I'm Deeply Moved...

The stars aligned evilly tonight. Tigers baseball was postponed. Day night doubleheader scheduled for Sunday. Now what am I supposed to do this evening? I came up with a suitable, if not completely satisfying substitute for "real" baseball. In honor of the late James Gammon, who recently passed, and who played Cleveland manager Lou Brown, and to recognize Bob Uecker's return to the broadcasting booth, I am watching Major League.

I actually saw Major League in a theater in Skokie, Illinois when it was released. Shut up, I know I'm old. At the time, I kind of thought it was stupid, I"ll be honest. The film grew on me in time, of course. Classic lines are repeated until they are worn out, and there is no parallel for Bob Uecker's drunken comic genius.

Pitcher Eddie Harris smears various, ahem, substances in strategic places on his body in order to add a little movement to his anemic fastball. Willie Mays Hayes puts his batting gloves on AFTER he arrives at first base. Rick Vaughn walks the bases loaded on twelve straight pitches to begin his major league career. "Juuuuust a bit outside."

Ok, I'm not going to repeat everything you already know about the movie. Suffice it to say that it was a nostalgic trip down memory lane. Thankfully, there will be baseball tomorrow. How on earth do I ever make it through the off-season?

You know what? There might be a valuable lesson we can take from Major League. Maybe our boys are coddled too much. Maybe the MLB life is just a smidge too swanky. Let's remove a perk or two and see how our club performs, shall we? Let's strip away a little of the pampered, rich and famous, glammed-up lifestyles these boys take for granted. Maybe a little working-man's mentality would rub off on our prima-donnas. It's not that I don't think our ballplayers put forth effort, but who doesn't go through the motions now and then? Going through the motions may have cost us a playoff run last year. I'm going to tell Dave Dombrowski to take away those foofy robes Johnny Damon bought for all the players. No more massage chairs in the clubhouse. Sycophantic entourage members are verboten. Let's enforce a strict curfew on the road. (Well, Miggy, that goes for home as well. Sorry.) The boys can read classic comics instead of canoodling with groupies. Then we'll see if we can prevent another stretch run collapse. Ha.

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?

In the Bell Jar

We have arrived. At a horrifying place. A fourteen inning gauntlet that ends in consecutive loss number six. Johnny Damon makes a baserunning gaffe on a play that should have ended the game and winds up standing at third. Carlos Guillen then grounds into a disastrous double play to end the eleventh.

I blame the hitting in such situations. If the pitching staff has gone out and put up zeros for four innings in a row, the offense has to do its part and push one stinking run across. How could one run prove so elusive? How can the boys of summer not buckle down and get it done to put a halt to this skid?

I'm not on the ledge saying our season is over and we should sell at the trade deadline and look at next year. No. I want to fight for our season.

BUT....

We do have some gargantuan obstacles to clear. Our starting pitching has not solidified. Andrew Oliver needs more time to develop. Armando Galarraga has had one outing of brilliance and many of mediocrity. Rick Porcello has barely put Toledo in the rear view mirror. I fear that Jeremy Bonderman is an incurable head case. He constantly lets one bad pitch bleed into the next 25 pitches. You can read it in his face.

Our defense. Can we talk about defense for a minute? Only the Nationals separate us from last place on defense. I am ready to hop the fence and start leading some fielding drills, despite a complete lack of athleticism. I could show them what NOT to do, and how horrible they look when they field like me! That would shock them into doing better, I know it. Noone wants to look like me out there. Even in a backyard family game, I get mocked and derided mercilessly. I am the ultimate cautionary tale.

Aaaaaaaand let's not forget about offense. We have what can only be called several automatic outs on our squad. The names, Laird, Avila, Worth, Raburn come quickly to mind. When these gentlemen stride to the plate, it's as good as a television commercial. People can walk away from the tv without the slightest worry that anything of note will happen. Unless you count strikeout looking as something of note.

Now Brandon Inge has a broken hand and is out for the next four to six weeks. You may be aware that Brandon Inge is not my favorite player. However, he shores up a shaky defense, and has raised his average to a respectable (for him) .263. We can't really well afford to lose him right now. There are too many holes already.

In addition to all these roster issues, we have scheduling issues. We are on the road more this half, where we, um, suck. We don't face the Pirates, Nats and Orioles so much this half, and they, um, suck, which helped us pad our record. Starting with Cleveland after the break, we have eighteen games in a row with no off-day. Are you screaming yet? Have you begun cutting yourself yet? Would that be weird? I haven't done that. No, I have not. I categorically deny doing that.

With all that being said, I hope Dave Dombrowski makes some savvy moves at the trade deadline. Moves that won't eviscerate our already paltry stock of prospects. I hope he can swindle the pants off some other GM to give us a couple pieces that could put us over the top. Use the power of those horrible sailboat sweaters, Dave. They could hypnotize an unsuspecting baseball executive into giving up say Dan Haren or Ben Sheets, or Stephen Drew (who Kirk Gibson says has really bad luck, which could certainly be changed by coming over the AL). Right? RIGHT???

Suspend Your Disbelief

If you were off somewhere pretending it was 1901 this past weekend, completely cut off from television, radio and the Internet, and you just returned to hear that the Tigers endured a four-game sweep by the cellar-dwelling Cleveland Indians, who are without Grady Sizemore, Shin Soo Choo and Asdrubal Cabrera, and you think that someone is having a little fun with you...think again.

No, it's not some imaginary nightmare you wake from panting in a cold sweat. It's the stark reality of the past three days. It's the unabated misery of a sweltering hovel in an relentless hot spell without so much as a fan. It's Holly Go-Lightly's pressure cooker gone ka-blow-ey all over her apartment just when she's trying to impress her attempt at domesticity upon Paul Varjack. It's the worst horror movie you've ever seen, one that seems so real you can't sleep at night for weeks afterward. It's...it's..it's the second half Detroit Tigers team of the past four seasons, playing out in HD before your bloodshot, shell-shocked eyeballs. I wish someone would sear my eyeballs with a chemical so caustic I never have to see the likes of this weekend again. I'd be better off.

I sincerely hope that someone in the Tigers clubhouse lost it after today's 7-2 finale. I don't care who it was. It could have been Scott Pickens for all I care. Someone better have been blowing steam out his ears in a fury so violent, the rest of the team was afraid to look him in the eye. I swear, if someone didn't scream themselves hoarse in a fit of rage, I will storm into Comerica Park tomorrow and do it myself.

To say our franchise was embarrassed this weekend would be an understatement I don't care to quantify. Stranding baserunners at a rate that would cause sandlot kids to crawl under the nearest rock has become an art form. Running the bases has apparently become a lost art, and throwing the ball is a skill too difficult to master for our crew. To quote manager Joe Riggins from Bull Durham "This... is a simple game. You throw the ball. You hit the ball. You catch the ball." We couldn't manage to perform those simple elements very well this past weekend, and it hurts. So badly. I want to cry, but I'm too stubborn, so I'm just going to go punch a hole in some drywall and call it good.

Carl Pavano, Evil Incarnate, and Other Irrefutable Truths

All good things must come to an end, I guess. The Tigers are no longer undefeated this year in games I've attended. This thanks to Satan's underling Carl Pavano, and the, ahem, Detroit Tigers pitching staff.

I feel all guilt-ridden and shamed because my mom, dad and sister had come in from out-of-town, don't get to go to many games, and...THIS is what they got.

Andrew Oliver--no can find strike zone.

Eddie Bonine--no can strand inherited baserunners.

Brad Thomas--gives back runs after we just scored.

You guys make me sick. Sorry. I don't mean to be shrewish when we took two of three from the Twinks, but it was just the circumstances. My poor sister dejectedly trudged down the concourse, mumbling about being bad luck. She doesn't deserve that. She's all gung ho long distance from the corn fields of Indiana. She could be rooting for the Cubs for sobbing out loud. She told her fourth grade class she was going to come up for a playoff game last fall. The little rugrats were ready to turn the classroom into a sweat shop, churning out all manner of adorable fourth grade-y posterboard signs. Oh. Yeah. We didn't make the playoffs last fall. Well then. Bitterness.

I did warn the family of Pavano's eerie dominance over the Tigers, and Oliver's, um, uneven performance in the bigs so far. It didn't really help to temper the optimism that we'd be Sunday afternoon victors, in first place at the All-Star break. Well then. Sulk.

We did see a couple of REALLY nice defensive plays, which had us jumping out of our seats and yelling ourselves hoarse. Ajax made an outrageous running, over-the-shoulder snag...never thought he'd get to that ball. Boesch must have been taking extra fielding practice, because he made a nice diving grab. Santiago flashed some leather at short. Alex Avila completed a nice strike 'em out, throw 'em out play on a Nick Punto attempt to steal. Well then. Half smile.

Once again, Inge provided us with the game-ending out. Mercifully it was not a strikeout looking, or I would have become yet another sordid baseball-security incident statistic. Hmmm. Does getting Tasered curb the appetite? I really could use a jump start to some weight loss.

Orange Birds Verboten

I'm going to have to go ahead and say NO to losing to the Orioles. I mean, I am sorry, and no disrespect intended, but this is a series we need to sweep. Today's game was spinning along just fine until Armando Galarraga stayed in one inning too long and gave up a two run shot to Nick Markakis. Markakis also caught some long fly balls in right tonight. Hmmm. Not too happy with YOU, Mr. Markakis, not too happy at all.

Now, I think that Brennan Boesch is very deserving of an All-Star nod, but the whining over the snub is now beginning to enter ad nauseum territory here. FSN keeps throwing up graphics comparing Boesch's numbers to the AL outfield reserves. No doubt, his numbers compare favorably, more than favorably. It just doesn't make sense to keep grumbling. It happened. It was wrong. Let us move on now, shall we? I recommend this as a means of preventing ulcers, migraines and all manner of nasty stress-induced conditions. That does it for the public health announcement.

Many sighs. Magglio just check-swing struck out to end the seventh inning with a runner stranded on third. Many sighs. Speaking of Magglio, I was happy to see an article on MLB.com stating that Ordóñez was worthy of an All-Star berth. I like when my guy gets credit where credit is due. Viva Magglio! (I would say All-Star in our hearts, but it sounds way too corny, and I don't go in for that sappy stuff. He knows we love him.)

Daniel Schlereth got a major shearing. I was at Friday night's game, sat behind the bullpen, and saw Schlereth sitting on a bench chatting it up with Jeff Jones, sporting long hair. Now it is cropped short. It definitely beats the static electricity look (scroll down on that page for the hilarious photo). Actually, our pal Kojak, er, I mean Rogo, of DesigNate Robertson is probably jealous even of that strange hair. Schlereth does appear to have the ability to grow instant facial hair like Alex Avila. The club's going to be spending a lot of money on razor blades. Invest in Gillette.

Binge knocks Boesch in and stretches a double into a triple, securing Player of the Game honors, even if someone else actually knocks in a game winner. That's just how POG works. Inge wins it unless he's on the bench. A very strange group of minions mans cell phones all over the country, texting in for Binge scores of times every game. There is no plumbing such minds to find answers. Trust me.

No pressure, Ajax, you're just pinch hitting in the bottom of the 8th with a runner on third and two outs. I repeat, no pressure. Breathe in, breathe out. Jackson takes the first two pitches for strikes. Um, ok. Maybe there is some pressure. He grounds out harmlessly. Sigh.

Johnny Damon got his 2500th knock tonight. Congratulations! I'm happy for the guy. Damon got a nice ovation and they saved the ball for him, so he should have some warm fuzzy memories of the milestone, even if it did occur in the not-so-cosmopolitan city of Detroit, Michigan.

In the bottom of the ninth, Quiet Riot's "Feel the Noise" was blaring at the CoPa. Funny. It wasn't 80s night, or metal night, as far as I know.

Swing and a drive, way back...gone! Miggy crushes one to left to knot things up at five. Thank you, big fella. We needed that since the evil Twinks beat the Jays tonight. You could just see in Miguel's face that he had decided he was going to belt one out of there in that at bat. Wow. Just. Wow.

Rick Knapp goes out to the mound in the 11th to talk to Perry with runners on first and second and one out. Perry is deferentially nodding and earnestly repeating, okay, okay over and over again, while looking Knapp square in the eye. So stinking adorable.

Johnny Damon decides hit number 2500 just isn't enough, and jacks a two run walk off shot deep to right field to end all this Baltimore-Orioles-possibly-winning-the-game nonsense. Cheers!

Will the Losing of Series Please Come to a Halt?

Fear not, Tigers fans, I am going to help us to get back on track after losing two of three to the Twins (/gags), Braves and Mets. Tomorrow night, I will be at the ballpark for the first time in quite a while. I apologize for neglecting my duties as team good luck charm. Things have conspired to keep me away from the park. Tomorrow, that all comes to an end. I am taking a group of family to the game, and since the Tigers are undefeated this year in games in which I was in attendance, I am going to go out on a limb and say we are going to win tomorrow night. Go ahead and skewer me for jinxing everything.

My husband has already warned the entire group not to bother me during the game. Good. He saves me the trouble of shooing pesky, non-game-watching people away. These folks are well-meaning, but need to learn to save non-game talk for non-game time. Let's not discuss Aunt Betty's recent health troubles during the ballgame shall we? My mother says I once rebuked her at a game for changing seats during an inning. I mean, am I being unreasonable here? Please tell me if I am. I want to know such things.

Ok. We're a game and a half back of the Twinks. I hate them. Most passionately. I will also be at the series finale versus the Twins on Sunday of next week, with another family outing. Heaven help them. I will do all I can to defeat the evil that is Twinkie-dom. Especially Jason Kubel. He is the root of all evil, I think. I am researching some very effective hexes right now to cause his bat (and glove) to always miss the ball. As if that's not enough, I am also working on a way to bring Cliff Lee here without giving up Brennan Boesch. I know, right? This would be awesome! You're welcome.