been holding for Victor was swept away, and a grand, raucous party broke out in its place. Sure, we'll come down eventually, and deal with a few realities. But for now, we dance!

Sunday, September 19, 2010

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.

Monday, August 9, 2010

No Girls Allowed

I sort of took a mental health break from the Tigers yesterday. I did watch part of the game, which I had recorded, and then someone inadvertently gave away the outcome, so I just let it go. Is THAT what it takes to get a win? I had a lot of fun just tossing around the baseball and playing badminton. It was good medicine. I've mentioned before that my relationship with the Tigers might just be considered toxic.

Allow me to elaborate. When I was fourteen, I wrote a letter to the Tigers inquiring about becoming a bat girl. They, in turn, sent me a letter stating that GIRLS WERE NOT CURRENTLY CONSIDERED FOR BATBOY POSITIONS. What? Sexism running rampant in the mid-80s at Tiger Stadium? I should have sued the pants off the franchise, and been installed as the first female bat person in Tigers history. As it was, all I did was send a nasty-gram, saying how I could do the job just as well as any stupid boy. "Hell hath no fury," you know. Then I craftily changed my name from Jennifer to Jeff and reapplied. I got a standard form letter back saying that there were no current batboy openings, along with a couple decals. This did not placate me. No. I ranted and raved much like I do here for many weeks on end.

I told that story to give you all a little chuckle, a much needed respite from the wretchedness that has become our season, the rotting carcass that is our second half of every season under Leyland, the maggot-eaten flesh festering in a scorching sun....well, you get the idea.

My mother asked me about the Tigers and I told her I just go into every game assuming we are going to lose, and if we do come away with a win, it's just bonus. That's what it has come to.

Mike Ilitch tells us he'll spend money on the Tigers this off season, with some $60 million large coming off the books. Let us just hope it is spent wisely. We could do some things with $60 mill. It could really help the ball club. Our eyes shift ahead to what might be in 2011. It's just self-preservation. I don't want to start screaming at the poor minor league kids that are just doing the best they can after being thrust into positions for which they weren't ready. I want to relax and let them make a wild throw or strike out with impunity. Rod Allen has already forgotten all of Will Rhymes mistakes anyway. Tonight he said that Rhymes was essentially flawless at second while he was up. What? I specifically remember a couple REALLY bad throws. Whatever, I'm letting it go. Just like Rod has.

So, go ahead Tigers, score one run five nights running, implode the bullpen a few times, get no quality starts...go ahead, pile it on! I can handle it. Maybe.

Speaking of imploding the bullpen, what in the name of balls and strikes is going on there? Phil Coke, who was just stellar the first half, has been getting tagged along with the rest of the arms out there. Eddie Bonine has been outed as someone who lets all of his inherited runners score (ok, not all, but waaaaaayyyy too many). Shrek Gonzalez has watched long balls jump out of the park. Sigh. Jeff Jones, you are on my list. And it's a long one.

EDIT: I had to show you my rejection letter, signed by Dan Ewald himself. If you click, it will enlarge.