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!

Idle Hands...

What in the name of balls and strikes does a baseball freak do with the mind-numbing down time during the off-season? You take three-plus hours out of every day, and there's a mighty big chasm to fill. Well, I don't know about other people, but I am stuck doing things like knitting scarves, watching the World Series of Poker, and baking a thousand batches of chocolate chip cookies. Does that sound like a life to you?

My mantra is simple. Life without baseball is hard.

Now, we've got to sit by as the Yankee brass goes down to Arkansas to meet with Cliff Lee. Wooing him. Wowing him with wheelbarrows awash with cash. Whacking him over the head with propaganda about what it means to "Be a Yankee." To wear the pinstripes. To be clean-shaven. Excuse me a moment while I go clean up the vomit I just induced.

OK. I am back. There are a few remaining chunks on my shirt, but luckily for you I'm not downloading photos of it to this post.

Hopefully things will pick up soon. We'll get news that Dave Dombrowski and his suitcase full of sailboat sweaters have spirited off to who knows where to negotiate with some top tier free agent. Yes. It will happen. Then the dark days won't seem so long.

Grandyvision

So the Freep decides that torture is a valid form of journalism, and posts a 27 photo gallery of Curtis Granderson as a Yankee. There are photos of Curtis engaged in all manner of Spring Training activities, from fist bumps with Robinson Cano (while standing with his thumb tucked adorably under his belt loop) to chatting it up with Derek Jeter (sigh), to palling around with other former Tiger Marcus Thames (straight to the heart!), to mournful shots of his Yankee equipment, emblazoned with number 14 (whyyyyyy?).

I'm serious, it's like someone at the Freep just found out his/her significant other was cheating and had to inflict equal pain on the rest of us. Some solo shots of Jeter and A-Rod are thrown in there at the end, because....um, they're Yankees, and everyone must care about what they are doing every waking moment of every day.

So, if you're feeling emotionally strong, go ahead, subject your self to the whole gallery.

A Girl Gets Desperate

I'm not all aflutter about the Yankees or the Phillies being in the World Series. There will be no rooting for either of these teams. In fact, my intense abhorrence of the Yankees always waxes, never wanes. However, I am feening for some baseball, and for that reason the World Series will have my full attention.

I'll be watching as an observer. One who loves baseball. One who will soon be without baseball for an extended time. This time will be dark. It may involve coping measures such as watching games from seasons past. I do solemnly swear not to break down and watch the 2006 ALCS Game 4, however. It wouldn't help to watch it now anyway. We didn't make the playoffs this year, and trying to revive some past glory would feel trite and hollow.

I do have in mind to track down a game or two of Mark Fidrych's and watch those. I was a little young when he pitched to really remember. I've mostly seen wacky clips of him smoothing the mound and talking to the ball, and I want to watch a some full-length games.

I'm surprised and disappointed that MLB Network isn't airing some Arizona Fall League games. I'd be all over that. Maybe it will (hope springs eternal) after the World Series is over.

Anyway, just pining away over here 'til Spring. Don't worry about me.

Anderson, Granderson, Schmanderson

I was seriously thinking about pretending this past weekend did not occur, and declining to post anything about it. However, it'll be good therapy for me to work through the anger (disgust, torment, embarrassment....) and come out better on the other side.

So for starters, my son heard me shrieking and hollering from the other room at Josh Anderson when he lost a fly ball in the sun and let it drop for a double (no error, are you sure official score-keeper?). He came running in and asked me why I was yelling at Curtis Granderson. I clarified that it was Josh Anderson, and he asked to see the replay. He couldn't believe Anderson failed to catch that ball (although in the interest of full disclosure, my son dropped an easy pop up to second base in his final game of the season). Anyway, I was raving about Anderson and his propensity for errors, bad baserunning judgment, and whatnot. I'm sorry, but at least guys like Thames and Ordóñez don't muff the easy fly balls. Yes, I know that a bunch of players had to fight off the sun on various plays, but I was still fuming. So, I've sort of had it with young Mr. Anderson, and The Detroit Tigers Weblog agrees.

So, by now, the pitching staff has completed its open letter to Dave Dombrowski begging that a bat be obtained before the trade deadline. I mean, Edwin Jackson was visibly upset after the game, with a clenched jaw and pursed lips as the camera zoomed in with its unshrinking "agony of defeat" angle. Holy cow, these guys are going to plead with Jim Leyland to ditch the Designated Hitter and let them pick up a bat to help themselves, since noone else will.

Joel Zumaya. Words fail to capture the desolation he and we all feel on so many levels.

Ok. So, can we move on now? Not so far on that we look past the Mariners to the four-game fest with the White Sox, however. I'll be at tomorrow's game, and it will be my first live look at our young Porcello, unless the rain decides that it's my very best friend and follows me to every game without fail, and drenches me with postponements enough that the blank score-cards begin to pile up.

Homecoming

Break out the formal wear, it's homecoming.  I'll be donning my ball gown and wrist corsage to see game 1 against the yanks tomorrow.  Would that be out of place at the ballpark?

Well, I'm happy to say that we took 2 of 3 from the Royals after losing 2 of 3 to the Angels--that series was not pretty.

My main note from today was a nifty square and throw from Sardinha to nip CoCo Crisp at second.  Very nicely done.  Our catchers are clamping down on the base-runners.  I like that.  His light-hittingness even got an RBI today on a sac fly.  Rod Allen said Sardinha's nickname was pineapple.  It sounded kind of sterotype-ish to me.  Let's start calling the Latin players taco.   

I was wondering about young Dusty Ryan, so I peeked at his numbers.  He's struggling a little at that plate, batting .175 over 40 at bats with the Hens so far.  I guess they just want him to get his reps in at the lower-pressured level.  Probably not a bad idea.

Right now, the Red Sox are poised to sweep the Yankees, so I hope they don't come into our house will all kinds of pent-up, angry energy that inspires them to kick our tails around.

Hurlers Making us Hurl

Well Justin Verlander is up to his old tricks, requiring 50 pitches to get through 2.1 innings against a Yankees lineup that was without Jeter, A-Rod and other regulars.  You'd think he'd be attacking the strike zone relentlessly this spring in an effort to reverse last year's inefficiency.  Yesterday's outing had 29 of 50 pitches going for strikes.  Not exactly confidence-inspiring, but again, not cause for ledge-walking.  I will be keeping a weather eye on Justin, however.

At least we got some good news on the Bondo/Zumaya injury-watch fronts.  Geez, if they'd both had bad reports, it would be difficult to find a ledge not crowded with despairing Tigers fans.

On to our young prospects, who are defying conventional time-tables and threatening to make a run at the big club.  I like Kurt's take on Porcello over at Mack Avenue Tigers.  Porcello's situation fills me with a scary mixture of excitement and caution.  I don't want to see him rushed, but some folks are just flat out ready.  Also, Ryan Perry has impressed.  See Sean's piece on Perry.  Could we have a crowd of would-be closers at the end of Spring Training?  I'll take that problem any day of the week.

One last non-pitching related note.  I wish I could have seen yesterday's game in which Sheff was HBP twice (not by the same pitcher).  Was he threatening revenge on Yankee-dom?  Will he have his hands full this season lurking in dark corners, waiting for an opportunity to get his hands on his countless enemies?  Why watch the soaps?  It doesn't get much better than Sheffield and his self-created drama.  And, imagine that, there will be some on-field drama as well as we follow the chase for 500.

No, It's Not a Dream, It's Your Worst Nightmare Come True

I really did try to find some worthy Tigers news before turning to this, but there's not much to be had right now.

The Yankees have now reportedly signed Mark Teixeira to a 8 year, $180 million dollar deal.

I'll pause now for a moment to give you a chance to catch your breath after that swift kick in the chiclets....

Ready for more?  Add Teixeira to the Sabathia and Burnett signings, the Wang resigning, the "inevitable" (and that's a direct headline quote from MLB.com) Pettitte resigning (and could they possibly still pursue Manny Ramirez), and it all adds up to unparallelled carnage in a Tiger fan's mind, heart and soul.

Now, you might say it doesn't always work out to "buy" a championship by cobbling together a team of superstars (see the 2008 Detroit Tigers), and I'd agree, but I'm still hurting inside.  I didn't expect Teixeira to sign with the Nats even after they reportedly upped their offer, but this is unthinkable.  In addition, it's not only sluggers they've got, it's pitching too.

Thankfully, in baseball there are no guarantees, and many things can and do happen in a 162 game season.  The old cliché is really comforting--"that's why they play the games."  It's about all the comfort we've got right now.