Monday, May 30, 2005
Hark! What is that sound? The gentle rustle of a hundred thousand stiff wheaten bristles, jostling with one another and scratch scratch scratching across the ground, a noise at once minimal and cacophonous, a noise of cleanly joys to one and destructive shame to another....
SWEEP! Ha ha, yes indeed.
Wielding the broom were Dmitri (he of the 'DO-RAG WHICH IS BEYOND QUESTIONING and also homeruns), Pudge (the doubles are coming back, a very good sign that he's getting back on track overall at the plate), Nook (TEH SPEED!), Craigger (teh clutch hitting which doesn't exist but still! also homeruns) and the back end of the bullpen (that being The Farns, Jamie 'holy shit his ERA is still 1.96' Walker, Frankie, and Ugie-- no runs off of any of them).
Carrying the slop bucket behind in shame were Ramon Martinez (0-for-5 with a GIDP, BAD REPLACEMENT PLAYER, BAD!), Ledezma (4 innings, 3 hits, 4 runs, an error, plus 5 walks, kinda speaks for itself), and Chris Spurling (2 innings, 4 hits, 2 runs, 2 walks, the same).
A fun fact! If you look at the pitchers used today, you'll see that the Tigers used 6 guys while the Orioles used 5. On the Tigers, only one of those pitchers has an ERA over 3.00 (and that was the starter, Ledezma). On the Orioles, only two of those pitchers have ERAs under 3.00, and one of them was James Baldwin who like played in his first game ever tonight so his stats don't even count. So that's ONE guy under 3.00. I tell you kids, this Tigers bullpen has been catcher-ass hot lately. Troy Percival who?
And those ERAs sure meant something tonight, because it was 6-2 Orioles when their starter, Bruce Chen, left the mound. The Tigs came all the way back to win it 8-6 off of a reeling Oriole bullpen, which is great for Detroit because it's exactly the kind of duke-it-out-and-come-from-behind win they haven't been getting, and terrible for Baltimore because ha ha your bullpen fucked up a huge lead.
The hapless Carlos Pena was not in the lineup tonight. Mario Impemba, the play-by-play announcer for the FSN TV broadcasts of the Tigers games, has a blog and recently asked Brandon Inge how he got out of his slump a few years ago, with an eye towards helping Pena do the same. Inge responded by saying that he went to the team shrink, who gave him the following visualization exercise, which got him hitting again:
"All I think about is the pitcher, seeing the ball and hitting it off his forehead. No mechanics enter my mind. That is my visualization."
Every time Brandon Inge is up at the plate, he is imagining whacking a line drive off of the opposing pitcher's forehead. I love it.
As for the Sox, well, you can get that from all the other billions of Sox blogs out there, can't you? David Wells pitched into the 9th inning after no one in the whole wide world thought he was going to make it out of the first inning alive. He also switched numbers with Edgah, wearing 16 instead of his coveted 3 (a number that Edgah had worn his entire career). Apparently Edgah had to offer a considerable monetary incentive to get his number back, but one has to believe that the immense sucktasticness of Wells' performance with number 3 on his back greased the way for the transaction to take place at all.
David Ortiz launched two homeruns so monstrous that they were bordering on the obscene. COVER UP THAT BALL, IT DONE VIOLATED THE CODES OF DECENCY. Joe Torre fears the Big Papi: "It's nothing new. We've watched that for a couple of years. He's a very tough hitter. Obviously, he has a lot of confidence in this ballpark. You look up there and he's hitting .280. I don't know who's getting him out -- somebody is."
At one point the ESPN announcers were prattling on about A-Rod and his therapy and his lack of a father figure (I am not even kidding) and on and on, and they kept putting the camera on A-Rod the second there was a tiny break in the action (it was a very long and drawn-out at-bat). I was watching the game with my friend Jess, and after this had been going on for about 5 minutes we both started groaning in disgust and rage at the continued A-Rod love-in. The at-bat went on, and the A-Rod talk went on, and on, and it got ridiculous.
Then the at-bat ended. In a bouncing linedrive hit to A-Rod, who let the ball carom off the top of his glove and into the outfield. It was too perfect. The camera zoomed in on his grimacing purple lips and we cackled with glee.
Me: "I'll bet he was thinking about his long-lost father just then!"
Jess: "He's gonna have to discuss that error with his therapist!"
(Yes, I am the meaner one. Couldja tell?)
The last excellent bit came just after Francona had sent Wells from the mound in the 9th ("I didn't know if he was going to give [the ball] to me"). In the dugout afterwards, the camera caught Tito ambling over and offering Wells a handshake. Wells reached out and grasped Tito's hand and shook it. Tito attempted to pull away, Wells gripped harder and pulled back. Tito laughed a little and tried to pull away again, and Wells just tightened his grip and reeled him back in, grinning rather fixedly by now.
Tito finally leaned in and let Wells say whatever he wanted to say (Wells speaking with a very strained smile by now, I imagine he wasn't overly pleased about being removed in the 9th), and eventually Boomer let him go. Jess and I were in hysterics, though.
Jess: "Oh man, he knew there were cameras around, so he couldn't punch Francona, I guess that was the next best thing."
By squashing the Orioles into a widgy little orange smear of birdy bits, the Tigers helped a suddenly-hot Boston squad launch themselves back into second place... barely. The Sox, Yanks, and BJays all have 27 wins but New York and Toronto both have 23 losses, while Boston only has 22. So we're sitting precariously but really need to whallop the O's at Fenway this week to make it stick.
I'm not sure what I was expecting from this series by the Tigers and Red Sox, but the Tigs sweeping (sweeping!) the first-place Orioles and the Sox taking 2 out of 3 from the Yankees (who had just swept Detroit in the previous series) was about as far from my nebulous expectations as possible.
Everything was a surprise. Craigger going yard in all 3 games? Edgah getting his groove back? Moose laying his pretty head down on the mound and sobbing hysterically? Mazzilli leaving in Steve Reed (thanks bunches, dude!)? DaMeat going out before every game of the series, catching an oriole using traps cunningly baited with fruit, and eating the captured prey live? OK, not exactly, but damn, he must've been doing something... 10-21 this season against them, 3-for-4 with a homer, two doubles, and three RBI in this last game? Cor blimey.
To all you Red Sox fans, I'd like to say, on behalf of Tigers fans everywhere:
You're welcome.
1:29 AM
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Sunday, May 29, 2005
“Somewhere, Dmitri Young is putting on his doo rag and having himself a good laugh.”
The quote's from a poster over at the NYYFans game thread, after Paul Quantrill was beaten bloody by the Boston bats (alliteration!). He had 8 runs scored against him, including a grand slam courtesy of the resurgent Edgah, who just happened to be the very first batter that Pauly Q faced (bases loaded courtesy of Mike Stanton). Sweet. Very sweet.
Why so sweet? Come now, I should hope that your memories are not so short.
*insert happy, vindictive sigh here*
Today was a fun game, with a fun score of 17-1, so it led to some fun quotes!
"I threw a lot of pitches -- and not too many quality pitches. Must have been tough to watch... Tomorrow is a new day. I'm looking forward to that day, because this is a very disappointing one for me." --Carl Pavano, the hapless Yankee starting pitcher. Color me unsympathetic (a sort of dull sepia tone, I'd imagine). He hung both the Sox and the Tigs out to dry with his free agency dance, so screw him and his hand-picked Bronx home. Every time he does poorly in New York and the media rips him he can reflect that he's in a steaming pile of excrement of his own making. I wish him nothing but the choicest of failures out there*.
The in-game interview of Terry Francona by Joe Buck--
Buck: “I think last year we had a game, a blowout like this [broadcast on FOX] and you said it was bad for ratings..."
Tito: “We were losing."
Buck: “Yes, you were behind..."
Tito: “You know what, this time to hell with your ratings, we’re up.”
This caused both Joe Buck and Tim McCarver to cackle heartily, but the real beauty of it was the fact that the previous half-inning they had interviewed Joe Torre, and he had just rolled out the boring old expected platitudes about how Pavano didn't have his best stuff and A-Rod is the bestest ever. They interview Tito and he cracks sarcastic jokes. I love it.
Speakin' of McCarver, I'm relatively certain he called Robinson Cano 'Bronson' at least once during the game (which is ironic, since he is occasionally incapable of calling Bronson 'Bronson'). He also gave us the following delightful quote: “There are a lot of things in baseball that are questionable, but Bernie Williams’ dignity is not," which, er, OK. I think that any dignity Bernie may or may not have possessed was lost by association with that comment.
“This game reminds me of a trip I made with my parents up to the foothills of Tennessee. We were driving along, and there by the side of the road was a dead squirrel.....it had been run over by an automobile. Someone cared enough to get it out of the road, but still.....it was dead.
Moral of the story? We're that dead squirrel right now.” –-NYYBombshell, just another enjoyable quote from the NYYFans board. Although, for the record, if you see a squirrel that's clearly been run over but is on the side of the road and not the middle, odds are not good that someone went and moved it. It probably was flung there by the force of the car that hit it. Still a beautiful analogy when applied to today's game, from the Yankee perspective.
“We're down 16 but I'm grateful that we don't have a rally monkey.” –-wexy, the same. (S)He makes a good point. The Yanks may have been beaten like a dugout fan in the vicinity of Kyle Farnsworth today, but I will give them this much: at least they don't have a rally monkey**. Like (apparently) Bernie Williams, they can therefore claim to still have some tiny scrap of dignity.
No, you know what, McCarver is 100% wrong, Bernie Williams has absolutely no dignity left. And I do mean absolutely, positively, none. Mad props to whoever set it up so that in addition to this musical masterpiece you are recommended to check out 'Basic Training: True Homosexual Military Stories', though, that was a truly inspired bit of internet use.
I suppose that's about it, except to note that the Tigs won again today, finally giving JJ some run support. Of course they did it against a rookie pitcher, but still, this means that no matter what happens tomorrow (later today) they take the series, which has got to be heartening. Rangers next, and they did well against the Texan brigade earlier, so we'll see. The spark in the offense is just waiting to be fanned into full flame. I'M FANNING FRANTICALLY OVER HERE, GUYS, but I can't do it all myself, you know.
On a completely random note, I wanted to bring this up a bit ago. Lookout Landing had a neat interview with one of the Mariners' top minor league outfielders, Chris Snelling. He's been having a great year, and seems like a really smart kid, but what struck me from his interview was this one line:
The byproduct of a lot of strikeouts, I think, is a lot of walks, and vice versa.
Pretty level-headed and aware, for a minor leaguer. And, I might add, it sums up Mark Bellhorn to a T. Just thought it was worth noting.
Speakin' of minor leagues, John Sickels asks: Who would you rather have, Hanley or Pedroia? With cats!
I honestly don't know who I'd prefer (although the correct answer, obviously, is 'both'), but I can't be the only one who cringes violently whenever they hear Hanley described as 'toolsy' or 'a tools guy', right? Maybe it's the Moneyball in me, but jeez. I know what it means, but you never really know what it means, if, uh, you know what I mean. I know he's the most exciting player, Hanley is, but it's so hard to project how he'll actually do, especially if he is in fact subjected to the projected move to center field.
I also think everyone who compares Dustin Pedroia to David Eckstein is looking just at his stature and is selling his offense short, but what the hell do I know, I'm just an art/zoology geek.
Oh yeah, and Todd Walker's back for the Cubs. Good for him. Let's hope for his sake (and theirs) that he can stay out there.
edit: OK, I remember what I wanted to say, and since I had a cappuccino with dinner and am therefore PAINFULLY AWAKE I may as well say it. This is sort of brought on by the latest post over at the Soxaholix, but it's been something that's haunted quite a few of my baseball-related convesations lately.
Moneyball, as I (the baseball idiot) understood it was not saying that a team filled with guys who relied heavily on on-base percentage would win a ton of games. The whole point of Moneyball is that OBP guys will get you wins in the most cost-effective way. A good Moneyball team won't necessarily beat up on the Yankees; a good Moneyball team would score more runs than the Yankees per dollar spent.
Moneyball, in the true sense of the concept, does not translate into wins. It translates into runs produced cheaply. So a team like the A's might not win the division, but if they're good in a Moneyball sense, they'll score more runs with their cheap players than many other more pricey players on other teams do. Their Moneyball players aren't going to be better than A-Rod or Pudge, but they might be better for the money spent on them.
I'm not sure I stated that very clearly, but it's a misconception (that Moneyball teams are automatically unsuccessful if they don't have crazy amounts of unexpected wins) that's been nagging at me quite a bit. Moneyball's not, at its heart, about on-base percentage. It's about, well, money. Everyone seems to forget that.
That said, the A's suck right now.
*I am a happy fun flowers-and-puppies kind of person! :D :D :D Yaaayyy for teh love that fills my heart!!!11!
**For the zoological dorks in the audience, I'm almost dead certain that the Rally Monkey is a white-faced capuchin monkey, Cebus capucinus. Uh, I'm not sure why I felt it was important that you all know this right now, but in some unfathomable cosmic way, it is.
1:44 AM
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Saturday, May 28, 2005
nailbiter n. singular:
1. One who bites one's fingernails as a nervous habit.
2. A situation marked by tense nervousness or apprehension, especially an athletic contest whose outcome is uncertain near its finish.
3. Bottom of the 9th. 4-3, Tigers leading, in Baltimore. Ugueth Urbina on the mound. Bases loaded with Orioles, two outs, skinny little Jeff Fiorentino at the plate. Urbina had walked the previous two batters* and was, therefore, looking a little wild.
The count went to 2-2 before he managed to coax a swinging strike out of Fiorentino. So yes, it was most definitely a nailbiter: a must-win game against a good team, coming down to the very last moments. Dramatic. And we all know what a dramatic victory means when Ugie is on the mound and Pudge is behind the plate. Yup. You do know it.
Celebratory groping!**
It was an important win tonight for Detroit, and not just because it kept me from chewing off my own hand while watching the Red Sox implode (again), all wild-animal-in-an-iron-leg-trap style. I wasn't actually in an iron leg trap, obviously, but when Alan Embree comes in and turns a tie game into a game you're firmly losing, well, sometimes it certainly seems that way. But by this point the Tigers had already completed their game and won, thanks to the efficiency of Nate Robertson, and I lost no limbs.
Anyways, it was an important game because it stopped a grungy little losing skid that was as baffling as it was demoralizing; because it finally resulted in a quality outing by Gator corresponding with mild run support; because the bats started to lightly heat up, although not so much at the bottom of the order, where Nook and The Anonymous Jason Smith both went 0-4... at least Pena finally had a hit; because the Tigs are catching the Orioles at a time when they're missing Javy and Bigbie and they won't have to face Bedard and they need to get while the gettin' is good. So to speak.
Quick thought that's been nagging at me. Everyone's been frustrated and puzzled by the way the Tigs have good pitching and dismal offense, then the offense picks up and pitching falters, and nothing seems to get both going at once. Without taking a look at which games they've won and lost and how they've done it, let me just throw a little hypothesis out there.
Maybe it's Comerica?
It is, after all, a cavernous pit in the outfield there. Could it be that the roomy confines of Comerica have helped Tiger pitching look good, but have at the same time suppressed Tiger offense, causing (or at least contributing to) the unfortunate inability to perform well offensively and defensively at the same time? I wouldn't be at all surprised if the Tigs were hitting better on the road this year, but the Red Sox game is on, no way am I looking up numbers. If true, however, that just makes this series with the O's even more important-- if they can win more readily while on the road, better do it.
Still, this one was way too close for comfort, it shouldn't have had to be a nailbiter. It was 4-1 when Gator left the game, but The Farns promptly let two inherited runners score, which isn't like him-- I couldn't see pitch speeds because I was watching this part on Gameday, but I could see that he was throwing far more balls than he usually does. The Farns is a strikeout pitcher when he's on, so this was a little worrying. I know he may have had struggles like that in Chicago, but he's been pretty good about not having them this year so far. We'll see. Could very well have been just a poor outing.
Then, of course, there was Ugie loading the bases and all that fun business.
In other words, it was a win, but not the sort of win you want the team to be getting, necessarily, because it's not the kind of game that you can count on to regularly win. And lord knows the Tigers need some regular wins.
Anyways, the Orioles deserved to lose, if only for wearing these jerseys. I mean, honestly. Look, kids, Halloween came early this year!
Matt Clement just struck out the side in the first inning. 'Scuse me, kids, I have a 4th place team to go root for.
*Geronimo Gil, batting .192, not a good walk; and Brian Roberts, batting .374, er, maybe it's better that he walked.
**And yes, there was a small kiss. I couldn't get a good screenshot off of MLB TV, though... it was much quicker and more cursory than the 'We are in the process of winning the World Series' ones anyways. As one might expect. Anywho, sorry, kids. You'll just have to make do with an old one.
1:33 PM
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Friday, May 27, 2005
Finally updated the links over on the side. Added some more Sox sites that I regularly read, added a couple of Detroit sites (MARIO IMPEMBA HAS A BLOG O GLORIOUS DAY), and stuck up a couple of Wolverine sites. They're all good, check 'em out.
Beth, I don't want to hear it about this. By the time I started doing it they were already down 6-0 (I only missed one inning, ain't that special?), so the usual running-diary-causes-bad-luck thing can't apply. All the bad luck was already in place by the time I got going on it.
I was watching the Tigers game on MLB TV. Jeremy Bonderman was dealing, hitting 96 on the gun, A-Rod up… and my internet stops working. Curious. Annoying. I don’t want to watch Wade Miller get lit up like a lightening rod in an open field, I want to watch Jeremy Bonderman work like, well, a real pitcher. Plus I know that it’s a Red Sox/Yankees series coming up, so I know I’ll be watching that pretty closely, and I wanted to concentrate on the Tigers for a bit.
But fate, or my computer, or some combination of the two has decreed that I shall watch the Red Sox/Blue Jays game, sans internet, and so be it.
We pick up the action, such as it is, in the second inning. It is 6-0, Jays. I don’t know how it happened, and I don’t really want to know.
top 2
Gustavo Chacin reminds me in almost every way of a praying mantis. He’s got bug sunglasses and a wide, spreading mandible. His posture, when he brings the ball to an upright position, is distinctly mantis-like, with his torso leaning forward and his arms crooked out strangely. His delivery is mantis-like, with his hand sort of curved into a mantis hook on the back point of his release, sweeping forward in a big mantis-striking arc, with a little dangle on the end. He has a high leg-step thing going on, but it’s jerky and mechanical and, well, it looks as though he’s moving like a mantis would move. He’s ugly enough to be a mantis, for sure.
Jason Varitek singles but the rest of the Sox run screaming from his shiny green mantis claws.
Still 6-0.
bottom 2
Wade Miller’s delivery is much faster, smoother, and marginally less complicated than Chacin’s. It’s also about a thousand times less effective tonight, which just goes to show that ‘pretty’ gets you jack shit in baseball.
Orlando Hudson (Florida NewYork) is only wearing one sleeve tonight, so one of his arms is dark brown and the other is white. It makes for a fascinating visual when he runs and pumps his arms, for instance, right now as he steals second.
Hillenbrand sort of doubles in FL NY. I say ‘sort of’ because Shea is thrown out at second over his strident objections.
7-0.
top 3
Edgah gets a hit. That’s nice.
Shah-seen. Shah-seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen.
Still 7-0.
bottom 3
JeremI is in for the Sox. That’s Jeremi Gonzalez to the rest of you. I do so enjoy it when our starter goes 2 innings. I’d love to see how Bondy’s doing. Too bad my internet is out.
Wade’s great at sitting in the dugout and stroking his chin, though. Marvelously stoic. I believe he’s found his role for the night: sitting and looking marvelously stoic. Maybe he should be a bench coach.
Mercifully, a quick inning.
7-0.
top 4
I’m not really watching this inning, except to hear Millar talk about hitting himself in the foot. Apparently ‘the guys’ have been ‘ragging’ on him for not wearing a pad in an attempt to be tough, so now he’s wearing one.
Oh look, the ad with the Aflac duck and the mad scientist again. My life, I reflect (as I do every time I view this ad in the hundreds of thousands of times NESN will broadcast it tonight), is now complete.
I wasn’t paying attention, but I think it’s still 7-0. Perhaps Chacin got his wood termite friends to consume the Sox bats. I would believe that.
bottom 4
My mother, in her infinite wisdom, restores the internet. It involves hooking up the doohickey to the pluginator, and rerouting the whatsit to the whangdinger, and thumping the wall, and praying to the Giant Charcoal Gray Sharksfin, which is the actual internet broadcast god. I’m not kidding, it’s a Giant Charcoal Gray Sharksfin.
I check the Tigers score. It is 3-1, Tigers. Everyone has at least one hit except for Carlos Pena, and Bondy has 2 Ks. I quit Safari. Clearly, my not watching the Tigers is good for them.
A 1-2-3 inning for JeremI. His efficiency, compared to that of Wade earlier in the day, makes for a lovely contrast, like watching a political debate between a Harvard student and a Salem State student.
Still, surprise! 7-0.
top 5
Haven’t seen Jay Payton in a while, it’s been all Trotter all the time lately. With the lefty pitchers we were expecting to see Jay, though. Jay. JayPay! I'm rambling. I don't particularly care.
Shea kicks a Bellhorn 'hit' (it would've probably been an out if fielded cleanly) and Jay is on to third. My glee at this is muted. Then he scores on a sac fly by Johnny Damon. More muted joy. O BOY WE DONE SCORED ONE RUN WE’RE A-COMIN’ BACK.
7-1.
bottom 5
I open up Gameday to see the bases loaded with Yankees, Derek Jeter at the plate, one out. I make a small ‘argh’ noise and immediately fear that no matter what happens A-Rod will be up shortly. However, it transpires that A-Rod is batting 5th. I am confused. Why would you have A-Rod batting 5th? I do not know. I am not Joe Torre.
Jeter grounds into a force out and scores one. JeremI makes one out but a strange, strange play sees the ball come shooting out of Millar’s glove into center field. I have no idea what happened, except whatever it is did not result in a second out.
It is time for dinner.
top 7
So I miss an inning and two thirds and it is apparently 8-1. Hooray. I notice that we have chased the mantis from the mound, though, and some dude named Walker is pitching. Hello Walker-presumbly-not-Todd. We would like to tee off against you, if it is at all possible.
Well, he strikes out Bellhorn, but that is nothing new.
My cat Izzy comes in to watch the game. “He’s had a good night tonight,” my dad says. “Who, Izzy?” “No, Renteria. He’s got a couple of hits.” Edgah rips another one as we watch.
Fat lot of good that did.
Izzy leaves the room in a cloud of distaste and cat hair (despite the cold weather, he’s shedding his winter coat).
8-1.
bottom 7
My brother lost his tennis match against arch rivals Marblehead today, and as such is in a foul mood. He kicks me out of the room where I had been watching the game. I retire to the den, which has the biggest TV but is pretty much the only room in the house without internet access. I cannot check the Tigers score. I cannot decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
Shawn Wooten is in. “Oh yay!” I say. Haven’t had a chance to see him before. He’s wearing a hockey mask, which had better be a temporary concession to his Canadian location… if he wears that thing all the time someone (‘Tek) is going to need to have some Stern Words with him about how to be a proper Red Sox.
Alan Embree is in. “Oh, no,” I say. It is a preemptive ‘oh no’.
Remy pronounces ESPN phonetically, referring to it as ‘ess-pin’. Embree, shockingly, gets a 1-2-3 inning. The words ‘fat lot of good’ float across my mind again.
Still 8-1.
top 8
Wooten up to bat. He makes an out quickly, before I can get a good look at his swing. So much for my first look at Shawn Wooten. My impression of him for the night will be that goddamn hockey mask.
Kevin Millar has an enormous white shin guard which, on top of his high red sock, looks ridiculous. They must’ve been ragging on him quite hard. A fan touches the ball and he gets a ground-rule double.
Youks is in. May as well, right? Hey, with Wooten up maybe he’s finally not the ‘rookie’ on the team.
Millar wanders off the bag and is picked off at second. Remy makes a ‘mmn mmn mmn’ noise, like he’s shaking his head and muttering.
Despite the infusion of youth into the lineup all of a sudden, it remains 8-1.
bottom 8
The LOOGY is in to pitch. He promptly socks Frank Menechino on the shoulder. I am not particularly clear on why we have our LOOGY pitching to right-handers but then again I am not getting paid to think about these things.
Izzy comes back in. We have a short staring contest, which I win. Izzy remains impassive even in his defeat, and wanders back out to the kitchen. The image of Wade Miller sitting blankly in the dugout drifts across my mind for no particular reason.
Russ Adams looks younger than I do. (He is, allegedly, 5 or so years older.)
Youks falls into the crowd in pursuit of a foul ball and in the process of regaining his feet is cradled lovingly by a fan for a long few seconds. Amy must be so jealous.
8-1.
top 9
"Gentlemen."
*grabs brim of hat, half-tips it*
"Always wear hats."
Bill Mueller and the happy matter of the Bob’s ad makes it marginally better.
Walker-not-Todd throws a ball to the backstop. Then he gets Youks to strike out, which is rare and unpleasant, not entirely unlike the bite of the brown recluse spider.
Bellhorn pops out to end the inning, the game, and the series.
The Toronto Blue Jays have swept the Boston Red Sox.
I only saw the last couple of innings of the Tigers game. In fact, I tuned in pretty much just in time to catch The Farns coming in. Damn did he look good. He was mixing speeds, throwing strikes, and generally dominating the shit out of the game of baseball. Actually, I don't think any runs were scored off of the Tigers bullpen. And Bondy didn't have a terrible outing. It's just this damn anemic offense that's not doing any good.
I did see Pudge get a double, though. That was nice. And it was fun to hear Rod talk about it aftewards.
“That’s when he’s at his best, when he’s trusting his hands, allowing his lower half to do the work for him.”
Rawr. Indeed, Rod, indeed.
So yeah, both my teams got swept, and both are in 4th place in their respective divisions, behind the Surprising Upstarts at Number 1 (Baltimore, ChiSux), the Usual High Seeds at Number 2 (Yanks, Twinkies), and the Excruciatingly Mediocre But Still Better Than Us Teams at Number 3 (BJays, Indians). Surprisingly parallel, actually, come to think of it.
Thank god each division also has a Perennial Cellar Dwellar (DRays, Royals) as well, or I shudder to think of my mental state right now.
Still. AIN'T THIS FUN?
12:25 AM
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Thursday, May 26, 2005
This is basically two posts in one day, separated only by the fact that we're going the vaguely insomniatic route tonight (not my fault, the rain slamming into the windows is keeping me up), and I try to avoid doing two posts in one day as much as is humanly possible, but just when I start to feel down about these latest games, I mope and mutter and read some of the articles written about them.
And I remember why I really, really love these guys.
In Tuesday night's game, A-Rod was hit by Frankie. Intentional, not intentional, debateable. Whatever. Later in the game, Paul Quantrill throws at The Anonymous Jason Smith. He misses, and is warned. Next pitch he throws at him again, higher, and hits him. Fracas, ejections, etc. We've already gone over all that. What I hadn't read were the reactions from the Tigers.
Said former Yankee Rondell White: "I lost a lot of respect for [Quantrill]. A lot of guys on the team feel the same way. To me, that's terrible... I'm glad Marcus [Thames] went deep to make his ERA go up. Let's put it that way."
Nice. The best, as usual, is Dmitri Young.
"I didn't think he was going to try again," Dmitri Young said, "but then he did. And then he had to go aim at the guy's head. [Quantrill] doesn't even know that [Smith's] wife is about to have a baby ... and then he goes at the guy's head? He can kiss my ass for all I care. Thank you. Print that."
The article had 'ass' replaced with '[rear end]', but c'mon, you put rear end in brackets and I'm pretty sure we all know what Dmitri said anyways. I'm not sure what all that bit with the baby is, but goddamn Dmitri, I heart you. It gets better, though. There was a little more chatter tonight. Apparently someone told Quantrill about Dmitri's comments and he felt inspired to respond.
"Dmitri wears his doo-rag too tight," Quantrill said. "He took out [John Flaherty] in a Spring Training game, made some wonderful predictions for his team and he's the one that wants to speak out about his ideas on the world. I don't need to hear Dmitri's opinion."
When reporters took that answer to Young, he suggested that Quantrill come over and loosen his doo-rag... "We're in the AL Central," Young said of his club. "We're the trash-talkingest division in baseball."
Every damn thing about this awesome. Quantrill just had to bring up the doo-rag, didn't he? Hilarity. Can we claim he's being mildly racist or something? That would be great. Funny enough on its own, though. And I can just see the reporters running from one clubhouse to the other, gleefully carrying these quotes and trying to egg the ballplayers on. And Dmitri 'suggesting Quantrill come over and loosen his doo-rag'.... and calling the AL Central the 'trash-talkingest division in baseball'..... my god. Every bad thing that happened on the field tonight has been nullified. I love baseball.
I love Dmitri Young.
edit: Additional chatter and a clarification. A-Rod was hit in the bottom of the 7th inning. Top of the 8th, Quantrill comes in and faces Brandon Inge, Ramon Martinez, and Vance Wilson all before getting to and plunking TAJS. Up 11-0 in the 8th, if you're going to be hitting guys, why not hit Inge? At least he's an everyday player, not some poor backup, and he's the first guy you face, so it makes some small degree of sense.
Dmitri wonders about the same: "If they hit [leadoff man Brandon] Inge down low, there's no problem with that. We hit their superstar after two home runs. That part of the game happens... But when you go after a backup player because you're scared to hit an everyday player, to me you're not a good teammate, because you hit a backup guy around the head."
Which sure sounds like the A-Rod HBP was intentional, but eh. Quantrill also had a little more to say.
"If they want to come out on the field and chirp, then just come out to the mound... When guys get wild when our guys are having a fantastic day at the plate, that leads to tension. The guy pitching for the Tigers, whatever his name is, it must have been the rain, the ball was slippery.''
His name is Franklyn German, Pauly. What is it with Yankees 'forgetting' the names of their opponents? Is this a 'we're too good to actually know who we're playing' kind of attitude, or are they all just so old that the Alzheimers is starting to set in?
2:46 AM
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Wednesday, May 25, 2005
I've been neglecting the features.
And, since I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT TONIGHT, I figure it's a perfect time to address them. First off, the RantBlog is not dead, I've been working on it. It's just taking a bloody long time, since there are a great many Red Sox sites to go through, and I keep deleting huge swathes of it in fits of pique. So since that's not ready to go for tonight, we're going to resume one of our old favorites.
Yes, it's time for more Fun With Roster Photos!
Now, we’ve already got the Sox and their main AL East rival, the Yankees. We already have the Tigers, so it seems only appropriate that we do one of their AL Central rivals, who just happen to still be the best team in baseball. Everyone should know the faces of the best team in baseball, so this will be both fun and educational!
So, without further ado, I give you the Chicago White Sox.
Pitchers
 Mark Buerhle
Piggy eyes! Piggy eyes piggy eyes piggy eyes! Pity the very first photo has to be so completely terrifying, huh?
 Jose Contreras
He’s not a Mariner, so we can’t call him the Ancient Mariner, but the Ancient White Sox doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. I wonder if he remembers the Black Sox scandal? He certainly looks old enough.
 Neal Cotts
That’s about three hairs away from being a unibrow, that is. I’d say it was one and the MLB folk airbrushed it out, but it’s painfully evident that these people couldn’t use an airbrush if you gave them a year-long tutorial on it.
 Freddy Garcia
Never a good sign when your head shape most closely resembles a poorly wedged brick of clay.
 Jon Garland
It’s a marvel he can pitch so well even though he’s crosseyed, isn’t it?
 Dustin Hermanson
Dustin, on the other hand, can evidently look in separate directions at once, like a chameleon.
 Damaso Marte
There’s basically no contrast whatsoever in this photo. He has no features except for eyes. What the hell did they do, light it with shadow-killing fluorescents? Oh wait, they probably did.
 Brandon McCarthy
Pale, skinny, poor complexion… yup, he’s getting wedgies from the bigger players in the lockerroom.
 Cliff Politte
Me troll! Me eat bones! Me bang rocks with more rocks! Me eat McCarthy! Rargh!
 Shingo Takatsu
I can’t be the only one terrified by his perfectly arched eyebrows. Like they were drawn with a protractor!
 Luis Vizcaino
Piggy eyes part II. Also, his cheekbones look like they’re trying to explode out of his skin.
 Kevin Walker
Wow, the Pillsbury Doughboy plays baseball! (why do I feel like I used that joke in a previous Fun with Roster Photos? oh well, too lazy to go back and look)
Catchers
 AJ Pierzynski
How he managed to mouth off to so many Giants with that teeny, tiny little mouth we may never know. (Who managed to spell his name without looking at any references? Ha ha, I rule.)
 Chris Widger
He looks so hopeful, I hate to disappoint him… but, Chris, you appear to be missing half your eyebrows. You also appear to have a dessicated catepillar dying slowly where your goatee should be. I'm so sorry.
Infielders
 Joe Crede
The Neanderthal brow is always a wonderful addition to any color-washed-out portrait.
 Willie Harris
You smoke the weed after the photo shoot. After! How many times do we have to tell you guys?
 Tadahito Iguchi
Other than the obligatory washed-out color, this isn’t a terrible shot. He doesn’t really look too bad here. Congratulations, MLB photographers. Your thousand monkeys have written Shakespeare.
 Paul Konerko
Is he wearing blush? He must be, to get any color at all in this blasted lighting. Oh Konerko, you big girl.
 Pablo Ozuna
He either doesn’t have eyebrows at all (a la Mona Lisa) or he’s really, really startled.
 Juan Uribe
Mmmm, pizza, piiiiizzzzaaaaaa… oh, uh, you’re taking a photo, what?
Outfielders
 Jermaine Dye
Seducing you with his bedroom eyes. Disturbing, but only mildly. A relative photographic victory.
 Carl Everett
He’s far too cool to look at the camera head-on, obviously.
 Timo Perez
If he didn’t have the goatee to tell us there was a distinction, his head would blend perfectly into his neck. Hooray bad lighting.
 Scott Podsednik
Either Podsednik has had cosmetic surgery to correct a harelip… or the photographers have made him look like he did. Either way makes him a special, special person.
 Aaron Rowand
No one should ever, ever take goatee-shaping advice from Kevin Millar. Shame on you, Rowand, shame on you.
And that's it. I've got nothing more to say, except that a 6-day suspension probably throws off your rhythym a bit, Jamie Walker is the most unexpected stud ever, and both offenses sucked tonight. There, that's it, I'm off to watch Baseball Tonight and some nice, soothing Dodgers/Giants, or whatever California matchup is on ESPN tonight. Hooray for baseball that won't make me want to cry.
10:08 PM
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Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Blame the Wilson's warbler.
Wilsonia pusilla, click for big.
This horrible night of baseball is all his fault. I know that my computer desktop images have a huge impact on the outcome of baseball games... after all, the Red Sox started winning in the final stretch last year as soon as I put up the 'Have You Hugged Your Star Quarterback Today?' wallpaper, and so long as I kept it up they kept on winning, right up to the World Series... at which time I put up some nice homemade World Series champions wallpaper, obviously.
But for tonight I had the Wilson's warbler, and as both the Red Sox and Tigers went tumbling into the abyss, I think we can pretty firmly blame him.
Fucking warbler.
To be fair, though, the warbler wasn't out there playing on the grass (or faux grass, as the Sox were in Toronto), so there's some blame left over to be spread among the actual, y'know, players.
For the Sox the obvious person to blame is Alan Embree, aka The Chipmunk, aka The Chaw, aka The Known Shitty Quantity (via ECA), aka YOU SUCK EMBREE YOU SUCK YOU SUCK YOU SUCK. The walk-off homer by Reed 'I am named after a piece of a fucking clarinet' Johnson hurt, but let us not forget that Embree also let Florida NewYork* single and walked McDonald before Reed even got to the plate. So it wasn't just a small moment of suckitude, a tiny little mental lapse... no, you musn't think that. It was Alan Embree being his usual craptastic, ineffective self through and through.
In the battle of the Davids (Bush vs. Wells), no one was a winner, but since we don't really give a crap about Toronto we're just going to focus on what David Wells did wrong. What he did wrong was give up hits. And runs. Seven of the former and five of the latter, actually, in 6.3repeating innings. At least he went 6 innings this time, right? Got further than the second inning, right? Hooray. He was still much more hittable than the Sox can afford him to be. Plus someone on the SG messageboard dug up this image of Wells, David Cone, and Jeter, which haunted me all game and will probably continue to do so all night.
I'm also blaming the Toronto field, because I hate it in many varied ways. The fake grass under the dome, while no longer the murderous Astroturf, is still unpleasant. I don't like the dirt-less basepaths, the little orange islands around each base. I really don't like that video board out in center field, on the field-level, because it confuses and angers me. Why do you need a video board on the ground? When someone makes a play out there and the camera focuses on them it makes your eyes go hooey. Plus it's unsafe-- Johnny Damon cut up his hand on it earlier in the season when he slammed into it on one of his usual reckless fielding plays.
Also, Kevin Millar... I am not blaming him, per se, but I can't be the only one darkly amused by the fact that he tells Boston fans to lay off Renteria one day, and the next day Edgah goes 2-4 with a fancy little triple while Millar goes 0-4 and grounds into a double play. It could be good for Edgah to get away from Fenway for a couple of short series, get his act together and be better prepared to face the rabid booing masses when he comes home, but regardless I think he probably would have worked out of his slump without Millar poking his hooked nose in. Kevin, you yourself have not exactly been a hitting machine lately, possibly you should concentrate on that.
Of course, it must've been nice for Edgah to know that his teammates would stick up for him in public like that. As opposed to, say, this:
[Alex] Rodriguez... was plunked near the hip by Franklyn German in the seventh, a pitch that appeared to be intentional....
Paul Quantrill retaliated in the eighth, throwing behind Jason Smith and then hitting him with a pitch in the back. That brought the Tigers out of their dugout, and Quantrill egged them on, gesturing for them to come out for a fight.
But the Yankees never left their bench, and order was quickly restored with no punches thrown. Quantrill and manager Joe Torre were ejected.
The Tigers come racing out of their dugout, and Quantrill's left standing out there all by his lonesome. Nice. There's also the irony involved in who he hit, of course. The Tigs plunk A-Rod, who had hit a homerun in each of his previous at-bats and had already hit eleventy billion longballs on the year. So New York retaliates by hitting... The Anonymous Jason Smith, who has a .212 batting average on the year (.227 lifetime!) and looks like one of the most blandly inoffensive fellows in the game.
Not only that, but A-Rod had been hit in the hip, which is the right way to go about intentionally hitting a guy. Quantrill threw behind TAJS, then at his head, then gestured at the Tigers bench when it emptied to try to start a fight. All this, mind you, while his team was up 11-0. New York, New York, it's one heckuva classy organization, huh?
As for blame being assigned, well, you can't really do it in this game, because basically everyone on the Tigers was at fault here. Pitching? Ledezma deserves blame for giving up 7 runs in 4 innings, Ginter deserves blame for giving up 4 runs without recording an out (and being removed with that standing... isn't that something like an infinite ERA on the game?), Doug Creek deserves blame for being so abysmally bad that Robinson Crusoe Cano got a homerun off of him.
Franklyn German is the only one I'm not blaming for this pitching performance, mostly because he hit A-Rod and in a game this bad you have to admire the spirit. You'll also note that A-Rod didn't charge the mound with German on it. I guess the 'string bean' that is Bronson Arroyo is one thing, but when you see 6'7, 270 lbs of pissed-off pitcher staring back at you it's probably best to avoid making any sudden moves towards him.
As for the offense, pretty much everyone's in the doghouse (cathouse?). The slumps of Pudge and Pena both continued, Nook had a hitless night, Guillen had a hitless night plus error, Bingey went 1-5. Rondell and Ramon Martinez had some hits, but they were all singles and did absolutely nothing for the Tigs. The one bright spot was the three-run homer by The River Thames, and all that did was make sure the Yankees didn't get a shutout.
I'm not sure you can say that much else happened today that was good... Bill Mueller had a two-run homer that I quite enjoyed, but of course he was hit in the foot later in the game (thanks, NESN, for replaying it so that we could actually hear the thunk of the ball hitting him, and letting us watch him roll around on the ground in extreme agony, I always like seeing my favorite players in those situations) and had to leave. The Orioles won but lost Javy Lopez to the DL (broke a bone in his hand) and maybe Brian Roberts for a few games (took a ball to the knee then slid into second base and aggravated it), so maybe that counts as something good.
Look, I've been reduced to counting the misfortunes of our divisional rivals as 'good', that's how depressing today was**. And all because of that goddamned warbler.
The warbler has been replaced, by the by, with Barry Zito sitting in the clubhouse playing guitar and looking pretty. If he doesn't work tomorrow for at least one of my teams, we'll know he's really lost all his Barry Zito mojo this season.
edit: This is neither here nor there, but I think that Doug Mientkiewicz may be clinically depressed. Not eating or sleeping? Maudlin apologies? Verbal self-flagellation? Jeez, if he doesn't start hitting soon the Mets are gonna have to start putting him on Prozac.
*That's Orlando Hudson t'you.
**Of course the nor'easter currently battering us hasn't helped matters.
10:58 PM
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Monday, May 23, 2005
Oh fer crissakes...
Today the Red Sox and the Tigers match up in a inconsequential game at the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. Well, sort of inconsequential.
"Going through the Hall itself is the highlight of the trip for me," manager Alan Trammell said. "It takes me back to my youthful days of dreaming and aspiring of someday being in professional baseball.
"When I was young, what I used to do in the summer is go to the library and read about sports, especially baseball. That was just me. When I go to the Hall of Fame, it brings back very good memories of those days.
"I'm sure I'm biased, but I think the history of baseball is better than any of the other sports. When you talk about baseball history, we all can name players from way back -- and that's the part I really enjoy." --Detroit News
Someone care to tell me why this guy isn't already on the ballots?
Anyways, I'm hoping the Detroit fans at the game today start up a "LET TRAM IN" chant at the Hall of Fame field or something. At the very least they should have some signs.
Meaningless? Maybe to some...
9:51 AM
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Saturday, May 21, 2005
Red Sox Fan Foto, making sober people look drunk since whenever the hell they started it.
So we've got the Boston Red Sox playing the Atlanta (and formerly Boston) Braves, the New York Yankees playing the New York Mets, the Los Angeles Dodgers playing the Los Angeles/Anaheim/California (i.e. Rally Monkey) Angels, the Houston Astros playing the Texas Rangers, the Florida Marlins playing the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, the Chicago Cubs playing the Chicago White Sox... Cleveland versus Cincy, Oakland versus San Fran...
And then there's the Detroit Tigers playing the Arizona Diamondbacks. Natural rivals! I mean, man, Detroit just hates Arizona, it's all hot, and, uh, dry, and not crime ridden, and also hot. And... tigers hate snakes. Especially purple and teal ones. And, uh, really old teams hate expansion teams. Sorry kids, I got nothin'.
Oh well.
Anyways, I was indeed at the game tonight against the Braves, and we did indeed win, although not before Keith Foulke made it interesting. A bunch of people started leaving after the 8th inning, and I turned to Jess and said (sarcastically), "Man, why would you leave now? Foulke's coming in, we've got a whole half-inning to let the game get really close!" Foulke, bless his round little skull, proceeded to give up a number of booming hits that stayed in the park only due to the collective, inward blowing power of prayer emanating from the Fenway stands. A 4-1 game rapidly became a 4-3 game before he managed to squint and groan and strain and get the last out. I hate it when I'm right.
Jess and I didn't get there terribly early, but we did get there early enough to watch Manny and Ortiz run backwards across the field together in warmups, and to see Foulke, Mueller, and Edgah signing for the little kids along the first baseline. My first thought, upon seeing this, was, "Aw, how nice of them!" It was only with my second thought that my brain declared, "Fucking kids, they don't properly appreciate close proximity to the majesty that is Bill Mueller."
I got to see Emma before the game started, which was cool. Look mom, I met one of the mystical internet people, and I live to tell the tale!
I would like to reiterate the fact that I hate the pink hats. Hate. HATE. And you people who showed up in the pink hats and pink tshirts, over which you put pink sweatshirts later in the game, making for an entire sickening pink Red Sox attire ensemble? I do not know you personally, but I hate you. I found you more obnoxious and insufferable than that one really vocal Braves fan in our section who hooted and hollered like he'd won the lottery every time Julio Franco lifted his arm up without it falling off, and he was pretty fucking insufferable.
Coming into the game I was very interested in seeing both Hudson and Miller pitch, as I'd never seen either before. Miller was dominant for the first few innings, but then he lost one or two mph off of his fastball and seemed to throw the curveball a bit less, and he started having trouble hitting his spots. As Jess noted, he was throwing strikes early in the game, and later he was having to get guys out with long at-bats and defense. Which is fine, I guess, an out is an out, but you could see the difference as the game progressed, and I don't want to see the difference as the game progresses.
With Hudson it was just the opposite. He had a horrible first couple of innings, and then he settled down. Going into the 7th inning I didn't think that either pitcher would be back-- Wade had thrown 90-some-odd pitches and was looking shaky, Huddy had thrown 100-some-odd pitches and hadn't looked terribly frightening all game-- and I didn't really think that they should. I figured the Braves wouldn't let Huddy's pitch count ride up too high, especially in light of the oblique problems last year. I saw no reason for Miller to go out for the 7th, not with a fully rested bullpen and the way he had been pitching the inning before.
Miller did end up going to pitch part of the 7th and was taken out in the middle for Timlin after getting an out or two (hey, it's not like I was taking notes) and giving up a double. I still don't like it. I don't think he should've been out there for the 7th at all. Sure, it was nice to see him walk off the field to an immense standing ovation ("It felt great," Miller said of the ovation. "I felt like I was part of a team"), but I'd feel pretty comfortable with a well-rested Timmy going 2 full innings, and Miller's struggles in the later innings were of the "Aaargh, my arm is sore, also everyone in the stadium sees my pain and angst and inability to have a short at-bat" variety.
I also can see exactly what people mean when they say that he 'throws across his body'. It's a pitching motion that goes sharply from his right shoulder to his left hip, and it looks like a shoulder injury waiting to happen. Er. A shoulder injury that already did happen, and that we're really hoping doesn't happen again. Honestly, seeing the way he pitches, I'm surprised he was able to completely rehab a frayed rotator cuff without surgery, but what the hell do I know... if it works, I guess it works.
Huddy's delivery looked much the same as it always does, although I thought he was cutting back on the giant slide-step a smidge tonight. His fastball wasn't anything to write home about either*, but he kept it in the low 90s more consistently than Wade did, and later in the game he would hit 90 for a big pitch, when he really needed it, so you could tell that he was reaching back into his reserves of pitching stamina, and that this was effective up to a point.
And, after the second inning, when it became evident that he was going to look emienently hittable for at least part of the night, I was able to sit back** and enjoy the fact that he has a really very lovely, ah, posterior aspect. So to speak.
Offensively there were high points (Billy going yard) and low points (Edgah making final outs twice in bases-loaded-two-out situations-- kill, KILL!). Timlin looked really strong to me, throwing in the low 90s and just blowing past Braves batters. Plus he wears the high socks. And has a 0.86 ERA, which is so hot that it trumps high socks for hotness points. I'm starting to maybe regularly feel good about the game when the strains of 'Black Betty' fill Fenway.
To the people in the outfield who started the wave, and to the guys sitting directly behind us who gloried sickeningly in it: I hate you all too. After the second or third time the wave went around and I dourly refused to budge, Jess turned to me and said, "Aw, you don't like the wave?"*** to which I replied, probably too loudly, "I'm here to watch a goddamn baseball game, I don't want to do the fucking wave." The older gentleman in front of us, who had a scorecard and meticulously pencilled in the appropriate data all game long, turned his head slightly and nodded solemnly. It was ace. Oh, and I know that Kristen, at least, agrees with me. And she was in the outfield seats, I can't imagine how vile it was out there.
I also saw two beachballs, one in and around our section and one out in the outfield seats, which immediately made me think of the delightful Dodger Thoughts post and subsequent commenting discussion on the same. Apparently they're quite the plague in LA, flying thick as multicolored plastic inflatable locusts in the bleachers. Now, I only saw the two at Fenway, and the one on my side of the field was small-- say, a couple notches smaller than a basketball-- but I was still mildly enraged.
Beachballs just seem so... I don't know, so day game, not so Friday Night Game. So LA, not so Boston. So "we don't really give a shit about our team, we're just here 'cause it's cool and/or we were bored", not so "it's so fucking hard to get tickets, if you're in this park you'd damn well better be a good fan". Sadly, a lot of awesome fans can't go to Fenway due to the unavailability/priciness of the tickets while lots of pink-hatted sorts get in, but I still like to think that the majority at least are there for the baseball. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm overreacting to the beachballs (OK, I know I'm overreacting to the beachballs).
Then again, maybe beachballs at Fenway is the sign of The Beast and the world as we know it about to come to a fiery end, and Mark Bellhorn will never strike out again, and something more hilarious than Dale Sveum catching warmup pitches will happen between innings.
I note that we're getting back into the periodic raging against men who can't comprehend women who know sports mode, which is always good for a discussion or three, and is much less likely to make me want to sob hysterically than the other conversation that is never resolved and haunts my life, which is the whole What is Art? schtick.
Now, if you read what Beth wrote there, I think she's giving you male critters far too much credit... I mean, no way are you sneaky enough to talk in code, most of you have enough trouble speaking plainly. Ha ha, I kid! It's only the Michigan State and Ohio State types among you who have that problem. In my everyday life I experience this phenomenon little-- in the art school, it's shocking that anyone knows anything about sports, and the few guys who enjoy a little baseball chatter are so utterly relieved to find someone to talk to that I could have a giant praying mantis head and they wouldn't notice or care.
That said, let me relate a couple of pertinent anecdotes from tonight.
There were some lightly soused gentlemen sitting a few seats down from us, and every so often they would get up and shuffle out of the row to go get more alchohol or empty their bladders or cut out their already-ineffective livers and throw them at Braves fans or whatever the drunk people at baseball games do when they get up all the time. Jess and I were sitting on the end of the row, so every time they got up they would pass us, usually with a, "Sorry, ladies, *lopsided wink*" type of thing.
At one point they got up and one of them addressed me as he passed, saying, "Hudson's done, he's gonnah get lit up now, he's got nuthin' left." I hmmed and said, "Well, Miller doesn't have much left right now either, he hasn't exactly looked great, I wouldn't get too cocky about Hudson." Cue squinty confused drunk guy stare. Whuh? Female? Opinion on pitching status? Brain much hurty. Must consume more beer. Which, whatever, I was maybe 2% mildly offended and 98% amused.
After the game, as we were walking around outside Fenway, we came up alongside a pack of guys discussing the New York series. One of them was loudly gabbling on about, "Hey didjoo guyz see how Pedro did tuhnight? Pedro's been doin' real good out there, I'm followin' him all yeah, I wanna see how he did tonight," and then they all went on to talk about Pedro and the Mets and the Yanks. Jess and I were rolling our eyes as we passed this group and I muttered, "Yeah, OK, but Pedro's not going tonight, it's Kevin Brown versus Carlos Zambrano, Pedro was supposed to pitch but he got moved back, sheesh."
Jess laughed and said, "I love how you could totally kick the butt of any of these guy baseball fans," and we got some startled looks, and went on our way. But isn't that sad? I haven't even been really following Pedro this season so far, and here's this guy claiming to be a great big Pedro fan, and he doesn't even know what days he's pitching on. Oh well again.
Also, don't a lot of people read Will Carroll's The Juice blog? I rather thought they did. So how the hell did no one comment on this entry by Will's blogging partner, Scott Long?
Fox has decided to add chicks to a couple of their shows to which I would offer--WHY? I would consider myself unique in that I enjoy talking to women about sports, unlike most guys who would rather they never utter a word on the subject.
Having mentioned my enlightened thoughts on the subject of women and athletic conversation, let me also throw out the caveat that women should not be doing sports radio, as they don't have the knowledge or the voice to do it. Sorry, but it makes me want to turn the channel. I never got the whole Flabbiest Sports Babe phenomenom, as I thought she was just a big-mouth with little to offer. I have no problem with women doing sports highlights on TV, but they shouldn't be breaking down male sports.
Wow. He's enlightened, kids, he doesn't feel threatened by women who want to talk sports with him! He just doesn't think they're smart enough to be on the airwaves. Seriously, how the hell did no one comment on that before?
I want to finish this up because I'm dead certain no one's still reading it anyways, but it is utterly vital that I make sure everyone knows about Marcus Giles getting ejected. He got tossed just after a called third strike, so my guess is that he was arguing balls and strikes and that got him thrown. He then proceeded to go mad and attempted to attack the umpire. He was forcibly restrained by his own treammates and slowly walked off the field. As he went, the sound system fired up and 'Sweet Caroline' came on, much to the delight of the crowd.
For those of you who have not had the luck to visit Fenway personally, 'Sweet Caroline' is played every game, and every game the crowd sings along. The Fenway sound system people stop the music at the 'oh oh oh' parts and the crowd tunefully shouts on its own.
So as Giles was being led back into the visitors dugout, helmet off, head down, muttering angrily, the entire crowd was shouting "OH OH OH!" and, in some cases, waving cheerfully at him. I am not sure Giles even knew what was happening. It was bloody hilarious.
Oh yeah, and Julio Franco, the Braves DH, is older than Terry Francona, the Red Sox manager, by at least a year, possibly more if his actual age is older than his listed age. I don't even know what to say to that.
*Kyle Farnsworth, you have spoiled me!
**Metaphorically speakin'. I actually spent almost all of the game hunched over, elbows on my knees and chin on my fists. This is normal. I am not sure if I am capable of sitting upright for a live Sox game. I don't think I could contain the nervous energy.
***She knew I was going to react like that, too. I'm far too easy to prod.
3:02 AM
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Thursday, May 19, 2005
*fade in*
*Dramatic confrontation between Jeter and A-Rod, standing on a baseball field surrounded by HOT MOLTEN LAVA. Jeter is wearing pinstripes and a simple tan robe, emblazoned with Gatorade symbols. A-Rod is wearing his gray away uniform with great big black leather boots (the boots will not be explained). Both carry bats, both have their uniforms artfully smeared with pine tar, and both wear expressions of poorly-emoted anguish. Tino Martinez stands between them, with his hair in a fetching braid, hands raised imploringly to A-Rod.*
Tino: Alex, baby, don't do this. You're such a good guy. I know everyone's been saying lies about you to the media, I know you're a True Yankee!
A-Rod: IT'S JETER, ISN'T IT? YOU'VE BEEN LISTENING TO JETER! HE'S POISONED YOU AGAINST ME!
Tino: No baby, it's not like that! I know you're a good Yankee!
A-Rod: THEN COME TO ME! WE WILL DESTROY JETER, I AM MORE POWERFUL THAN HE IS! TOGETHER WE WILL RULE THE YANKEES AND MAKE EVERYTHING JUST HOW WE LIKE IT AND JUST HOW IT SHOULD BE, AND THE YANKEES WILL NEVER LOSE AGAIN!!
Tino: Oh my god.... you.... you've gone mad... you're not the man I thought you were! Jeter was right!
*Tino backs away, hands raised imploringly in front of him, face scrunched up in cringing terror and sopping wet from a combination of sweat and tears. His braid is all awry.*
A-Rod: I WON'T LET HIM TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME!! HE TOOK MY POSITION, HE TOOK MY UNIVERSAL POPULARITY, HE WON'T TAKE YOU! RRRARRRGH!
*A-Rod beats Tino with his bat, stamping about madly with his giant black boots to indicate his unstable mental state. Tino cowers and screams and, for some reason, protectively curls up around his abdomen.*
Jeter: Alex! Stop it! You're hurting him! LET HIM GO!!
Tino: Nooooo, my baaaabbbbyyyy.....
*Tino is knocked unconscious on the ground. A-Rod and Jeter square off properly, without his useless and girlish idealism or interference. Both let their hands drift to the handles of their bats. The New York media crowds around, camera lenses glinting in the dancing orange light of the HOT MOLTEN LAVA.*
Jeter: Look at you! Look at what you've done! What you've become! Those hideous red eyes and that waxy complexion which is, like, so Transylvania. That will totally never fly in the Big Apple. I... I have failed in your training. I have failed you.
A-Rod: I HAVE POWERS NO YANKEE HAS EVER HAD BEFORE! I HAVE POWERS YOU CANNOT DREAM OF! IT IS MY EMPIRE NOW, MINE TO RULE OVER! IT IS MY PLACE TO SPREAD PEACE AND JUSTICE AND WORLD SERIES VICTORIES THROUGHOUT! MINE! MINETY MINE-MINE MINE! ALSO I HAVE NEW CONTACTS. LOOK, RED! THEY SAY THEY BLOCK OUT SUNLIGHT SO I WON'T LOSE FOUL BALLS ON SUNNY DAYS.
Jeter: A-Rod, you were supposed to be the Chosen One! You were supposed to destroy evil and restore balance to the Yankee Way, not leave it in tatters!
A-Rod: YOU ARE WEAK! YOU SHUN THE DARK SIDE OF THE YANKEE WAY! I HAVE EMBRACED IT, AND MY POWERS ARE UNBEATABLE, AND I AM TOTALLY A BETTER SHORTSTOP THAN YOU ARE.
Jeter: *gasp!* The Dark Side! OMG you're on STEROIDS. You have been subverted by Giambi and Sheffield, lured by the temptations of power hitting!
A-Rod: NO YOU PINHEAD I'M NOT ON STEROIDS. I'VE JUST EMBRACED THE DARKER SIDE OF BEING A YANKEE, LIKE REVELING IN MY ILL-GOTTEN AND BLOATED CONTRACT INSTEAD OF TASTEFULLY IGNORING IT, AND ADMITTING TO BUSH-LEAGUE ATTACKS ON OPPOSING PITCHERS, AND STUFF.
*Jeter raises his bat, tears running down his face, choking on heartfelt sobs, turning his head to make sure the TV cameras properly capture the tragic glistening trails*
Jeter: You... you were like a brother to me! We shared the same infield! I loved you!
A-Rod: YOUR TIME IS OVER, OLD MASTER. THE INFIELD IS ALL MINE. I HATE YOU! OH WAIT.
*A pause, during which A-Rod reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small compact. He hastily applies dark eye shadow to make his eyes look smoky and dramatic and to better highlight his red contacts.*
A-Rod: OK, MUCH BETTER. NOW YOUR TIME IS UP, BITCH!
*A spectacular fight ensues. Jeter and A-Rod attack one another with their bats, making staticky whooshing noises with their mouths as they do for no adequetely explained reason. They leap about with the sort of acrobatic ability one would expect from two master shortstops (or one shortstop and one former shortstop bitterly forced into playing third base), hurling themselves from base to base. Jeter throws himself into some nearby stands with reckless abandon, although there is no reason for him to do so, and the media hoarde murmurs appreciatively. A-Rod runs with a feminine, weak-wristed motion and slaps Jeter's bat out of his hands, leaving Jeter to scramble for his weapon. Several cameramen are inadventently knocked into the MOLTEN HOT LAVA and perish.*
A-Rod: I WILL HIT HOMERUNS AT A RATE YOU HAVE NEVER HIT THEM IN YOUR ENTIRE MISERABLE CAREER. I AM THE MOST POWERFUL YANKEE EVER TO EXIST, EVER, IN THE HISTORY OF EVER.
*A-Rod raises his bat, waggling it dramatically.*
Jeter: Don't try it, Alex. Don't do it.
A-Rod: YOU UNDERESTIMATE MY ABILITIES, JETER!
*A-Rod leaps into the air, bat lifted high to smite Jeter where he stands. But Jeter has been around longer and is wiser in the ways of Yankeedom and, more importantly, Yankee Stadium. He instantaneously and perfectly projects A-Rod's trajectory in his mind, knowing the ground from which he launched himself. With this knowledge, which lets him cut off a line drive during a game, Jeter brings his bat around and breaks both of A-Rod's knees while A-Rod is still in mid-air. A-Rod falls to the ground, shrieking, crippled. The MOLTEN HOT LAVA burbles ominously.*
Jeter: *whispering* I loved you...
A-Rod: Aaarrrrwaaarrggghhh...
*A bubble of MOLTEN HOT LAVA bursts, sending a shower of sparks into the air. Many land on A-Rod, igniting the pine tar covering his uniform. The flames spread up his body, exploding into a small mushroom cloud when they reach the highly volatile spray he uses to keep his hair looking metrosexually perfect even under a batting helmet.
Jeter, sobbing freely, also very sweaty, picks up A-Rod's bat. He walks away, returning to Tino, who is beginning to weakly stir with consciousness. He directs Jorge Posada (inexplicably attired in a natty gold suit and walking like he has a stick up his ass) to pick up Tino and place him in the executive Yankee limo.*
Tino: Je.... Jeter... is Alex....?
*Jeter strokes Tino's cheek and stares off into space, pressing his lips together tightly. It is a great shot of stoicism and leadership and several more cameramen perish, this time from paroxysms of joy. Everyone gets in the limo and they drive off.*
Meanwhile, A-Rod's burnt form is lying twitching on the ground. Another limo pulls up and an ominously Hooded Figure steps out. What little can be seen of its head is hideous with pallid wrinkles and sagging jowls. A terrifying flash of white turtleneck is seen, only to be quickly cloaked again.*
The Hooded Figure: There he is! My apprentice! Tend to him!
*A bevy of batboys race forward and begin to encompass A-Rod in terrible, pinstriped armor. The Hooded Figure cackles briefly and gets back into its limo. The limo races off, wheels squealing. Many slightly singed dollar bills shoot from its exhaust pipes and settle ashily into the fiery depths.*
*fade out*
So, uh, guess where I was tonight? (By the way, kids, he turns into Darth Vader at the end. I know, I've just ruined it for everyone).
I just feel obligated to add that I have absolutely no memory whatsoever of writing that post last night. Looking at the timestamp I posted it around midnight, which with the hours I'm keeping lately is more like 3 am, as should be evident from the incoherence and the small factual errors (Rondell's single in the 11th brought in Brandon Inge from third, not second... Inge had doubled, and Opposite-Nomar had sac bunted him over).
This, kids, is what happens to your brain when you get up at 4:30 am on a regular basis to spend a freezing cold morning/moderately warmer afternoon trying to puzzle out the difference between a second-year and after-second-year catbird, all while said catbird is screaming its fool head off and trying to beat you to death with its wings. You become incapable of thinking in long sentences, and you watch a Tigers game and can only process things like 'Rondell good!' and 'men left on base bad!' and 'bullpen good!' and 'Carlos Pena hot but teh suck' and 'should not be such battle with fucking Tampa Bay'.
I also only saw the first few innings of the Sox game, and thus missed out on the bullpen suckitude and the heroics of Edgah. I'll probably miss the end of today's game because I'm supposed to go get a new streak dyed into my hair (sort of a burgandy-ish red, and if you think that has nothing to do with the baseball season, well, go right on thinking that. I am the worst art student ever-- I should be dyeing my hair because it EXPRESSES MY CREATIVITY AND ALSO ANGST, not because YAAAY RED SOX!).
Friday, however, I will be at the game, because my dad is cooler than the dad of any blogger in the whole of the blogosphere, so if you see a girl with a Red Sox hat on and a ponytail with a streak of red in it, tugging along a shell-shocked shorter girl while keeping up a steady stream of invective and factoids about the Braves, that's me. Not the shorter girl. That's my friend Jess.
Poor, poor Jess.
5:18 AM
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Wednesday, May 18, 2005
RONDELL!
Triples! In the 10th! Doesn't get brought home because the Tigers as every bit as keen on leaving men on base as the Red Sox are.
Rondell!
Long single in the 11th to score whoever the hell was at second base (Inge? I want to say Inge) to WIN THE GAME!
11 innings! JJ going 8 strong with only two earned runs! The bullpen (The Farns, Ugie, Walker, German) was PERFECT for the 9th, 10th, and 11th. Pudge had the hit in the bottom of the 9th that tied the game!
But, Rondell!
RONDELL BERNARD WHITE, YOU ROCK.
What does not rock is Carlos Guillen leaving the game with knee soreness. KNEE SIREN, wheeeee oo, wheeeeee oo. Please lord make it stop.
12:02 AM
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Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Ah, you east coast college kids have no idea how important choice of university can be. Ones university determines friends and foes, alliances and enemies. Families are torn asunder. Random strangers are perfectly willing to do battle. It's not entirely unlike the Red Sox/Yankees rivalry, only more blatantly centered around football. Also, one side is several hundred times more intelligent than the other. Ahem.
I had the following conversation with Rob from The Cheap Seats earlier tonight. I find it a delightful example of how something like Tigers blogging can bring people together, but, in Michigan, the collegiate rift makes it all too easy to slip into heated argument...
(screen names, as per usual, changed to protect the blatantly guilty)
BostonFanMI (5:31:01 PM): OUR MASCOT IS NOT WEARING A SKIRT [referring to the Michigan State Spartan, who is wearing a skirt]
BleacherSeats (5:31:31 PM): your mascot is essentially a rabid weasel.
BleacherSeats (5:31:49 PM): (all apologies to the University of Wisconsin)
BostonFanMI (5:32:12 PM): our mascot is FEROCIOUS and A NOBLE WILD BEAST
BostonFanMI (5:32:26 PM): and it would totally rip off the leg of your mascot in a trice
BleacherSeats (5:33:25 PM): our mascot would smite yours with his mighty sword...(and then take a fifteen yard unsportsmanlike conduct penalty, which that crazy SOB JLS would just chalk up to "effort.")
BostonFanMI (5:34:15 PM): oh please. our mascot would just have to bare his teeth and snarl and your mascot would flee in terror, feathered helmet flapping in the fetid east lansing breeze
BostonFanMI (5:35:08 PM): take THAT! i fight you with IMAGERY!
BleacherSeats (5:37:25 PM): our mascot would put out a few rodent traps and go hang out on the deck at the peanut barrel for a few hours, only to return and find your mascot ensnared, lured in by some of Ed Martin's "cake".
BleacherSeats (5:38:00 PM): (i don't need imagery when i can play the ed martin card.)
BostonFanMI (5:38:57 PM): i knew it! BLOODY FUR TRAPPERS! POACHERS! thwarting the law to entrap an endangered species simply to prove your own manliness by prancing around in camo clothing with a great big gun! just what i would expect from michigan state!
BleacherSeats (5:40:47 PM): camo, my dear feline anarchist, is not necessary when stalking an animal as guileless as a mere wolverine
BostonFanMI (5:42:35 PM): oooo, so you don't deny the shameless bloody gratification your mascot needs to use to prove himself a worthwhile human being? pah.
BleacherSeats (5:43:46 PM): and YOUR mascot wouldn't be engaging in shameless bloody gratification whilst ripping MY mascots leg off, eh?
BostonFanMI (5:44:04 PM): no, he would be doing what wolverines do naturally
And that, my friends, is why the blogosphere is awesome. Because it is populated with awesome individuals who have awesome conversations of this sort. God bless crazy Midwestern college rivalries.
Anyways, the point of all this, insofar as there is one, is that the Sox just finished up a series against the Seattle Mariners and I got to see quite a bit of JJ Putz. Former Michigan Wolverine JJ Putz, pictured up there at the top in his fine Maize and Blue.
Having spent this past series contemplating JJ Putz pretty closely, I have to say that he was surprising. Oh, I wanted to like the guy as much as I could like a Mariner we were playing against, but to be honest I didn't know much at all about his pitching style or how he had been doing in Seattle.
Putz was throwing hard against the Sox. We’re talking 96, 98 mph fastballs flung at the Boston bats, with really only that one rather large mistake that Trotter sent along its merry way to the tune of a grandslam. The thing is, with his gently baggy jersey about the belt (no doubt hiding a softly pudgy middle), his weakly receding chin (inexpertly and ineffectively camouflaged by a blonde scrap of goatee), his ponderous yet awkwardly rangy limbs, he’s got to be the most unassuming fireballer I’ve seen.
I mean, he doesn’t have the imposing height of a Randy Johnson, the compact spring-loaded look of a Rich Harden, the blatantly powerful muscles of a Kyle Farnsworth. He looks like he should be soft-tossing in the mid to upper 80s, junkballing on the side, which just goes to show that I guess you really can’t go ‘try to sell jeans’ when evaluating a baseball player, to put it Moneyball-ly. Yes I just made Moneyball an adverb. I’m a blogger, massacring the English language is practically in the job description.
So I was quite pleased and gratified to see a Michigan guy performing up to the high standards one would expect from a Wolverine, and I swear Rob, if you bring up Mark Mulder, I will have to go for a nice long drive until I find a field full of cows, and then I will mock them. Y'hear? I will find the beloved friends of Michigan State grads everywhere and I will mock them mercilessly.
Oh, and I know there's a Sox game going on right now... when I turned it off it was tied at 4. I would dearly love to stay up and watch the rest of it, but alas, I must awaken rather early on the morrow. Here's what I had in my notes from the early innings.
Ah, it’s always a pleasure to watch Youks tee off against Oakland. Ha ha, you have to wonder if they’re planning to use him twice in this series to really give Millar and Mueller a rest, or because Theo just wants to dangle him in Billy Beane’s face during this series. OK, it’s probably because they really want to give the corner infielders a rest, but I prefer to think otherwise in my deranged little mind. Also, he just worked a walk in his first at-bat. Youks is da man.
Mark Bellhorn just did what Mark Bellhorn does… watch the ball go by. In this case, he let Saarloos make his own mistakes until he gave him a little tailing fastball that Bellhorn didn’t entirely dislike and was able to drop in for a basehit. I imagine Bellhorn’s train of thought in this at-bat went something like this:
“A ball.”
“Oh look another ball I will let that go by.”
“Another ball I will stand here some more.”
“3-0 I will still stand here oh he’s going fastball I see.”
*crack*
“Look at that I am on first base also we have scored two runs.”
Mark Bellhorn does not use commas in his conversations with himself. Obviously.
The curveball Bronson struck Charles Thomas out on (bottom 3rd), in the replay, was a beauty. It ended up being snagged by ‘Tek in the dirt, but when Thomas saw it it was waist high, hanging fat in the air. It dropped down fast, too late for him to do anything but swing and look silly. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: that ‘chicks dig the longball’ stuff is bunk. Strikeouts are so much hotter.
The bottom of the 5th inning is downright hideous, with 9 men batting and Arroyo hitting two of them. It’s that damn breaking ball, not intention, of course… he didn’t lead the league in hit batsmen last year because he’s some kind of crazed headhunter, he led the league in hit batsmen because one of his favored pitches tends to break wildly inside and, well, hit guys. The A’s, to their credit, seem to realize this—they don’t make a fuss over the hit men, just take their bases with some light wincing. The Yanks would have started a brawl by now.
And that's all I've got, other than noting that Remy and Don seemed unnaturally preoccupied with Kirk Saarloos' hair. It is very voluminous and spiky and black. They compared it to Barry Zito's hair. Then Danny Haren sat down next to him and he's got the same hair. Creepy.
Oh yeah, and we all strongly dislike Eric Byrnes, but you have to admit that the video of him tackling the fan who ran out onto the field was bloody hilarious. I must now sleep, PLEASE let me wake up to a Red Sox victory.
12:10 AM
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Monday, May 16, 2005
Not to get too sentimental about this or anything, but it's something that's been an awful long time in the making, and Manny Ramirez's 400th career homerun deserves all the cheesy photoshopping it can get.
I could throw all the numbers at you, how he's the 39th player to reach the 400 homer mark, or how he reached it the 5th fastest to get there, behind Mark McGwire, Babe Ruth, Harmon Killbrew, and Jim Thome. Not such shabby company to be keeping.
Impressive as the numbers are, though, they don't really matter. Manny, in his usual Manny way, has an idea of this: "Just another home run. That's a great moment in my life, but tomorrow it doesn't mean nothing. I'm just going back and trying to hit [another one]."
All I know is that I was in the car with my mother, the back full of new deck chairs, listening to a rising chorus of boos as Manny stepped to the plate. "They're booing Manny," I said, amused, because you only ever get booed in a far distant stadium if you've done something bad (see: Giambi) or if you're too damn good, and there's no doubt about which category Manny, even a slumping Manny, falls into.
Moments later we were listening to Castig and Trupe yell with excitement as "number 400" fell into the seats. "That's what you get when you boo Manny!" we crowed, triumphant, and we high-fived, right there in the car, and I sat back and thought, "Four hundred. COOL," because fuck erudition, Manny had just hit 400 frikking homeruns. Adjectives, as they say, failed me.
Then we got home and put the chairs on the deck and I went in and watched the rest of the game, hoping for that one elusive run to tie it up, wondering why the hell bloody Miguel Olivio was suddenly so good, seeing the replays of the homerun and Manny's subsequent greeting at the plate and in the dugout, the long chain of hugs as he worked his way through the team, because what better way to congratulate the much-celebrated master of the manhug than with 24 (and change, with coaches) of the same?
It's been a long road from 1993, from that first homerun at Yankee Stadium. Home ground has been traded, from the Jake to the Monster. There have been the sartorial changes, from Chief Wahoo on his sleeves to a World Series Champions logo, from the tight pants of a self-conscious rookie to the baggy carelessness (or carefree-ness, depending on how you look at it) of today. His hair has gone from close-shaven to bushy to cornrowed to braided to bushy again to close-shaven to even more voluminous than ever, back to braided, and on to loosely dreadlocked. Hugs with fellow slugger Jim Thome have been traded for hugs with fellow slugger David Ortiz.
Maybe Cleveland has, to date, gotten to see more of Manny, but Boston has certainly seen the best of him. And yes, he's been 'distracted' lately-- given the history, I'd take this with a handful of salt-- but Manny will be Manny, and the reason could be anything. We've complained about this before only to eat our words later in the season. Maybe this time the decline is for real, though, maybe he's getting too old, maybe we're seeing the beginning of the end and it's time to start cursing that bloated contract in earnest.
Regardless. Today Manny hit his 400th homerun. The fan who caught it gave it up without a fuss, and there were hugs all around, and Manny joked about selling it on E-bay, and it was business as usual. Except it wasn't, because that was a homerun 12 years in the making.
Here's to hoping we get to see at least a few more of the same.
OK, that was too sentimental, wasn't it? Meh. If it's laughs you crave, go check out Royals Review, the newest SportsBlogs site about, yes, the Royals. I think the guy writing it is clinically depressed, although it's hard to tell if it's him, or the team he's writing about, or some combination of the two.
"Sadly, the more I think about it, is there anything to be gained by having anyone in a Royals uniform?... there is the service the Royals provide to the rest of MLB, allowing for a round number like 30 teams and helping to make sure that the Cardinals, who as you know have the "best fans in baseball", completely dominate in Missouri."
In any event, go read it, it's fucking hilarious.
EDIT: You know how there was chatter about how Millar had talked to Miguel Olivio before today's game and gave him some help on his batting stance, and then Olivio went ahead and looked awesome in the game? Ha ha ha, what a sad and funny coincidence, you say. Not so much. Lookout Landing went to the trouble of getting images from the game before and the game after Millar talked to Olivio, and damn if the guy didn't go right ahead and change his batting stance to start hitting the ball again. Thanks bunches, Kevin. Someone remind me why the MLB has a rule (albeit an oft-ignored rule) against fraternizing with opposing teams?
1:46 AM
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Thursday, May 12, 2005
The flexor pronator muscle mass. A bundle of muscle fibery joy that most of you ignorant folks have never heard of. OK, most of you normal human beings who have never taken anatomy classes focusing on musculature* have never heard of. It's the thing(s) that Troy Percival has (have) injured. The Tigers official site is saying that he has a 'partial tear of his right flexor pronator muscle mass'.
I've seen a fair amount of chatter about how the big risks the Tigs took this offseason are killing them, or how smart holding onto Ugie seems now, and how OMFG IMA KILL THAT BITCH DOMBROWSKI HE A-RUININ' OUR SEASON WIT HIS FANCY IDEARS OF WHAT MAKES A GOOD FREE AGENT, but I haven't seen anyone talking about what the hell the flexor pronator muscle mass is, or what it means that Percy has hurt it, or anything like that.
Who better to enlighten us all than an art student with no medical knowledge whatsoever? Hey, if I can draw it (see above nattily labeled 'medical illustration'), I can talk about it! I poke dead sharks with pokey metal bits! I am teh smart!
First off, let me say that the Tigers are releasing very little information about the damage that Percy's done here, much like the Sox have been doing with Schilling-- the "It's just a flesh wound!/Black Knight" syndrome, in part, and in part to keep fans from panicking, although would Detroit really panic over this? Relief pitcher on the DL, let's burn the city again! No, that's much more likely in Boston, but since I don't think we've ever burned Boston to the ground, you could say... uh... let's drown the city in molasses again!
Anyways. I mean, the flexor pronator muscle mass, as best as I can tell, is a collection of muscles, not any one single muscle. So when they say that he has a 'partial tear' of this, do they mean he partially tore all of them? Tore a couple and left some intact? Ripped some connective tissue but left actual muscle mass untorn? I don't know, so it's hard to say exactly what impact this will have on Percy.
What does the flexor pronator mass do? As the name suggests, various muscles in the group aid in flexion and pronation of the hand and forearm. Flexion is exactly what it sounds like (bending at the joints, you know), and pronation is the rotation of the arm so that the palm of the hand faces downwards towards the ground when you're holding your arm out in front of you, like the way you would hold it to condescendingly and dismissively pat the head of a misguided child who said that he thought A-Rod was the best player ever.
The flexor carpi ulnaris is responsible for flexion of the wrist and pulling the wrist towards the ulnar side (moving the hand laterally towards the outside... er, like away from your thumb, only not, because the thumb is attached and going along for the ride, but you know what I mean). The palmaris longust is responsible for flexion of the hand, and is the weakest muscle in the group. The flexor carpi radialis is responsible for flexion of the wrist and inward (thumb-side) rotation of the hand. The pronator teres is responsible for pronation of the forearm and helps in flexion of the forearm from the elbow joint. The strongest muscle of the group, the flexor digitorum sublimis, is not pictured in the above diagram because it's a deeper muscle and can't be seen from the surface... it's responsible for the flexion of the middle and distal phalanges of the fingers and also some wrist flexion.
Obviously these (flexion and pronation) are both motions that are important to a pitcher, but Will Carroll has an interesting little entry up about the importance good pronation has on a pitcher's arm health. Basically, good pronation makes a pitcher much less likely to blow out his elbow with his curveball. Carroll asks you to hold a hammer and use it to mimic curveball-throwing, and it's a fun exercise to see what he means about pronation. It's even more fun if you imagine you're using the hammer to beat someone who deserves it.
Blue Cats and Red Sox: *brandishes hammer gleefully*
Keith Foulke: *quails*
BCRS: Ha ha! Fear my hammery wrath, gopher ball boy!
Foulke: Oh my gosh, please don't dash my brains out!
BCRS: *violently bangs about with the hammer*
Foulke: Noooooooooooooo...
BCRS: Shut up, bitch, I'm learnin' about pronation!
Erm. *cough*
Anyways, I did a little judicious research on the flexor pronator muscle mass. When it comes to a pitcher, it's mostly important in how it relates to the elbow... it seems to have less problems with wrist flexion, and more with elbow pronation.
There's this important ligament, called the ulnar collateral ligament (UCL), which is the primary stabilizing ligament of the elbow for a pitcher. Sometimes pain will show up in the flexor pronator muscle mass because it is acting as a secondary support to an injured or failing UCL.
Since we don't know exactly what's wrong with Percy, I'm worried that this is a possibility. He may not need surgery for a partially torn flexor pronator muscle mass, but there could be trouble if he's wrecked his UCL.
You know what a wrecked UCL means? Yup. You guessed it (or not, but I'll give you guys the benefit of the doubt).
Tommy John surgery.
There's also the possibility that he's been throwing his curveball with poor mechanics, repeatedly stressing his arm in a particular way that can pull his elbow joint apart. I know Percy had that trouble with an inflamed elbow last year, but I don't know what it was exactly. If it was anything along these lines, his UCL could have stayed intact, but wouldn't have been able to support his arm medially (on the side facing in to his body) at all, and the flexor pronator muscle mass would have been open to strain. If his current injury is in fact solely to his flexor pronator muscle mass, this could be the reason for it. After long years of abuse (which Percy has certainly had), a single hard throw can cause this sort of injury, which would also tally with the story of him hurting himself while warming up.
It's hard to say anything further... this is all just the idle speculation of someone who knows less about medicine than Manny Ramirez knows about the gender distinction characteristics of myrtle warblers anyways. I just thought it was an odd injury, not your basic 'fatigued elbow' or 'frayed rotator cuff' or 'exploded knee' or 'Nomared groin' or 'errrrm, parasite' sort of thing, and it seemed like someone ought to at least attempt to take a look at it.
If that attempt gave us an excuse for more bad drawings, then so be it!
By the way, kids, in case you couldn't guess, this is what happens when both your teams have an off-day at the same time. *insane twitch*
And since I can't think of a good way to close this out,
Ovenbird! Seiurus aurocapillus. Click for big. Ovenbirds are awesome. And they don't throw sketchy curveballs. So everyone wins.
*Obviously art anatomy classes focus on skeletal and muscular structure. No sense in studying anything except what you can see.
9:37 PM
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Wednesday, May 11, 2005
You know, if it wasn't for the red jerseys, you could be forgiven for thinking that was a photo from a playoff game.
But nope, it's still just May. These are the Boston Red Sox, though, so things like 'still just May' don't apply... you can't say "but it's still just spring training" or "but he hasn't actually been injured yet" or "I always trust the manager's opinion implicitly" without someone getting extremely irate and belligerent. Which, in my angry New England opinion, is just as it should be. Anything less would be baseball apathy.
So, Jason Varitek, you are a god among mere mortals. Your play-calling has inspired haikus and your thighs have inspired limericks (dirty ones). The A-Rod brawl raised you from the status of a hero to a legend. The captaincy sealed it. This walk-off homer, the second for the team in two nights, in the face of all that, seems so trite. So miniscule. So utterly unimportant.
Which is too bad, because I'll be beaming all day tomorrow because of it.
Can someone explain to me why the little leprechaun man, aka Bobby Kielty, hit us so well? I mean, the last time I checked, the little leprechaun man was a pale fellow with bright red hair who got his photograph taken when Barry Zito felt like taking his camera to the bathroom with him and who couldn't hit any more than a real leprechaun could, not this guy who can batter our pitching and ruffle Eric Byrnes' hair in the dugout after a late-inning homerun. No.
The pitcher formerly known as Barry Zito? I think I have an explanation. We all know that men don't think with their heads, they think with their groinal bits. Now, look at how Zito was wearing his pants today. He seems to have basically spraypainted them on. Here's the hypothesis: I think the pants are cutting off the flow of blood to Zito's groin, and without any oxygen getting to his thinking center, he's unable to pitch. I think this could be true.
Hey, Will Carroll I'm not.
The Tigers also won today, coming from behind and generally covering up the fact that Ledezma had his usual shaky, palsied outing. There were some freakish scores for the Tigs, including a wild pitch that bonked off of the helmet of the umpire and went bouncing out of the sight of the Texas catcher, allowing two runs to score. We were also treated to the full 'Nook Logan show', as the Texas announcers put it-- getting on base, stealing a base, and then coming around to home on a relatively weak hit because he's so fast he can do things like that.
The Farns got in the game for the first time since doing whatever the hell he did to his arms a number of games ago. He had a 1-2-3 inning... I think his velocity might not have been the scorching heat it generally has, but I figure he needs some time to work back up to that. I do love me some Farns.
There's more to chat about, like the resignation of Tony Pena and how Zach Greinke wandered around Baltimore at 4 am in shock and sadness when he first heard, and THE INJURY TO TROY PERCIVAL THAT'S GOING TO KEEP HIM OUT FOR 4-6 WEEKS WHAT A FUCKING HOOT, but it's nearly midnight and wouldn't you know, I've got to be up at 4:30 am again. Bird banding is more fun than I ever imagined and you learn tons, but when you live about an hour away from the sanctuary, the hours can be kind of brutal.
So, to close (pun unintended but intentionally left in place):
Everyone all together now:
YEAH KEITH, WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING FIGURE IT OUT AND GET BACK TO US?
11:37 PM
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Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Do we all remember the Blue Cats and Red Sox corner system? If not, maybe you ought to refresh your memory. Today we check up and see the new inductees to each corner.
Current residents of the Red Sox Corner
1. Kevin Millar. Two homeruns in two nights, one of them the walk-off homer to win a strange, shoddily played game against Oakland? Wearing an inexplicable little red neck band instead of a regular turtleneck like the rest of humanity? Switching to stirruped socks? Allowing Dale Sveum and Youks to molest his hair at the same time? Inspiring Manny to give out shoulder massages on the field? Kevin Millar most assuredly belongs in the Red Sox corner.
2. Everyone on the Detroit Tigers pitching staff, except for Ledezma. Bondy's been absolutely amazing, Maroth had a solid inning-eating run his last time out, Nate pitched 8 innings of scoreless ball, and JJ lost today despite going 8 innings and pitching, if not great, at least not atrociously, which is kind of a big step for him. They're all sent to the Red Sox corner. L'dezzie... well, we're not here to talk about that sort of thing. And by 'that sort of thing' I mean 'a 6.59 ERA', but la la la la not talking about it. Everyone else to the Red Sox corner.
3. Jorge Cantu. For this. Thanks, Cantu. The AL Central gives you hugs and cuddles you right into the Red Sox corner.
4. Jeremi Gonzalez. I said it before and I'll say it again-- we had absolutely no right to expect anything at all from him, and he's been an actual pitcher. A pretty good one. It makes no sense, it may very well prove later in the year to have been nothing but a small-sample-size fluke, but for right now JeremI belongs in the Red Sox corner.
5. 
Brown thrasher, Toxostoma rufum, with a very distinct "Let the fuck go of my fuckin' legs" expression on his face. Click for big. Awesome bird in every way, he gets the Red Sox corner.
Current residents of the Blue Cats Corner
1. Troy Percival's flexor pronator muscle mass. Ha ha ha, did the Tigers sign any big free agents this offseason? I DON'T KNOW, SINCE THERE SURE AREN'T ANY ON THE FIELD THESE DAYS. It would be abso-fucking-lutely hilarious if it wasn't so, well, not. This is funny in the 'laugh hysterically until you begin sobbing uncontrollably' kind of way. Random bundle of flayed muscles in Percy's forearm, you're in the Blue Cats corner.
1a. To this section of the Blue Cats corner we can also add Magglio Fucking Ordonez's mystery hernia, Omar Infante's is-it-hurt-or-is-it-not-hurt shoulder, Bobby Higginson's inflamed elbow, Kyle Farnsworth's tendinitis, and Carlos Guillen's Surgically Repaired (and now apparently fluid-fiiled) knee.
2. Mark Bellhorn. For god's sake, man, get a haircut. It doesn't make you look cool and hot, it makes you look like a homeless person who's been smoking up with Danny Haren. And you know what, ditch the socks. Get some of those stirrup socks that Millar and Trotter started wearing. Anything to get you hitting actual, you know, balls in play that also aren't outs. Blue Cats corner for you until you do these things.
3. Alex Rodriguez. Look, A-Rod, Jeter obviously is not enjoying himself in that image of much wrongness. Leave the poor guy alone. Also, stop with the hitting already. It's getting annoying.
4. 
Weasel, not sure exactly what kind. He got into the bird banding station today and caused all kinds of havoc, killing a bird and spraying the place with foul-smelling weasel musk before fleeing out an open window. Personally I thought he was awesomeness times 10, but then again I've always been a bit of a mammologist. The other birders acted like he was the Child of Satan incarnate, so he gets the Blue Cats corner.
5. Being told by two separate people whose taste I usually trust that Ichiro is not hot. Ladies! I hold you in such high esteem! How can you deny the hotness of Ichiro? Um, hello? And, oh, uh, yeah, also, hello??? I don't understand, I really just don't.
And to make matters worse, not only did they both go on to deny the hotness of Pudge Rodriguez (um, hello, are you people on crack?) Amy claimed that not only was Ichiro not hot, he was less hot than this man. Someone's crazy here, folks, that's all I've got to say about that.
11:10 PM
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Monday, May 09, 2005
What a weekend for baseball this was. I watched the entire Tigers game on Saturday, as it was a late-night game and I was home by the time it started. On Sunday I watched both Red Sox games and the start of the Tigers game in between them (about an hour's worth). Sure it's kind of boring being home from college when all your friends are still toiling away, but it certainly is conducive to baseball watching.
Tigers
Saturday's Tigers/Angels game was a pitching duel and a thing of beauty. Bartolo Colon, he of the rotund midsection and clown hair, had his first complete game as an Angel and only allowed two runs, one of which was manufactured in a little mini-rally that began with a called balk that may or may not have actually happened. Jeremy Bonderman gave up one run over 8 innings with 8 strikeouts. Troy Percival, in his first game pitching against the Angels since spending all 10 years of his major league career with them, had a shut-out 9th.
There was not a single base on balls all night long. The only free pass in the entire game came when Bondy whacked Vlad Guerrero high on the tricep in the bottom of the 7th.
Lest you think that the game was quiet and uninteresting, however...
The one run given up by Bondy was a homerun to rookie Dallas McPherson (who earlier in the season found himself in the amusing position of being up to bat against Oakland relief pitcher Huston Street... Dallas vs. Huston [pronounced 'Houston'], geddit?). It was McPherson's first homerun and I expect he was feeling pretty good about that.
The startling thing was, after he got back to the dugout, the camera caught him slapping something on the back of his batting helmet. A big, square sticker or something. The Angels announcers (I was watching on MLB.TV, Angels broadcast) were confused. "What... what is that? Can we get a closeup on that?" "I think it's a photo... it looks like a photo, maybe?" The camera zoomed in, went fuzzy, refocused.
"I... I think it's a photo of the rally monkey."
The rookie gets his first homerun and slaps a big photo of the rally monkey on the back of his helmet. The announcers started debating whether it was something the veterans had told him to do or what, because they'd never seen it done before, but I was in stunned amazement, two parts amused and one part mortified. I still don't know what to think about it. I mean, it was bloody hilarious, but I thought MLB was particular about modifying equipment like that? Maybe I'm thinking of the NFL. I think I am thinking of the NFL. Anyways, obviously that was a story that absolutely needed to be shared.
Also hilarious was how the Angels team reacted to Troy Percival returning as a competitor (after, you know, being an Angel for ever and ever). According to the Angels announcers, who related the story with many an indulgent chuckle, before the first game of the series the Angels set up a big safety cone in the Angels bullpen with Percy's number taped to the back of it. They also set up a long series of big tape arrows from the visitors clubhouse to the Angels bullpen, showing Percy how to get back there.
At the end of the tape arrows were two double-cheeseburgers.
Which Percival, good naturedly, ate after the game.
This is pretty hilarious on every level, not least because, while he's no Bartolo Colon, Percy isn't exactly the sveltest of fellows.
There was also that whole business of both Craig Monroe and Alan Trammell getting thrown out of the game on the same play. It happened like this: Craigger hit a tough ball to field, and Orlando Cabrera made a slick ranging play and threw Craigger out at first. Only, it was a terribly close play, and the slow motion replays showed that Craigger and the ball seemed to get there at exactly the same time... it really and honestly was a call that could have gone either way. Craigger exploded in rage at being called out and slammed his helmet on the ground. Ejected.
Tram, furious, raced out of the dugout and began berating the ump, or perhaps 'giving him information', as Trot Nixon would say. "I was disappointed in (umpire Derryl Cousins) for ejecting Craig instead of giving him an equipment violation that would have been a fine," Trammell said. "I took offense to that, I didn't think it qualified for an ejection. I've seen a lot worse." That came out later. All I saw at the time was Tram railing at the ump... and railing at the ump... and yelling at the ump... and the ump seemed pretty resigned to it and willing to let Tram get all the shoutiness out of his system. It almost looked as though the guy was actively trying to avoid throwing Tram out of the game, he let it go on for quite a while.
Then Tram took off his hat (revealing an enormous balding spot on the back of his head... Alan Trammell needs to always wear a hat) and threw it on the ground, and of course the ump had to eject him then. At the time I wasn't sure why Tram would do something like that, even in a fit of managerial anger, but I hadn't seen Craigger throw his helmet and didn't realize that was why he had been ejected. It all makes sense now.
Throughout all this Cabrera had his glove up in front of his face, giggling behind it. Dammit, Cabby, I miss you.
But the story, at the end of the game, was Jeremy Bonderman. The Angels announcers* seemed more impressed by Bondy's performance than they were by Colon's... they kept saying over and over how young he was, just 22, and how well he was pitching, and oh my can you believe it.
Percy: "I'll tell you right now, he's probably the most special starting pitcher that I have seen. He's 22-years-old with the maturity of a Roger Clemens. They don't come around very often. I've been impressed with him since the first day I met him."
Craigger: "We talk about the Bondo Show... He talks it, man. But he also walks it. He just goes out and does it."
I know it's still early in the season, I know it's still early in his career, but I'm already at the slavering, vaguely rabid and insane "GIVE 'IM THE CY YOUNG HE'S THE BEST PITCHER EVER!" stage when it comes to Jeremy Bonderman.
Yesterday's game saw a very solid outing from Mike Maroth (one run given up) and a very pisspoor outing from the collective Angels pitching staff (10 runs given up by the lot of them, I believe 7 by the starter). Technically Jarrod Washburn was the starting pitcher, but he gave up a homerun to Brandon Inge in the very first at-bat of the game and was gone after 2 1/3 innings, so I'm not sure that even counts.
I didn't see much of the game, as it was sandwiched between the two Red Sox games, but I did see Bingey's homer and Pudge's bases-loaded triple (scored three runs, leaving Pudge on third (don't worry kids, he came across home shortly thereafter). Yes, the Tigers hit triples away from Comerica too. Imagine that.
For some fun perspective on what sort of a game this was, the top of the 3rd inning, when the Tigers were batting, lasted half an hour. The bottom of the third lasted about 5 minutes.
As for the Angels, they've been living this season on pitching, as their entire lineup has been dismal at the plate. That's what happened on Friday, when Escobar went very deep into the game and Ledezma was not so hot. That's what happened on Saturday, when Bonderman just barely outdueled Colon. Neither game was spectacular offensively for the Angels, their pitching was what kept them in it (and Ledezma's been having some serious issues lately, you'd have to be dead to not knock him around a little bit). On Sunday their pitching finally imploded and they had no offense whatsoever to pick them up. They can't live like this forever, it's going to come back to bite them on their simian asses if they don't start hitting before the season is out, if it hasn't already started to do so.
All that, of course, is the reason for that 'intelligent' and 'pertinent' little doodle at the top of this entry.
Red Sox
The rain-out on Saturday forced the double-header on Sunday, and it certainly was a weird one. With the temperatures in the 40s, the sharp wind in from center field making Fenway act like a larger park than it actually is, the driving rain in the second game, the parade of relatively unknown pitchers, Mark Bellhorn at shortstop, Kevin Youkilis batting third... were these the Boston Red Sox?
The first game once again featured Jeremi Gonzalez** doing much, much better than we had any right to expect when we called him up from the minors. He's here as a stopgap measure, he's supposed to keep us vaguely in games, not win them like a bona fide major league pitcher. Oh, he's not a number one or two guy, but he's playing better than plenty of number 5 guys around the league have been.
The second game saw the Boston introduction of Wade Miller, who also did about 5 billion times better than we had any right to expect. I was hoping to see him throwing in the mid-to-high 80s, not necessarily strikes but not giving up booming homeruns. Instead, he goes 5 innings (more than fine, no need to strain him right away) and strikes out 6, hitting 95 at one point on the radar gun and living happily in the low 90s much of the rest of the time. I'm more than pleased. He, like Tram, needs to keep his hat on at all times, though... the thinning and receding hair really detracts from his Steely Gaze of Death.
It also saw the introduction of young Cla Meredith***, up from AAA Pawtucket but just barely, having only pitched in one game there last Monday. Basically we pulled him up straight from AA. And yes, he'd been quite good in the minors, but why would we put a 21-year-old, entirely unproven kid in a tied game for his major league debut? Sox Prospects has his estimated time of arrival in the majors as 2006, and even that seems soon but was no doubt based on how bloody good he'd been. I realize that injuries and the immense suckitude of Blaine Neal caused some shake-ups... I can only hope that this treatment of Cla won't wreck him.
I say that because, coming into a tied game, he walked two men to load the bases (there was already a man on) and gave up a grand slam to Richie Sexson to give the Ms the runs they would need to ultimately win the game. Remy tonight pointed out (correctly) that you almost can't fault him for the Sexson hit, it was a pretty good pitch that just ran into a better batter. What you can and should fault him for were those two walks before it. He had some more walks tonight (and gave up 2 runs, but in a game where the Sox had already scored 13 that didn't matter too much), so the concern remains.
All that said, the kid is about 2 years older than me, and he's pitching in the major leagues. Poorly, but there he is. I'm puttering along at Michigan doing bad art and holing up in the Natural History museum in my free time while this kid is throwing balls to Jason Varitek and hanging out in the dugout with Tim Wakefield. Where did I go wrong? Alas.
As for the Mariners... well, they are what they are. Relatively weak pitching, I didn't see anything particularly impressive (although Wolverines will be pleased to note that Michigan grad JJ Putz did pretty well), and that offense has been having perplexing issues. Beltre is not nearly as hot as his contract would seem to say he should be... from what I read of the Mariners blogs I gather he's been a bit of free swinger lately and not a great one for taking walks. Willie Bloomquist (who started in both games in the double header) has a worse batting average than that of National League pitchers as a whole (a .138/.166/.172 line versus the .141/.174/.175 line for the pitchers).
And then there's Ichiro... is there anything that guy can't do? Hit? Well, we all know how he can do that. Run? Only the speediest guy on the team. Field? Wonderful range, no fear of hitting or climbing the wall, an arm like a cannon and absurd accuracy on his throws. I watched him chuck a ball out of the outfield to the catcher, straight to him... the catcher literally didn't have to move. The power he gets on his throws is ridiculous. So no, there is absolutely nothing Ichiro can't do and I don't care if he's on a team I couldn't care less about, I love the little guy. I mean, how can you not?
Tonight
Big win for the Sox tonight over the A's, 13-5. Wake looked a little wild but that's what you get when you're throwing the knuckleball. Haren looked a little wild too, but his only excuses are youth and suckitude (remember knocking him around a bit in Game 1 of the World Series? Yup. He came to Oakland as part of that Mark Mulder deal). He also managed to vie with Mark Bellhorn for the coveted 'guy on the field who looks the most like a homeless person and/or stoned college student' award.
I don't know what's wrong with the A's bats, except that there is a problem. Tonight Remy said that they were getting men on base and simply not bringing them in-- he said they were having issues with clutch hitting, which we all know doesn't really exist, at least not in the long run. Athletics Nation phrases the problem a little more realistically, citing the atrocious slugging percentage of the A's. If they get a hit, it's a single. You can beat up on really, really bad pitching that way, but a half-decent pitcher just isn't going to give up single after single after single and allow you to score all the time. Oh well. It's not my problem. You just have to feel bad for a guy like Rich Harden, who has a 1.94 ERA but is stuck with a 2-2 record.
The problem tonight seemed to be Oakland's defense, though, as the Sox put up 9 (yes, 9) unearned runs. Hatteberg had a double-error (muffing the pickup on a ball and then throwing it wild) and Scutaro had an error at short where he failed to make a somewhat difficult scoop.
Millar, Mueller and Bellhorn all pledged to put $5 each in a pot every day until one of them got a homerun, at which time the guy who hit it would get the pot. Of course the very same day sees KFK rip one out onto the Monster, so Kevin's up $15. They said they were going to give the money to charity, but I don't know what charity you'd give 15 bucks too, seems like it would be more trouble than it's worth.
I hear tell Manny got hit in the head (or the ball hit his shoulder and ricocheted into the side of his helmet, I'm not sure which), but I didn't see it because I missed the start of the game. Oy. I hope he's alright.
I only saw the very end of the Tigers/Rangers game on Gameday, but I note that Nate Robertson threw 8 innings of scoreless ball, which was far better than I expected him to do tonight. Good for you, Nate. The only two runs of the game came in the 9th inning, when Dmitri got on base and Craigger tripled (yes, yet another Tigers triple) to bring him home, followed by a Carlos Pena single that brought Craigger home.
Yes. This is always a nice thing to see.
*I have no idea who they are, by the by, but they were quite good... impartial, level-headed, and gave lots of information all game long, including whatever interesting anecdotes they thought of at the time. Sometimes they seemed a little too calm and unfazed by the proceedings, but I definitely took away a favorable impression of them. I know we all love Don and Remy to pieces, but if you're a fan of another team trying to watch the game and all MLB.TV or Extra Innings is showing is the Red Sox broadcast... well, unless you love them like a Sox fan does, I can't imagine it's all that fun to listen to them crack up in hysterics for an entire half-inning. I'm just sayin'. These Angels guys were likeable even to a Tigers fan.
**According to his ESPN profile, his real name is Geremis Segundo Gonzalez. Wonder why he changed it? I mean, Geremis, Jeremi, was that really necessary?
***Pronounced 'Clay', his real name is Olise Claiborne Meredith III. I assume it's short for the 'Claiborne' bit, although I can't work out why he wouldn't leave the 'i' so his name would be 'Clai' and slightly more resembling how it's pronounced. Heck, he probably could've thrown the 'y' in there without much trouble. I keep wanting to say 'Clah'. Oh well. And wouldn't you think that one Olise Claiborne Meredith was enough? There had to be three of them?
11:26 PM
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Sunday, May 08, 2005
Why My Mom is Better Than 10 Red Sox
1. Jason Varitek: There is never any debate necessary about the worth of my mom's lengthy contract.
2. Mark Bellhorn: My mom does not strike out with reckless abandon.
3. Manny Ramirez: My mom never goofs off in the field and misses an easy out (or forgets to pick my brother up after school).
4. Curt Schilling: Screw pitching on a bloody ankle, my mom gave birth to me. Beat that, Schilling.
5. Tim Wakefield: My mom is consistently awesome, not reliant on a pitch that is by its very nature unreliable.
6. Johnny Damon: My mom is smart and articulate enough to write an entire book by herself if she was so inclined. No lameass ghost writers here.
7. Keith Foulke: My mom is solid in the late innings and never makes you frantic with worry that she'll give up a booming homerun in a close game.
8. Kevin Millar: My mom has never done a goofy ad for fried chicken.
9. Terry Francona: The only time my mom rocks back and forth with insane worry is when she was teaching me and/or my brother how to drive.
10. David Ortiz: Both Ortiz and my mom sometimes inspire in me the great, immense urge to HUG. Unlike David Ortiz, if I want to hug my mom, I can.
Saw an insane Tigers game today, absolutely nuts, and they finally won a run-one game, and Bondy looked immense, but I'll talk about it in a later post.
Happy Mother's Day, everyone.
12:34 AM
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Friday, May 06, 2005
Thanks, Detroit News!
That about sums up the series, doesn't it? Brandon Inge- face of pain. I tell you kids, I know full well that he is still adjusting to his position at third base, but he sorely tried my love for him in this series. Those errors... well, enough has been said on them already, I'm sure. In fact, it was altogether difficult for a corner-infield-lovin' gal such as myself, since Carlos Pena didn't exactly distinguish himself at the plate either (aside from those two homeruns, and how does one manage to get two homeruns yet still be a dismal batter? Oh, Carlos).
So the series is over, and I can stop tearing my hair out and having violently disorienting swings of affiliation in the middle of innings*. I have to admit that I was rooting for the Tigers to win today, both because I think they needed the momentum more than the Sox did and because I wanted the series to be split, exactly like my brain. I don't think I have a corpus callosum anymore. I now have two brains in my skull.
Brain 1: OMG Arroyo is pitching so well! He's throwing a... oh no, mustn't mention it!
Brain 2: NO-HITTER. HE'S THROWING A NO-HITTER. NO-HITTER NO-HITTER NO-HITTER. You hear me, jinxing gods? No-hitter in progress down here! Bronson Arroyo! No-hitter! Right here!
Brain 1: SHUT UP, BITCH.
Brain 2: Haven't you won enough? All I want is an even series. Nasty road trip coming up, c'mon, we need the momentum.
Brain 1: Momentum my middle neuron! We're ages behind the Orioles, we can't afford to squander any wins.
Brain 2: Carlos Guillen yyaaaaayyyy! This is why you are an All Star, Carlos! Oh my happy cerebral bits!
Brain 1: You jinxed it, you horrible hunk of gray matter. I can't believe this. We have one run off of Jason Johnson. Who the fuck is Jason Johnson? I don't even know who this guy is and we have one run off of him. Unacceptable.
Brain 2: He is a perfectly good pitcher thank you very much. I refuse to feel guilty for breaking up the no-hitter. Tigaz need a win here, baby!
Brain 1: Yeah, whatever. I'll be here when you get back down from the land of delusion.
It wasn't a very happy fun place inside my head during this series. Er. In case you couldn't tell.
Just a few thoughts from this last game, because it's rather later than I thought it was and is only getting later**.
For the Sox, obviously it's not good that Edgah was taken out of the game after letting his tender fingers get crushed between the head of his bat and a speedy baseball... or is it? Perhaps his mere absence from the lineup will reduce the number of double plays and inning-ending outs plaguing the Sox. Who's his replacement? Ramon Vasquez? OK, maybe not.
And what in the world was up with Kevin Millar breaking his bats? Well, his bat, and then his backup bat, and then Doug Mirabelli's backup bat, and then Curt Schilling's air cast which he was using as a bat because no one else in the dugout would let him use their bats... and all this just so we could hear Don Orsillo say, "Kevin Millar with new wood standing in the on-deck circle." Hee hee hee.
The pitchers for this last game were impressive. Arroyo's no-hitter into the 7th was a painfully beautiful thing to watch-- I wish like hell he'd done it against any other team in baseball, because then it wouldn't have that little twinge of bitterness at the back of it. Oh well. It was amusing to watch the Red Sox messageboard I was on carefully skitter away from any mention of it to avoid The Jinx, while the Tigers 'board I was on at the same time was busy announcing loudly and often that there was a NO-HITTER going on, and would the Jinx Gods please take note of this fact.
JJ wasn't throwing a no-hitter (or a 'no-no', as they're called in the headlines, retarded as that sounds) but he was putting in an equally impressive performance, giving up just one run against an offense that has the potential to be very damaging. For him to go toe-to-toe with an on-fire Arroyo for as long as he did was, if not as aesthetically pleasing as the high-leg-kick fueled no-hitter, just as impressive. He even managed to survive the obligatory early game 'reading of the list of previous diabetic major leaguers' by Don and Remy.
It's painful to see the kind of outing JJ had wasted by a lack of bat power, especially since you can't necessarily count on him to have that kind of stuff again consistently this season. The lineup was not helped by the fact that Tram refused to deviate from his preset plan. He wanted to sit Pudge and Rondell to rest them ahead of time. The game before, Craigger did something inexplicable to his groin and had to sit out today. But Tram still sat both Pudge and Rondell as well, meaning that the Tigers lineup had guys like the hitless wonder that is 44th Round out there battling gamely next to Bobby 'I heart pop flyouts' Higginson.
Not exactly the lineup you want to see when you're trying to break open a pitcher's duel. And that's it, I wash my hands of this series, I'm going to back to rooting for all my boys like a normal human being.
Now the awesome stuff.
MLB.com is doing a Mother's Day event, where one ball player from each team writes a little missive about how much they love their mother or wife. It's David Ortiz writing about his wife Tiffany for the Sox and Nate Robertson writing to his mom for the Tigers, and is there anything cuter than that? NO, THERE PROBABLY IS NOT.
"Tiffany, I think you're a great mom. I feel so happy and safe knowing that when I'm not around, our kids are safe with their mom. You have a great personality. I don't think anybody can take care of kids better than you do. Love, David."
"For you, Mother, and all you have done for me. For your sacrificed time and for your support throughout my life. For giving all you had to make things better for me, thank you. Happy Mother's Day! I love you, your No. 2 son -- Nathan."
Ohmygodcute! And Nate looks like he's going to the prom with his mother, aaawwww. Ahem. Anyways, if you look at the National League guys, you'll notice that the Cardinals representative is Jason Marquis, and the Pirates rep is John Grabow. How many Jewish ballplayers are there in the entire league? Not many. But out of the 30 ballplayers selected to praise their moms or wives, two are Jewish. Obviously this is because Jewish men love their moms! John Grabow's is particularly adorable, he put in a photo of his mom with him when he was a baby. I'm plotzing here.
Lastly, I have no idea what Razor Magazine is, some men's magazine or something, but their most recent issue has a feature in it with baseball players all gussied up like male fashion models. I'm not sure if the magazine is based on Oakland or what, but the guys they used are Mark Mulder, Eric Chavez, Bobby Crosby, and Keith Foulke... that's current and past A's, see. I don't know. I admit I was surprised to see that lineup... I mean, Mulder= hot (if unfortunately of evil collegiate origin), Chavvy= hot, Crosby= holy fuck, Foulke= uh, well, Beth, I guess you're not alone after all.
Personally speakin' it's Crosby who kills me in this set, but I figure I may as well play to my audience, so, behold Keith Foulke in all his well-dressed glory.
Also, if you look at that little gallery, you'll notice that Mulder and Crosby both have shots with girls hanging off of them, while Chavvy and Foulke both have girls merely near them. Heh. Three guesses which ones are married and which ones aren't here.
EDIT: OK, it turns out that Brandon Inge has been playing with strep throat. Could explain quite a bit. All you Bingey-doubters, sit down. I love Tram's reaction to the news that Inge had been playing with strep, though:
"Uh, didn't know that," Tigers manager Alan Trammell said.
I love you, Tram.
*Until August, anyhow.
**I was writing this at around 3:30 am. I fell asleep before I finished it up. You should see the last few sentences I had written... utterly incoherent. Hilarious.
3:19 PM
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Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Guess who did, as a matter of fact, wake up at 4:30 this morning? Yes, I did this very thing. And do you know what? It was a slow day up at Plum Island, and the bugs were a-hoppin', and I was the youngest one there by at least 20 years, and and and. You know what? It was worth it.
YES I GOT TO SEE THE BLACK AND WHITE WARBLER (Mniotilta varia) UP CLOSE AND YOU DID NOT. Only my favorite species of warbler in the entire phylogentical spectrum of warblers, beat that! I don't need you, sleep! I HAVE WARBLER. Oh yeah, you can click that to see the awesome, awesome warbler somewhat larger.
I stopped at Dunkin Donuts on the way up, because that is what you do when you get up early and are not on a college campus that does not have a Dunkin Donuts anywhere on it *cough*Michigan*cough*. The very early morning crowd at DD is always a hoot in Swampscott, since it's mostly crotchety old folk sitting around wheezing and conversing about town politics or the numbers of lobsters being pulled in recently or those fuckers over in Marblehead and suchlike. Probably the same as any DD anywhere in Massachusetts (insert your own quaint yet powerfully hated rival town for 'Marblehead').
So I stagger into the orange-and-purple land of bliss this morning, the sun only just coming up, exhausted eyes hidden behind my Mike Timlin bug sunglasses. I nod to the collection of 8 or 9 elders holding court in the corner, and give the painfully cheery lass behind the counter my order. I then notice the strange murming sound coming from the aforementioned corner court.
"Halama." "HA-lama." "Ha-LA-ma." "Hala-MA." "HA-lama?" "Halamalama." "What kinda name is that?" "Lamahama?" "Halamamama?" And on and on and on.
Kids, I nearly died, it was so hilarious and New England and old person. 5:15 am on a Wednesday morning in Dunkin Donuts, and the old people in the corner are grousing about the name of last night's starting pitcher for the Red Sox. God bless us all.
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Just want to dump a few links and things on you all before the game tonight, since I'm not sure I accurately conveyed how stressful this series is for me last night-- MY HEART SHE IS ACHIN'. And tonight it's Wake, whom I adore, versus Nate 'I have yet to think of a better nickname so I guess we're going with Gator' Robertson, whom I like quite a bit. Whimper whimper, sob sob and all that. Anywho, between the bird banding and that, I may or may not actually be up to posting after the game, so I'm getting this business done now.
Links!
You know how I said Sarah (Rallycuff) was going to Comerica? Well, she went. And she had quite the adventure. Hee hee. HA HA HA HA HA oh my god Sarah I am so sorry. Ha ha ha. Oh wow. Let me just say that I've been into Detroit a bunch of times and I've never even interacted with any of the cops ah ha ha ha ha oh god that's hilarious. Go read.
I love you, The Brushback! Ozzie Guillen would totally do this. I have no doubts in my mind. Also, file this one under "It's funny because it's true". Heh. Parody is our friend.
In the "you should have seen these already but just in case you haven't I will beat you over the head with it because it is that awesome" file. I have already read everything in The Dugout a billion times, yet I keep going back and rereading them all again, because damn. Damn, that stuff is hilarious. They need to update more swiftly, as I have the patience of a hyperactive kitten. Behold. Also, Theo could probably do this sort of thing if he really wanted to. This hurt more last year. Making fun of the Yankees will never get old. Fear not Tigers fans, there is something for you as well! I tell you kids, this one kills me every. damn. time. OK, stopping now before I link to all of them. You get the point.
Beth read Johnny Damon's shit book so that we, the literary snob public, would not have to. Then she posted excerpts of the good bits on the internet so that we wouldn't miss anything through our literary snobbery. Clicky to read Johnny Damon on winning the World Series, Scott Kazmir, Curtis Leskanic, crazy clubhouse antics and harassing Youks, Cabby and the Latin contingent, the infamous CHB, team flights, Curt 'it's just a bone bruise, not a stress fracture-- whoops, it's a stress fracture!' Schilling, Keith 'I suck I suck I suck I suck' Foulke, and high school. Thanks, Beth. You just saved me from having to read that entire trainwreck of a 'novel' to get these gems. Highly appreciated.
Billfer is too smart for his own damn good. Interested in seeing how the way a team fares in one-run games affects their overall performance? Billfer will explain it for you, with charts and things that make a modicum of sense to even my sad little brain.
Similarly (in that they both involve, y'know, actual research), Kevin Millar's recent spate of beanings at the plate led to a speculation over at Empyreal on whether or not replacement players (during that whole, y'know, strike business) such as Millar were hit by pitches more often these days. A sort of ongoing retribution and whatnot. This prompted Twitch to take a look at it, and she (she? I think she) determined that the answer was 'yes, barely'. The Singapore Sox Fan also took a look at the data and drew some conclusions. Cool beans.
The best 2005 season preview that you won't understand a word of. I'm guessing young aces for the top panel (note the Cubbie plane crashing and burning, poor bastards), free agency stud acquisitions for the middle one (OMG Roger Clemens EW thanks Korean cartoonist for scarring my eyes), and injury concerns for the last one (I happen to know that the baby thing represents injury, it's like a Korean cartoon convention or something. Also, the Magglio thing is not funny).
There's a second one here which I'm less sure about. The tree of potential or something for the top panel (?), something about taking the scraps out of the junkyard for the middle one (Tito, true to form, is in his red sweatshirt-- I love you, mystery Korean cartoonist), and I'm very unclear on the bottom panel.. digging themselves out of a hole? You kids tell me.
Are you all about MICHIGAN FOOTBALL? Or Wolverine sports in general? If not, you are A BAD HUMAN BEING AND YES ROB I'M LOOKING AT YOU. Ahem. Anyways, if you are, perhaps you should be checking out the mgoblog. Like M Go Blue, geddit? That being what we say in the land of superior education and yes also football. *coughs delicately* He sometimes talks about basketball, which is a damn shame, but it's a pretty entertaining read despite this. Especially if you bleed (or at the very least occasionally hallucinate in) Maize and Blue.
This is kind of mean, but even if you're a Tigers fan you can laugh at it. I know I did. It's just so damn clever. And if you're a Red Sox fan you should be peeing your pants in glee here.
So much for a quick entry, huh? Anyways, one last thing. Remember that play I was talking about a few entries back? Take Me Out? The play about the gay baseball player? The one that won the Tony for best play in 2003? Yeah, it's in Boston until June 11. I want to see. Who wants to see it with me? You know you want to see it with me. C'mon kids, we need to make this happen. Ladies, I have only three words for you:
Naked. Shower. Scene.
Email's over on the side if someone actually wants to get together for this one. I am an art student! I am like morally obligated to be culturally enriched by going to plays and, uh, stuff. Also, play about baseball. Also, naked shower scene.
And as my sleep deprivation becomes glaringly apparent, I shall close. Let's hope for a good game tonight, and may the best club win (and the other best club will lose but only because that is how it has to be not because they are any less best).
4:15 PM
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Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Has Manny suddenly learned how to levitate his batting helmet? Probably not. But you have to admit that the way the Sox' past two starters have performed is very nearly magical. Both JeremI and the Llama did far, far better than anyone had any right to expect. I'm not even sure what I was expecting out of the Llama for tonight, but I certainly didn't expect his control to be so good that he wouldn't walk anyone.
As for Maroth... well, those six walks sure don't look so hot, especially considering the fact that some of them were used to load the bases in the 5th, which set the table for Doug "Dougie's goin' deep tonight!" Mirabelli's grand slam. Last night the Tigers website was comparing Bonderman's escape from a bases-loaded, no-outs jam to Houdini. But there's a reason why Jeremy Bonderman is Jeremy Bonderman and Mike Maroth is Mike Maroth, and tonight the magic was all on Boston's side.
Not too much to say otherwise. Pudge homered, finally, but I'm not done worrying about his bat (or lack thereof) just yet, he still looked frustrated far too often tonight. The River Thames homered off of Foulke in the 9th, and that's becoming way too uncomfortably familiar for Sox fans. It didn't lose the game, but you can't just hand out runs even if the score is in your favor. Don't make me break out the 'why do I suck so hard?' photo again, Keith.
On the side, did we all see Kevin Brown get absolutely shelled today? Right after the Yanks decide to put Bernie out to pasture and stir up their defense but good? Yes? Excellent. Thanks, Tampa Bay. Much 'ppreciated. I'm delighted to see that ol' Wallbanger's retained his postseason form.
And did we all see what Jason Marquis did? All with his 'throwing 3 hits and taking a shut-out into the 9th inning' pitching. Whew. Go Jason Marquis! Hugs and matzoh balls for you.
Oh, and I'm assuming that we're all reading Bat Girl here, because really, you'd have to be a silly dumb person not to, but just in case you haven't been doing so... well, I've never been more horrified in my life. Not least because the temptation to do this to the Sox immediately came over me. Egads.
Sorry, I know it's not very much, but I've got to be awake at 4:30 am tomorrow so that I can be up at Plum Island by 6:30ish. I'm bird banding with the Audobon Society this summer. Yes, I'm a zoology dork. Laugh all you like, I'll be the one getting to hold a yellow-rumped warbler in my hands, suckaz!
10:37 PM
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Monday, May 02, 2005
Five minutes until the first pitch. Oh my god. I am going to DIE during this series. I’ve been defending the Tigers to my Red Sox fan friends all week, and defending the Red Sox to my Tigers fan friends. Whoever wins I’ll be happy, but then I’ll feel horribly guilty about being happy because someone will lose, and then I'll feel guilty about feeling guilty when I should be happy, and oy. I can’t decide if this is a win-win or lose-lose situation. I think it’s win-lose-win-lose, if that makes any sense.
Last night I was talking to Mike (who was attempting to convince me to root for the Tigers), and at one point we were discussing getting together so he could throw me some knuckleballs when we got back to Ann Arbor in the fall (not a euphemism, actual knuckleballs). As I assured him that I would probably be completely inept as a catcher, the following conversation ensued (screen names changed as per usual):
TigersFan (12:17:54 AM): if you can catch, next year i will show you a few knuckleballs
TigersFan (12:17:58 AM): if i am not too rusty
BostonFaninMichigan (12:18:36 AM): that would be ace. i'm not sure i can catch all that well, but i sure can stand there with a glove and go chase the balls after i miss them.
TigersFan (12:19:00 AM): lol
TigersFan (12:19:07 AM): i dont want to hurt you
BostonFaninMichigan (12:22:53 AM): i'll live. i think a bruise from getting whacked with a baseball would be less evil than a second-degree burn from mig welding
TigersFan (12:23:05 AM): agreed
TigersFan (12:23:19 AM): plus, baseball bruises are hot
BostonFaninMichigan (12:23:28 AM): ah ha ha ha
BostonFaninMichigan (12:23:50 AM): bet knuckleball-specific catchers are pretty damn hot, then
TigersFan (12:24:03 AM): ohh yeah
TigersFan (12:24:08 AM): have u seen mirabelli
TigersFan (12:24:13 AM): hhhhhoooooottttttt
BostonFaninMichigan (12:24:20): :D
Ladies, it doesn’t get much better than that, now does it?
Top 1
Bondy starts out with a K of Johnny Damon. I notice that Comerica looks a little, well, empty. I know it’s supposed to be cold and rainy there, but still, Detroit, for shame. Bondy’s blowing on his hands quite a bit already, and Remy’s saying that there were a few snowflakes around the hotel this morning. Oy.
1-2-3 inning for Bondy. Since he tends to have those rocky first innings, this bodes well. For the Tigers. Not necessarily for the Sox. Aargh. Already with the guilt.
Bottom 1
So I notice we’re DHing Rondell today. No DaMeat. I know the guys over at Surviving Grady will be upset. I confess to some disappointment, but we’ll see him eventually. Just hopefully not at first base. I hate when Tram sticks him at first base. Well, maybe ‘hate’ isn’t the right word to describe my reaction to it. ‘Utter terror’ might be more appropriate.
Bingey works a walk to start off the inning. Man, he is taking to that leadoff slot like a Michigan State student to alcoholism. What’s that they say about innings where the leadoff man gets on base? Yeah.
Don and Remy having the obligatory ‘Man Pudge sure looks slimmer’ conversation. OLD HAT guys, it’s been done to death already. So passé. Ooo, he just fouled one off and sort of jabbed the bat down. He’s mad at himself for spoiling Bingey’s attempt at a stolen base. It’s OK, Pudge! You’re still da Tigah!
OK, Pudge strikes out. Sigh. HUGS, Pudge. It’s cool! You’ve got all game to make up for it.
Bill Mueller makes a great sliding, diving catch to get a little grounder of Guillen’s, but both the runners are safe. Billy versus Bingey, my loyalties are utterly split on that one. *whimper*
Hey, apparently McCarty is one of the ‘most popular players among the Red Sox players’. Neat. Although apparently he’s been placed on waivers or something. His loss ‘hit a lot of guys hard’. Now I want to hug McCarty and all the Sox who’ll be missing him. I still want to get into that Tigers dugout and hug Pudge. The love, it will kill me for sure.
I sure hope Craigger’s wearing a cup today.
His manbits must be feeling better, because he hits a nasty little double along the left field foul line, which Trotter can’t field any more cleanly than he did, but Inge and Guillen are in to score. 2-0, Tigs.
Haverhill’s own Carlos Pena strikes out to end the inning. He’s having a slow start to the year. To date, it has not affected my intense desire to molest him.
Top 2
Blech, Nook catches a pop fly from Ortiz but then bobbles a ball hit by KFK (that’s Kentucky Fried Kevin, for the Detroit fans in the audience), so Millar’s got himself a double. He did show some hustle there, even if it was KFK-type hustle (i.e. a portly sort). Bondy is displeased. As he should be.
There’s a ‘Daaaarrryyylll’ type chant going on for Edgah. ‘Eeeeeeddddgaaaaarrrr. Eeedddddggaaarrrr.’ Huh. You know, I didn’t think Tigers fans had it in ‘em to heckle. I’m impressed. Bondy walks Edgah. Oh boy. That doesn’t happen too often. Hard to tell if Bondy’s going to kill himself, or the ump.
Bill Mueller is hot. OK, hot. Like, really hot. He lines out to Guillen so Bondy gets out of the inning entirely unscathed, but dear lord, the man just gets hotter every time I see him. Everything he does is hot. He can make striking out look hot. He can make blinking look hot.
Oh shit, and here’s the ad with him in it. Reclining on the couch. Emoting poorly. THE HOT. Over-dramatic eyeroll. I’ve melted. I have perished. Utterly perished. He is so hot it should be illegal.
I just made every single male reader of this blog incredibly uncomfortable, didn’t I? I’m not sorry at all.
Bottom 2
Oh, apparently Dmitri was supposed to play tonight, but he’s been battling the flu, which is why The River Thames is in the game. I could make a joke about Bellhorn and Dmitri, but it would be in poor taste.
Easy inning for JeremI. This Foxwoods commercial, by the by, is in no way, shape, or form better than the old version. We lose the actual words of that heinously catchy song, but we get an animated poker chip nestling into a woman’s cleavage. ‘Disturbing’ doesn’t really capture it.
Top 3
Bondy’s suddenly struggling and getting behind guys. I mean, I know Youks is the Greek Jewish God of Walks but, actually walking him? That’s so not like you, Bondy. Two walks by the third inning?
Johnny triples hard, and Youks hustles his little behind off. 2-1, Tigs.
Oh my god, Bondy’s behind Trotter 3-0. And he walks him. BONDY. BONDY, MY MAN, MY GUY. YOU WILL NOT PITCH WORSE THAN JEREMI GONZALEZ. DO YOU HEAR ME BONDY? YOU WILL NOT PITCH WORSE THAN SOME GUY WHO GOT CALLED UP FROM AAA LIKE YESTERDAY. THAT IS NOT ACCEPTABLE TIGER BEHAVIOR.
Manny’s still wearing David Ortiz’s armbands. Hee hee. Is there anything cuter than that in the whole of the major leagues? Probably not. Is there any other team out there where the number 3 and 4 hitters are best friends like that? No. No, there is not.
Big hit for Manny, Johnny scores. Game’s tied at 2. Men on second and third, NO ONE OUT. UNCOOL, Bondy.
Jesus, Bondy goes full count on the big Papi. He busts one into the gap, neither Omah nor Craigger can get it, 3-2 Sox. STILL NO ONE OUT. Some insight into what’s going on with Bondy here would be nice. I never ever thought I’d be saying this, but I wish I had Rod and Mario for a minute. OK, now I feel dirty.
Oy, already action in the Tigers bullpen. Franklyn German. “He made Ortiz look small.” 6’7, 270. Ladies and gents, the fattest Tiger. Behold the mass of humanity that is Franklyn German. That said, I hope to hell Bondy gets his act together and we don’t have to see German (that’s pronounced Her-mahn, in case you haven’t heard it before) for quite some time now.
HEY REMY MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP SECOND-GUESSING PUDGE’S TECHNIQUE. MAYBE SOMETHING HE’S BEEN DOING ALL THESE YEARS IS KIND OF WORKING. MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP TALKING ABOUT HOW HE’S ‘BLOCKING THE BALLS WRONG’. WHO’S THE 11-TIME ALL-STAR CATCHER, REMY? IS IT YOU? IS IT YOU, REMY? NO, IT IS NOT. IT IS PUDGE. I THINK HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING.
Strike-out number, uh, 2? 3? Whatever, for Bondy. He gets Tek swinging. Finally.
Edgah hits the ball to Bingey, who send it along to Omah for the out. I can’t believe the Tigs got out of that only one run behind. Edgah retains his rally-killing prowess.
Bottom 3 (fucking finally)
Goddamn, Brandon Inge. Goddamn. More close-ups, NESN. Triple for Bingey! Oh he turned that motor ON. Yay, a triple means more close-ups! *shamelessly ogles* He just reached down and adjusted himself vigorously. Thank you, NESN, thank you so much.
You know, I’ve never liked calling Pudge ‘I-Rod’. It just sounds wrong. Try saying it out loud: I-Rod. Ugh. And he strikes out again. 5 Ks for JeremI. Something unnatural is happening to the fabric of the universe. Bondy is struggling. JeremI is tossing the Ks. Up is down! Black is white! War is peace! Yankees is love!
Guillen lines one into centerfield, it’s not too powerful but it’s plenty to score Bingey from third. Game’s tied at 3. Look, enough talk about how underrated Guillen is. He’s underrated by everyone outside of Detroit. Everyone inside of Detroit loves him to death and recognizes the fact that he is more awesome than you. Yes, you.
Ortiz is wearing a great big jacket and one of those team-specific ‘do-rag things in the dugout. I WANT TO HUG.
Top 4
GODDAMN BILL MUELLER ARE YOU JUST GOING TO GET HOTTER WITH EACH AT-BAT? The answer, I think, is yes. Yes, yes, yes.
Heh, apparently MLB has yet to acknowledge that Youks is back up in the majors. As he has done his entire career, he sneaks through the cracks again. Much love for the Youks, but Bondy sure could use a K here. Or, you know, he could walk again. Whatever, Bondy, go for it. WALK ANOTHER ONE. YES, JUST LIKE THAT. THANKS BUNCHES. Now I feel bad for being upset about Youks walking, usually an event that causes me to crow with glee.
Bob Cluck goes out to chat. He’s wearing enormous gloves. Aw. But I’d be much happier if we never got to see them, that is, if Bondy was pitching well enough that good ol’ Cluck could stay in the dugout. Le sigh.
Bases loaded with no one out. *stares determinedly at the ceiling for a while*
Wow, Trotter flied out to The River Thames, who threw the ball home but very nearly sent it into the stratosphere. Pudge is short, but thankfully was able to leap up and snatch it down, so no one scores. The River Thames shakes his head at himself, he knows he very nearly did a bad thing there. So long as you know, TRT, so long as you know.
Bondy Ks Manny (3rd K). I’ve been in a bit of denial about this, but it can no longer be ignored. Manny Ramirez is growing a pharaoh goatee. It’s pointy. And protruding. And… well. There’s only one way to deal with this development. Everyone say it with me: “It’s just Manny being Manny.”
Dear holy lord, and Bondy gets out of a bases loaded, no outs jam COMPLETELY UNSCATHED. I think I’ll start gibbering freely sometime soon if that’s OK with everyone. The game is still, somehow, incredibly, against all reason, tied at 3.
I was rooting pretty much entirely for the Tigers that inning, I’ll admit it. *ducks the inevitable tomatoes and suchlike*
Bottom 4
“Higginson has not done very much for this club recently.” Ha ha ha, understatement of the week right there.
Wow, 6 Ks for JeremI. I honestly don’t know what to think anymore. Are the Tigers’ bats making him look competent, or is he actually competent? Crazy. Absolutely crazy.
Triple for Omah! Regard him well, readers. This is the very same Omar Infante about whom we had that scintillating HOT or NOT discussion. Now that you get to see him live perhaps you can render more informed opinions.
Top 5
Kevin Millar wants the people of Boston to pray for him. To pray that he gets a homerun. Bets on whether or not Schilling whalloped him upside the head for being a dirty infidel when he heard that one?
4th K for Bondy, although a bit of a suspect one. KFK doesn’t like it, and upon replay, nor do I. Oh well. I do want Bondy to do well.
5th K! He knocks out Tek again. That was a sexy strikeout. Even Tek admits it.
Bill Mueller is, in point of fact, getting hotter as this game progresses. It does not seem possible. It defies all laws of biology and physics. And yet, it happens. And he grounds out to end the inning, and NESN gives us a shot of his delightful posterior. Everyone wins.
Except for Bondy, who has thrown I think 98 pitches. And we all know what Tram’s like when it comes to Bondy and pitch counts.
Bottom 5
Oh, interview with Millar about the C3POlerud signing. He’s all, “You can’t be so negative in this game,” and “I got my ring, we’re the same team, etc. etc.” and “If I’d listened every time they told me I wouldn’t make it or I wouldn’t play first or I was gonna be traded, I’d never be here,” and all that. I miss Mientkie, but it’s terribly hard to root against Millar.
7th K for JeremI. More inexplicable than Bill Mueller’s increasing levels of Hot.
Pudge, it seems, is having some issues with the bat tonight.
LOOGY and Sign of Surrender up in the ‘pen for the Red Sox, as JeremI’s thrown 91 pitches right now. Not a great outing by either pitcher, which is blatantly wrong. Bondy should have had this game. The only reason the scoring is so low is because the Tigs have been pathetic in general at the plate and the Sox have stranded everyone and their mom on the bases.
Guillen hits a triple. That’s triples for Inge, Infante, and Guillen. Yes, Comerica is a pitcher’s park. One of the few, etc. etc. JeremI comes back to Rondell high and inside and the crowd is not particularly happy about it.
Another jam gotten out of. There have been so many jams in this game you could cover the biggest English muffin in the world with them. And then you could eat it.
Top 6
6th K for Bondy, and Youks finally fails to get on base. Look, I know Bondy’s thrown quite a bit (and dear holy lord Jamie Walker is up in the ‘pen, no no no no no) but look at him! He’s settling down now! Maybe he works better as he goes deeper into the game! Tram, please be seeing what I’m seeing.
Nook trips over his own self, which is bad enough, and then misthrows the ball, and Trotter’s at third with two outs. Two errors for Nook tonight. EXAVIER PRENTE LOGAN, BEHAVE YOURSELF OUT THERE.
I don’t want to question the ump here, but OK, I’m questioning the ump here. Was that not a strike? It had the general appearance of a strike. To me. I’m just sayin’.
Bondy walks Manny. *wince wince wince* *feels bad for wincing* *feels bad about feeling bad* *head asplodey!*
“He’s off the backside of the mound in the midst of a meeting with himself.” Oh, Remy.
And another jam gotten out of. In almost any other park these balls would have been gone. Comerica is more cavernous than the yawning empty space inside of Alex Rodriguez's skull. Oh no I di'int!
Bottom 6
Sign of Surrender Neal is in the game for the Sox. This could be the game in which he sheds his perhaps unfortunate nickname. We shall see. Aaand he walks Craigger immediately. Guess not.
Nate Robertson is saying something to Bondy in the dugout. Bondy looks pretty unhappy about the whole thing. I do wonder what Nate’s saying to him. What everyone keeps on forgetting is that he’s only 22 years old! OK? Do you see how he pitched today? How he swallowed those bad innings and grabbed his nuts and got himself out of his own messes? Do you see that? That is not 22 year old kid behavior. Jeremy Bonderman is da Tigah.
“Were you in class with Pena, or was he behind you?” “Oh no, he was waaaay behind me.” Heh, seems that both Carlos Pena and Don Orsillo went to Northeastern. Now Don and Remy are making fun of Joe Castiglione’s broadcasting class there, they’re calling it a guaranteed A. Apparently all you have to do is show up and stay awake. Man, why the hell didn’t I go to Northeastern?
Carlos Pena has one of the single most booming homeruns I’ve ever seen out of him, ever. Ever. Allow me to say 'ever' again just to drive the point home. Oh my god. Immense. Aw, he’s getting hugs from everyone in the dugout. Nate hugs him. Bondy gives him a hug. Guillen hugs Bondy, I guess just because everyone’s feeling good in a general sense. That was a two-run homer, by the by. 5-3, Tigs.
Mantei’s up in the ‘pen. Sign of Surrender Neal. Sign of Surrender Neal. Screw the pitch count, I feel insane for saying this, but JeremI could’ve probably battled his way through another inning. At least he probably could have done so better than SOS Neal here is doing. To further prove my point, The River Thames singles.
Tito decides that he’s not quite ready to surrender, so Neal is gone and Matt Mantei, everyone’s Bullpen Boyfriend, is in. Tigers fans who are unacquainted with him: he is an attractive pitcher. And a very clever signing by Theo in the offseason, but we’re starting to get used to that sort of thing.
Don and Remy trying to figure out if Nook is Nook’s real name or a nickname. It’s a nickname, guys. At least they’re pronouncing it correctly. I heard a radio interview with him when I was in Michigan, it drives him nuts when people pronounce it like ‘fluke’ instead of like ‘book’.
Wild pitch gets by Tek, and The River Thames is on third. Matt, you’re not doing spectacularly here. I am disappointed in you. You are not allowed to be that hot and that ineffective. Oh, and he Ks Bingey. Well, that’s alright then.
Top 7
The Farns is on! The Farns! The Farns! The Farns! The Farns! His pants actually look a little less tight than usual today.
His first pitch is 99 mph. He strikes out Millar on 3 pitches. You know all that ‘chicks dig the long ball’ business? Lies. Utter lies. 99 mph fastball is much hotter.
Tek doubles off of him. The Farns grabs his crotch in uncomfortable distaste. It’s drizzling finely in Detroit, and looks disgusting out there. I take a moment to feel bad for Mike, who has to work in these conditions.
99 mph again. Then 98. Break 100, Farnsy. You know you want to.
Wow. Wow. Inge sort of haphazardly tags out Tek on the third baseline. It should’ve been a double play, but the ball skipped in the dirt right in front of Pena’s glove, and Edgah is safe on first. That was a weird play. Nothing more to say.
Yes, Bill Mueller looks hot in the rain. I want to wrap him up in a blanket and stash him away. He was just sick! Don’t let him stand out there in the rain! He’ll catch cold again!
Edgah steals second. The jump was good. Remy is going on about the poor throw, but I think the throw was fine, Guillen was set a little too far back. I am beginning to wonder if Remy has some personal reason to dislike Pudge. Moot point anyways, because The Farns just struck out Mueller. Every time I’ve seen him this year he’s been lights-out.
The Farns!
Bottom 7
Pudge strikes out AGAIN. Excellent K by Mantei, he placed it very well, but I don’t know what Pudge’s problem is tonight. Maybe one of his kids is sick or something. Maybe he has a touch of the Bill Mueller/Dmitri Young flu. I’m at a loss here.
Carlos Guillen is leading the league with a .407 batting average right now. Underappreciate that, national media.
(Third K by Mantei, by the by. Boy is smokin’.)
Edgah throws from his knees to get Rondell at first, a fine defensive play. He’s been doing that all season so far. Kill rallies at the plate, do something in the field to barely keep Red Sox bloggers everywhere from wanting to forcibly separate his extremities from his body core.
Top 8
Ugie in to pitch. Oh well. I wish Tram would use The Farns for more than one inning, but he sure is set on that Farns/Ugie/Percy thing. The Farns was on, Tram. You can be creative and deviate slightly from your plan on occasion if one of your bullpen guys is having a solid outing. I know it sounds crrrazy and wild, but this stuff might work sometimes.
Small but distinctly audible ‘Johnny, Johnny!’ chant going on. There aren’t many people at Comerica today, but at least some of them are Red Sox fans. Although, unlike in Tampa, I’d say that the clear majority is still made up of hometown team fans.
Inge knocks down Damon’s ball, but can’t do anything with it. Another 3-5 night for the flowing locks of Johnny Damon. The Tigers should’ve let The Farns go at least part of another inning. Ugie has done some very, very bad things in relatively close games this season. See: Keith Foulke.
Trotter airs one out after an interminable at-bat. Oh, he’s pissed. He says something like ‘God damn it!’ right away. Maybe without the ‘god’. I think we established that he is indeed one of the more religious members of the Sox.
Pudge goes out to talk to Ugie. Always a delight. There’s always the hope that Pudge will grope him when he’s out there. He settles this time for slinging his arm companionably over his shoulders. I’ll take it.
Called strike on Manny. Manny’s been hacking quite a bit tonight. He does have games like this every so often, though. He usually makes up for it in other games by hitting the shit out of the ball, but I guess we have to expect this every now and then.
What I don’t like is how he walked out of the box almost before that was called, like he knew he was out and didn’t even care. Watch it, Manny. Watch it. Don’t go getting all sullen about this.
Bottom 8
The Chipmunk on the mound for the Sox. What was it that Kyle said? “Embree’s a known, shitty quantity”? Something along those lines.
The NESN camera guys are getting their money’s worth out of the statues out in centerfield tonight. We’ve had lengthy close-ups of both Ty Cobb and Al Kaline. Yes, the Tigers have an illustrious past. Yes, the park has statues out there. We get it.
OH MY GOD SECOND HOMERUN OF THE NIGHT FOR CARLOS PENA. Oh wow. High fives from everyone in the dugout except for Nate Robertson, who gives him a hug. You know, if I had to pick anyone on the Tigers as the hugging-everyone sort, it wouldn’t be Nate, and yet apparently it is. Pena does some kind of crazy, elaborate, Red-Sox-esque handshake thing with Rondell White. 6-3, Tigs.
Gross, why does Omah always make a big show of deeply wiping his nose on his jersey during his at-bats? I know it’s cold out, Omah. Just dab at it, OK, don’t dig around in there.
Omah doubles. Chipmunk, you suck. You suck like we all expected you would suck. Beth’s right, you never should’ve given up the chaw. It gave you all your powers.
A double for Nook. Omah trots home easily. 7-3 Tigs. Perhaps he did not hear me the first time. ALAN EMBREE YOU SUCK.
A nasty single from Bingey, they’ve got no shot at all against the speed of Nook. 8-3 Tigs. That’s Inge’s 14th RBI. EMBREE, YOU SUCK. YOU SUCK. YOU SUCK.
That’ll bring in Lenny DiNardo, another highly attractive relief pitcher for the Sox. Mantei did well, The Farns did well, so maybe this is a night for hot guys to do well out of the ‘pen. Lenny can prove or disprove this theory with his performance here.
Just a quick note: I do not like the fact that the Sox have used 5 pitchers tonight. Halama is not expected to go very deeply into tomorrow’s game, a rested bullpen is sort of a necessity. This is almost exactly what they did not want to see happen, I should think.
My brother comes into the room and accuses my cat Izzy (who is of a hefty stature) of using steroids. “You shootin’ up, juicer? You shootin’ up?” Izzy is not impressed. Nor is Pudge, who once again fails to get a hit. DiNardo proves the ‘aesthetically hot relievers are hot on the mound’ theory.
Top 9
Ugie stays in the game, since it’s not a save situation and Percy’s fed up with pitching in nonsave situations. I mean, because Tram independently decides to not use him in a nonsave situation. *cough*
Izzy comes back into the room. “I don’t think you’re juicing, Izzy,” I say. He rubs up against my arm. I win.
Nook catches a long fly ball from Tek, which sends Millar, who reached second on a ground-rule double, to third. Edgah’s up with two outs. Red Sox fans everywhere shake their heads. We know what's going to happen here.
And he flies out. SHOCKER! Edgah makes the last out! He has a knack for doing that, doesn’t he?
And that, mes amis, is the game. 8-3, Tigers.
I think I have developed a mild form of schizophrenia. See you all tomorrow night!
*passes out*
edit: OK, a point to clear up for the Sox crew. YES THERE WERE A LOT OF TRIPLES TONIGHT. Yes, the Tigers are leading the lead in triples. Gee, I wonder why this could be? Let us speculate! Could it... could it be because COMERICA PARK IS FUCKING ENORMOUS IN CENTERFIELD? Perchance. It's a quirk of the field, guys. And balls weren't going over the wall because it was so damn cold out, so there were a lot of triples. OMG SCIENCE.
11:21 PM
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Sunday, May 01, 2005
Just a few quick notes from over the weekend, since I figure tomorrow night will probably be a doozy of a post, what with the whole 'Tigers playing the Red Sox' thing and all. Sarah's gonna be there and a kid I know from th'University is working in Comerica that night. Mike, you lucky bastard.
In Friday's Tigers game Craig Monroe was hit by a pitch. In a very unfortunate location. I hadn't seen the game but Ian had been kind enough to give the following commentary:
OHMYGOD!! Craig Monroe just got hit in the cookies by a pitch. Bam-o! Right in the jewels. Of course he's down on his knees! No cup's gonna keep that from hurting. That's gonna leave a mark. Okay, his teammates are laughing, so Monroe must be okay. Watching someone get hit in the nuts usually is pretty funny, even if it makes a guy's stomach clench.
Naturally I was sad that I missed this, but I noticed that the official Tigers site had a video up that was cryptically named 'Monroe's HBP'. Gosh, now why would they put up video of that sort of thing? That can't be what I think it is. But lo and behold, I clicked, and it was. Bless you, Tigers website administrators, bless you.
The ball has hit and ricochets off towards the catcher.
The pain hits poor Craigger.
"YeeeeAAAaarrrgggh!"
"Yes, it really fucking hurts."
edit: OK, Mike has given me a heads-up on the Craig Monroe thing. Apparently, and I'm still wrapping my mind around this, but HE WAS NOT WEARING A CUP at the time. Oh goodness. That powerful ricochet looks a lot worse now. Quoth Craigger: "I've never worn a cup," he said. "It's not comfortable, but I might have to now." Yeah, Craig. You may want to do that thing. /end edit
Today's Tigers game was just ugly, with Ledezma walking four, chucking a wild pitch, hitting Paul Konerko (which later prompted Jon Garland-of-daisies to throw behind Rondell White, an act to which Rondell mildly objected, leading to the interference of a concerned umpire and a casual emptying of the benches-- no brawl, though), and oh yeah, BALKING TWICE IN THE SAME GAME. I know he was on 11 days rest due to all those snow days. I know he's still young and developing as a pitcher. But a game where your pitcher does all that, while the other guy goes the complete 9 innings and throws a shutout, that's just plain old hideous.
The Tigers game before that had featured a relatively good outing from Jason Johnson that just got away. One run games. Urgh.
The Red Sox, on the other hand, have won their last two. This afternoon was a disgusting display of pitching issues on both sides. I think Ryan Drese had thrown something like 97 pitches in the 4th or 5th inning, and Clement, back to his usual wild self, didn't do much better. Still, the final score of 6-5 is deceiving, as Texas got two runs in a cheap-shot homer off of Keith Foulke at the very end of the game. I wouldn't have been surprised to see the Sox lose this one, though, their play was as dull as the dying gleam in Derek Jeter's eyes. We're just lucky that the Rangers were even more ineffective.
The game last night was similar and prompted me to write, in my notes, things like
"Through 7 innings, Bronson’s line looks pretty good, but he doesn’t. Every at-bat is something of a battle with him, with his control looking very iffy. It’s like he’s trying to nibble the outside corners and is instead taking huge, yawning bites of the area outside the outside corners. In normal-person-speak, he’s getting behind on basically every batter, even though he’s got a season high of 5 strikes. Settle, Bronson. Settle," and,
"Bronson needs to either cut the hair or let it go back to curling, because the voluminous-but-straight thing he has going on is simply retarded. OK, Bronson? That is awful hair. Like your hair is the fat kid with the tshirt a couple sizes too small and the tin Sailor Moon lunch box sitting on the back of the bus by himself because even the band geek who plays the flute doesn’t want to be associated with him. That is what your hair is like, Bronson."
It is awfully good to see Bill Mueller back, and wearing the high socks too, even if he is playing second base. I suppose it's only right, as he's the one who got Bellhorn sick in the first place, but it's definitely disconcerting. Still, Bill Mueller. Back. Wearing messy eye black and high red socks and mmmmmmhmm.
Mueller talking about how he needs to get back up to his playing weight after the flu.
That's about it, I don't want to get into this weekend's games too deeply, since you'll be hearing quite a bit from me on this upcoming series.
Oh, except I'd like to say something to you readerfolk. First off, thanks to everyone who's been stopping by recently, my hit count has gone up quite a bit and I do appreciate the fact that some of you take the time to write in comments or to email me with comments.
But the people who have been reaching this site via searches for "michael cuddyer naked" and "joe mauer twins photograph naked shirtless"? Despite the disturbing nature of your search terms I would welcome you as readers to my humble slice of internet, but how the hell are you getting here by searching for Twins in varying states of dishabille? Red Sox! Tigers! Football! Not Twinkies!
Although, upon reflection, I probably wouldn't object to a photo of shirtless Joe Mauer.
8:06 PM
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