The Importance of Being Earnest in Wardrobe Selection

This morning, I was watching a Spring Training contest between the Dodgers and the Brewers. In case you were wondering, Jerry Hairston made several sparkling defensive plays, and Chris Capuano looked pretty good on the hill. Enough about that. I'm not here to provide commentary on teams from LA or Milwaukee, for sobbing out loud. You know as well as I do that I train my myopic eyes on the Detroit Tigers 90% of the time.

Anyhoo, my point is that while watching said game, I noticed a couple fans in the stands. There were two guys sitting next to each other, one with a Detroit Tigers shirt on, and the other wearing a New York Yankees tee. This made me smile, because when I attend a contest that does not feature the Detroit Tigers, I too feel the need to wear Tigers gear to proclaim my allegiance. These blokes felt the same way, and I got quite a kick out of it. At least, I projected my feelings onto them, and assumed they also sport team gear in an effort to shout team loyalty and pride.

Last season, I went to a Brewers game in Milwaukee. They happened to be playing the Dodgers then, too. What a quirkly little coincidence. Not really. Back to my intended anecdote. In the bottom of the fourth, Ryan Braun hit a home run to left-center to break up Ted Lilly's no hitter. My husband and his family were cheering and generally going bonkers (although none of them can be called baseball fans), and a guy in the row in front of us turned around and went down the line giving raucous high fives, until he came to me and my Tigers shirt. He stopped cold and turned around. That's right, buster, I'm not here rooting for the stinking Milwaukee Brewers, the most loathsome team in all of MLB. Matt Kemp, baby! Ha.

An extremely fortuitous event occurred before that game. The Brewers stadium is not right downtown. It lies to the south. Due to this relative abundance of space, the Brewers have always boasted their very own parking lot for games. When they tore down old County Stadium, the site became the parking lot for Miller Park. There is even a metal plate memorializing the former home plate. Quaint. Benefitting from bounteous parking, Brewers fans are known for tailgating with their Polish sausages, Bratwurst, and other greasy, cased meat products. Gross. I am a vegetarian, and avoid such gastronomic pollution like the plague.

We were walking past some of the barbecuing revelers, when a guy stopped me. He had noticed my Tiger shirt, and asked me if whether was a Tigers fan. I answered in the decided affirmative. Apparently doubting my knowledge and devotion, he immediately asked me who won the 1945 World Series. I answered correctly, and he queried me as to who the Tigers faced. I knew that too, so I guess I passed his litmus test. We then fell into easy conversation. He happened to be listening to the Tigers game on his radio at that very moment. I listened and chatted for a few more moments, enjoying the Tiger solidarity before the Brewers/Dodgers tilt.

So you see, as a direct result of my wisdom in apparel choice, I got to chat it up with a fellow fan, hear the score of the REAL game, and remind a Brewers fan that I don't roll with his club. A very successful night in all, even if the Brewers did win. In the interest of full disclosure, the Brewers also turned a triple play that night, which I truly relished as a fan of the game, but lamented because the wrong team turned it.

Fever Pitch

Remember the scene from "Fever Pitch" after Jimmy Fallon's character and Drew Barrymore's character break up and it looks like the Red Sox are tanking? He is found by his friends sitting in his darkened apartment, watching the Bill Buckner error over and over again, while the Carl Yastrzemski song plays hauntingly in the background. He's unshowered, unshaven and sitting next to a pile of chicken bones stacked up on a newspaper.

I think I may have reached that point. You will find me sitting in my darkened living room, watching 2009 Game 163 over and over again, muttering, "Brandon Inge's jersey was hit by that pitch," and listening to "April in the D." I haven't shaved my legs in weeks, and the side table is littered with Thai take-out boxes. Too graphic for you? Sorry.

Thankfully, pitchers and catchers report in three weeks, so I may yet be saved from utter ruin.

So I took my son to basketball practice this week, which happened to be at a local elementary school, and lo and behold, what did I find on the hallway bulletin board? It was a public service poster featuring none other than Curtis Granderson and Paws. Curtis was running out of the center of the poster clad in his Tiger uniform (sob), and Paws was featured around him engaged in various fitness exercises: leg lifts, lunges, stretches and pushups, all set on the Comerica Park grass. Repeat after me, Opening Day is only two months away. Sigh.

What washed up player do you think the Tigers will target next? I was so thankful to see the Brewers sign Jim Edmonds to a minor league contract.

Friday Night Lightning

I had such a great time at the ballpark last night. Aside from the fact that the ball was jumping out of the park off Tiger bats, I had a chance to interview (ok, chat informally with) a couple Milwaukee Brewers fans who were road-tripping. Here's how it happened. The heavy rains came in and stopped the game in the bottom of the fourth with two outs, right after Curtis Granderson hit a home run. Now, some of you may whine about rain delays, getting soggy, fighting crowds on the concourse, spending a lot more cash on overpriced concessions, but not me. I decided to do something very bold. Your intrepid blog reporter went up to two strangers sporting Brewers gear, and asked them if they had come from Milwaukee for the game. Actually, Eric and Joe are from Milwaukee (and Madison), but had just come from the Brewers' sweep in Cleveland. What a series they caught at the Jake (I mean, Progressive Field). The Brewers were down five runs twice in game one of that series and came back to win, with Prince Fielder hitting his first (still can't believe it was his first) major league grand slam. Yeah, it was the Cleveland bullpen, but still.

Anyway, I rather sheepishly asked Eric and Joe whether I could ask them a few questions, admitting I was a blogger. They very graciously agreed, and off the conversation went. We talked at length about Miller Park, the Brewers' season so far, their playoff run last year, renting CC Sabathia, hoping to hang on to Prince Fielder, and J.J. Hardy's offensive woes this year (he's a streaky hitter, and hasn't found his streak this year), to name just a few topics. I asked them to compare Miller and Comerica. Since we were experiencing a deluge, the obvious advantage of a retractable roof came up right away. But I ask you, without a rain delay, how would I ever have scored this exclusive interview? Besides, I really believe that baseball should be played outside. Eric also mentioned that the seating at the CoPa seemed a little far off the field (a common complaint of mine--do not sit in the upper deck). That started me on a nostalgic remembrance of Tiger Stadium's seating, which was right on top of the action. Were Eric and Joe nostalgic for County Stadium? Not so much, but both it and Miller share a coveted feature: on site parking lots, which allow for a very cool tailgate vibe. Imagine the smell of really good bratwurst grilling (some tofu dogs for me), and pregame fan solidarity. Nice.

Eric and Joe both agreed that the rental of Sabathia was totally worth it, even knowing they'd likely never be able to sign him. The Brewers made an offer, but well, you know what happened. I mean, he did basically pick the team up and carry them into the playoffs. Must've been a lot of fun. I remember last year, during one of the playoff games, Corey Hart was not playing all that well offensively, and then he made an error. He looked like a nine-year old little leaguer out there about to burst into tears. I honestly felt badly for him at that moment, despite my disdain for all things Brewer. Joe said Hart suffers from some confidence issues (we also discussed Willis' stints on the DL for an anxiety disorder).

They asked me what was up with Ordóñez, so I did my best to blame it all on Scott Boras (who is also Prince Fielder's agent). No, I promise you, I explained it all with utmost impartiality.

Anyway, Eric and Joe provided excellent conversation and terrific insight into our current interleague opponent. Thank you both for indulging me, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the series (if that's possible to do when losing all three games). For the record, I asked them how they'd been treated by Tigers fans, and they assured me the ribbing they'd taken was all in good fun. Good job Tiger faithful--always be gracious hosts.

The Tigers/Brewers Rivalry

You may be laughing out loud at the notion of a Tigers/Brewers rivalry. But hold that thought a moment. There is such a thing. It exists among persons who are from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Remember that Milwaukee used to be an American League team, and further recall that up until 1993, the Tigers and Brewers were both in the AL East. Now that fact, along with geography, combine to juxtapose the Tigers and Brewers in the minds of baseball fans in Northern Michigan, to the extent that a person cannot be a fan of both. It's important to choose sides, because there is no middle ground.

I grew up despising the Brewers, that dump County Stadium, and loving to hate players like Robin Yount, Paul Molitor, and most especially Rob Deer. (Imagine my consternation when he briefly wore the Old English D.) I loved my 80s Tigers Kirk Gibson, Tram, Whitaker, Chet Lemon, Darrell Evans, Lance Parish, Tommy Brookens--the whole crew. I still enjoy talking some smack with hometown Brewers fans, even if it is impossible to understand how someone in his/her right mind would choose the Brewers over the Tigers.

So, while you may think of this as just another interleague matchup of no particular significance, I'll be at the game tonight, thinking of those bygone school days. Days filled with arguing the merits of the Tigers over the Brew Crew. Good times, good times.

It's Looong Gone!

As I type, I'm watching Gary Sheffield's at bat in an MLB Network live look in at the Brewers/Mets game.  It's 4-3 Brewers in the 7th, with no outs and nobody on.  Specially hologrammed balls are being used for each of Sheff's at bats, to enable authentication, thereby allowing some lucky fan to cash in on the historic 500 ball (I mean, so the ball can be donated by some benevolent lover of baseball to the Hall of Fame).   On a 2-2 count, Sheff rips two balls foul , then takes ball three, a close one just outside.   He then fouls one back, and then jacks 500 wearing number 10, his first hit as a Met, gets an ovation from his new teammates, followed by hugs and high fives, and a warm welcome from his manager Jerry Manuel.  Adding to the drama is the fact that the home run ties the game 4-4.

Now I made no bones about the fact that I'd wished Sheff would've hit 500 in the last game of season last year.  He got an extra at bat after Magglio tied the ballgame in the 9th, but no it was not to be.  My hopes for him hitting that dinger were not strictly unselfish.  I thought perhaps if he hit it, he'd retire on top of the world and free up $14 million off our salary for 2009.  Not to mention the fact that I was at the game, and it would be really exciting to be there for such a milestone.

I'm happy for Gary, and hope he enjoys all that goes along with such a crowning achievement.  If there are any shadows of such things as PEDs, well, Gary must learn to live in their shade.  If experience tells me anything, Sheff can talk himself and anyone who will listen into believing that the cream and clear were simply liniments applied like so much Icy-Hot.

Playoff Heartache

There's a lot of heartache going around the MLB playoffs right now, and a little left over for me, even though my Detroit Tigers didn't make the playoffs.

I'm not going to lie, I'm feeling for the lovable losers the Cubbies right now.  I'm really feeling it for their fans.  At least the current players haven't been pining for a World Series title these past 100 years.  I'm not sure who their oldest player is, but it's a safe bet he's not much over 40, if that.  And how many of their players grew up as Cubs fans?  I'm sure there are many elder Cub fans who have suffered through this drought with untold agony.

I also feel a slight pang for the Brewers, although they were always my arch-rival team in some respects.  I grew up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and people there are either Brewers or Tigers fans, but never both.  So loved to loathe names like Paul Molitor, Robin Yount and especially Rob Deer.  Mostly, I feel for Corey Hart, who looked like he was going to burst into tears when the ball popped out of his glove last night after he banged against the outfield fence and then fell to the ground.  He hadn't had a good series at bat either, so it was all going so wickedly wrong for him.  There was no gloating in my heart over their loss.

Now, the Angels are still in, and have tied it up as I write this post (at least last I checked).  However, when three players converged and failed to catch the blooper off Ellsbury's bat, allowing 3 runs to score for Boston, the looks on their faces said it all.  Mike Scioscia had to send in some signs afterward.  The camera was zoomed in on his face and I swear the dejection was palpable.  His finger looked like it was in slow motion as it went through the crazy nose to ear to nose to chin movements.

Finally, to my little heartbreak.  This goes back to the White Sox/Minnesota play-in game.  After Thome's solo shot, A.J. Pierzynski stepped to the edge of the dugout, raised his hands in the air, and hyped up the crowd.  Something in that moment shot straight to my heart.  The jealousy and the heartbreak of "they are there and we are not."  The energy, the electricity, the jubilation of the Sox and their fans reminded me only too well of the taste of playoff baseball, while I sat with the bitter taste of what people are calling the biggest bust ever in the Michigan sports history.

Oh, well, all I can say is summed up in the clichéd baseball phrase "wait til next year."