The virus is raging, especially here in Michigan, which ranks third among states in the US in COVID cases (but only tenth in population). The thing is, Detroit is getting hammered, and the farther you get from Detroit, the less bad it gets. Just to set perspective, the City of Detroit has a rate of 85 COVID cases per 10,000 population (about one in 120 people); the three counties of the metro area (not including the city itself) are between 25-30. Two other counties adjacent to the metro area are at about 15. Other 'urban-ish' counties within 100 miles or so of Detroit (including the one I live in) are at 6-7 cases per 10,000 population (about 1 in 1500). The rest of the state is 2 or less. . .
We have friends who live in Detroit; the wife/mom is a nurse, and daughter of good, long-standing friends of ours. Their whole family came down with the virus, and their next-door neighbor died of it. They are all recovered now, or well on the way to recovery. For them, it was like a not-too-nasty flu. Obviously, for their neighbor, it was considerably more than that.
Watching the numbers, it looks like we are at or just past the peak of the pandemic. Which, of course, is the exact wrong time to relax. No one wants to be the last soldier to die in the war. . .
-------------------------
It is perhaps ironic, but these recent weeks have brought a lot of death into my life. A man who filled a significant 'mentor' role in my life for several years, who helped me through some major rough spots with my kids (partly because he'd been through similar rough spots with his kids) died a couple weeks ago, just before the panic hit. He was as wise and joyful a man as I've ever known. He was 91.
About a week after that, a good friend's wife died. I had known her for years, even before she married my friend. She was kind and gracious, the kind of woman who made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. She'd suffered from Alzheimer's for the past few years, and in her last days, she declined precipitously.
A week after that, my aunt, my mother's older sister, died. Her family and ours had always been close, and we took several memorable vacations with them over the years. She had been in declining health for a while; she was 88.
The thing is, none of them died from COVID (at least, COVID wasn't given as the cause of death). It was just their time. With so much death swirling about the public consciousness, it all just reinforces the truth that we are all born to die, "as sparks fly upward" (Job 5:7). To put it more crassly, none of us gets out of here alive. My own advancing age, together with recent health issues, which are more like 'really annoying' than 'scary', have me thinking of my own mortality more than I used to. . .
-------------------------
And yesterday brought the news that Al Kaline had died.
How do I explain what it means to me that Al Kaline died? He was my boyhood hero. In that way that boys do, he was the sun of my solar system for many of my formative years. He was the best baseball player that I had the opportunity to see even somewhat close-at hand. It was a long way from my hometown Up North to Tiger Stadium in Detroit, and I only saw a few games live-and-in-person that Al Kaline played in. But I remember the first Tiger game I ever went to, as a boy probably 11 years old. We walked into the stadium, and saw the great green expanse of the field. As we walked along the concourse to our seats, some of the players were warming up - stretching and playing catch - and there he was - Al Kaline! I was mesmerized to see the great man in person, playing catch just like I did in my Little League games at home!
Al Kaline had been the Tigers' best player for many years before I was even paying attention. His first major-league game was in 1953, three years before I was born. His breakout year was 1955, when he was the youngest player ever to lead the league in batting average, and I was in utero (at least, by the end of the season). By the time I was really paying attention in '65 or so, his best years were mostly behind him, although he was the Tigers' best player even still.
In 1968, when I was 12, the Tigers won the American League pennant, and the World Series. Kaline spent much of the season injured, and by the time the pennant was clinched, it was hard to find places for him to play, because the young guys who had replaced him were all playing well. Even still, he scored the winning run in the bottom of the 9th against the Yankees in the pennant-clinching win in September. And then, in Game 5 of the World Series, with the Tigers down 3-games-to-1 to the Cardinals, and trailing 3-2 as they came to bat in the bottom of the 7th inning, Kaline came up with the bases loaded and singled, driving in the tying and go-ahead runs to stave off elimination so the Tigers could live to play another game. They went on to win games 6 and 7, and thereby, the World Series Championship, which is, to this day, still a high point in my young life. Kaline had a terrific World Series, batting .379 with 2 homers and 8 RBIs in 7 games.
Kaline was a consummate defensive ballplayer, blessed with good speed, an other-worldly sense for reading the batter's swing and anticipating the flight of the ball, and an amazing arm. He was a right-fielder, and so was I. Of course, in the major leagues, the right-fielder typically has the strongest arm of the outfielders, since he has to make the long throw to third base, whereas in Little League, right field is typically where you try to hide the slow, fat kid, because fewer balls get hit that way (the majors have more left-handed pull hitters than Little Leagues do). But no-one ever made the throw from right-field to third base any better than Al Kaline. In that same Game 5 of the World Series, Lou Brock was on third base for the Cardinals, with a chance to add to their lead. The batter hit a medium-depth fly to right, which, especially with Brock on third, would almost always score a run. Kaline played the ball in textbook fashion, lining himself up a couple steps behind where the fly was coming down, so he caught the ball on the run and fired a 300-foot strike to the catcher. Lou Brock, to his credit, never even moved off third base, and his run never did score. There is another story of a time Kaline threw out a runner while sitting on his butt in the outfield.
The thing is, as great a ballplayer as Al Kaline was, he was an even better man. Quick to deflect accolades to his teammates, or even his opponents, humble, self-effacing, he was the epitome of quiet grace, and leading by example. He hated drawing attention to himself, even years after his playing career was over. All he ever wanted to do was play ball as well as he possibly could. And that was incredibly good.
When I was in college, his son was a student at my university, and even lived in my dorm for a year. From time to time, we'd see Al and his wife dropping off their son in front of the dorm, which was a special thrill, the few times it happened.
For a man, even an old man like me, his boyhood hero holds a special place in his heart, his soul, even his concept of himself. I know that I have aspired to the same kind of quiet, gracious excellence as Al Kaline exemplified (it probably helped that my dad was cut from similar cloth; maybe that's why I latched onto Al Kaline). The world will seem a poorer place without him.
Rest in Peace, Al Kaline; you were one of the best there ever was. . .
Showing posts with label Detroit Tigers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Detroit Tigers. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 7, 2020
Friday, September 1, 2017
Turn, Turn, Turn. . .
One of the things I experience as I go along through life, and all the moreso as I advance in years, is that things change. Nothing sits still. The comfortable, familiar things in our lives eventually pass away. Our parents grow old and die; our children grow up and leave the nest. Books go out of print. Raisin Mini-Wheats disappear from the shelves because no-one besides me will buy them. Bell-bottom jeans and Nehru jackets go out of style (demonstrating conclusively that change is not necessarily a bad thing). . .
-------------------------
Forgive me if I indulge myself in a bit of sports-as-metaphor-of-life. I am a lifelong fan of baseball in general, and the Detroit Tigers in particular. The past decade has generally been an era of notable success for my Tigers, with four American League Central Division titles and two World Series appearances (neither of which they won, alas). I've taken to referring to this latest period of success as Tigers 5.0 (if you're interested, 1.0 was the Ty Cobb-era team of the 1900s/10s, 2.0 the Charley Gehringer-Hank Greenberg teams of the 30s/40s, 3.0 the Al Kaline-Willie Horton-Mickey Lolich teams of the 60s, and 4.0 the Whitaker-Trammell-Jack Morris teams of the 80s; and if you're not interested, just ignore what you just read); this season, and yesterday most particularly, brought the sad news that Tigers 5.0 is now definitively over. Justin Verlander was traded to the Houston Astros.
You could see this day coming, even a few years ago, realizing that players age, and get injured, or sign free-agent contracts with other teams (*cough-Max Scherzer-cough*). One way or another, the good times never last forever. Nothing sits still. The end of the era began in earnest back in 2015, when the Tigers traded David Price and Yoenis Cespedes at the July trade deadline, in exchange for young players who, it was hoped, would one day develop into Tigers 6.0 (they have shown flashes of promise, but the jury, alas, is still out. . .). And the team's payroll was bloated way past their market size, to say nothing of their recent level of success. (Just as a footnote, it blows my mind just a little that, for the second half of the 2014 season, the Tigers' starting rotation of pitchers included four Cy Young award winners, and the fifth starter, Anibal Sanchez, won an ERA title, and threw a no-hitter, besides).
This season began with hope that the band could come together again, and perhaps do something wonderful one more time. But alas, such was not to be. Our best hitter, Miguel Cabrera, hurt his back during spring training (curse you, World Baseball Classic!) and has been a shell of himself all season. Ian Kinsler, our all-star infielder and clubhouse leader, has had an awful year. Victor Martinez, who's been a key hitter all through the team's run of success, is on (almost literally) his last legs. Pitchers who'd had off-years in 2016 were hoped to recover the old glory; none did. And on and on and on. Only two hitters were having strong years - Justin Upton and J.D. Martinez, and both of them were eligible for free agency at the end of this season.
The final agony began in July, when J.D. Martinez was traded to the Arizona Diamonbacks. That was a little hard to take - J.D. had really established himself with the Tigers, and become a fan favorite; still, it was understood that the Tigers had to trade him, to get something in return, rather than let him walk for nothing at seaons's end. That was followed by Justin Wilson (our best relief pitcher) and Alex Avila going to the Chicago Cubs. And then yesterday, the day began with Justin Upton (the other hitter who was having a good year) being sent to the Los Angeles Angels.
I have always had a special affection for Justin Verlander. Even as a young pitcher, you could just see the power he pitched with. On his good days, hitters were almost defenseless against his combination of blazing speed, wicked breaking balls and a baffling change-up. And he had a lot of good days. Denny McLain, back in the 60s, is the only other pitcher the Tigers have had in my lifetime who could just dominate opposing hitters game after game after game; but Denny only did it for a few seasons, before hurting his arm (Denny was also one of the world's great a**holes, but whatchagonnado?). JV, as he's known, threw two no-hitters for the Tigers, and won a unanimous Cy Young award in 2011. Twice, he shut out the Oakland A's in the deciding game of a playoff series. At his best, you wondered every time he took the mound if he was going to throw a no-hitter that night. He's been that good. He had a couple seasons (from roughly mid-'13 to mid-'15) in which his effectiveness was diminished by a core-muscle injury, but since the middle of the '15 season, he's been pretty close to the old JV. Last year, he came within a whisker of winning his second Cy Young Award (and God bless Rick Porcello, but JV should have won it; just sayin'). And after a slow start this season, he's again been blowing hitters away, especially over the past two months.
Verlander has been, along with Miguel Cabrera, the visible face of Tigers 5.0. And so, it is with great sadness that I watch him go. Through the course of this season, it has seemed ever-clearer that he would soon be moving on. His contract was just too big for a team that needed to cut payroll, and invest in younger players. And the idea of JV, in the golden years of his career, pitching for a team of youngsters just learning how to play and win, seems somehow not quite right. He really should be pitching for a playoff contender, trying to win the World Series championship that he never quite got in Detroit. When Clayton Kershaw was injured, I was all-but-certain that he was going to the Dodgers. But the Astros were always part of the conversation, and for the past month, it has been, 'why aren't the Astros going after Verlander? They certainly need the pitching.' And finally, at about the time that it looked like he'd be staying after all, the Astros and Tigers finally pulled the trigger at 11:59, and JV is a Tiger no more.
It is hard to see the face of my favorite team leave town. But nothing sits still. He leaves with absolutely no ill-will from me. I know I'll be pulling for the Astros in the post-season, and hoping for JV to finally win the ring that he so richly deserves (and there is something portentous, is there not - in a Saints-win-the-Super-Bowl kind of way - in Verlander going to Houston, trying to win a World Series in the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey?) (and also something delicious in Justin Verlander going to work for Nolan Ryan). . .
(Just as an odd aside, the Tigers began the season with three players named Justin on their roster - Verlander, Upton, and Wilson - and all three are with other teams now; and if you include JV's fiancee, we've lost two Uptons, as well; God bless you, Houston. . .)
(edit 6Sep: As another aside, the number of ex-Tigers distributed across this year's playoff-contending teams is almost staggering - Rick Porcello, David Price, Doug Fister and Rajai Davis with the Red Sox, Max Scherzer and Edwin Jackson with the Nationals, Curtis Granderson with the Dodgers, Robbie Ray, Fernando Rodney and J.D. Martinez with the Diamondbacks, Alex Avila and Justin Wilson with the Cubs, Austin Jackson and Andrew Miller with the Indians, and now Justin Upton with the Angels and Justin Verlander (and even Cameron Maybin!) with the Astros. If the playoffs began today, there would be 17 ex-Tigers distributed across 8 of the 10 playoff teams; y'all are very welcome. . .)
*************************
Nothing sits still. This past Monday brought the news that Jud Heathcote, who coached my beloved MSU Spartan basketball team from 1976-95, had died, at 90 years of age. Jud was certainly the greatest basketball coach in MSU history not named Tom Izzo. In fact, Tom Izzo was essentially Jud's parting gift to MSU when he retired, as Jud convinced the university to hire Izzo as his successor, a year or two before he finally retired.
Jud was a wonderful coach. His teams won three Big Ten championships in 19 years, played in nine NCAA tournaments (seven in 11 seasons, once the field expanded to 64 teams in 1985), and famously, won MSU's first national chapionship in 1979, with a team featuring Magic Johnson and Gregory Kelser.
His talent as a coach, however, goes beyond mere wins and losses. The aforementioned Magic Johnson aside, Jud developed the talent of players like Jay and Sam Vincent, Scott Skiles, Steve Smith, Shawn Respert and Eric Snow, all of whom had successful NBA careers, and all of whom came to MSU with a notable lack of recruiting fanfare. Jud was a notoriously indifferent recruiter. He wouldn't cheat to get a kid, and he absolutely refused to kiss the asses of 18-year-old prima donnas. So (Magic aside), such success as his teams had, was mainly accomplished with less-talented rosters than his major opponents.
But for all his success, Jud will be remembered by the MSU community as an absolutely unique character. His public face tended to be that of a grumpy curmudgeon. His 'Jud thuds' were legendary, when one of his players would make a mistake, and he would ball up his fists and slam them against his own forehead, usually two or three times. In one game at Illinois, he was upset with the officiating (as basketball coaches will be, from time to time). The ball happened to roll out-of-bounds into his hands, and he slammed it violently to the floor, whereupon it bounced up and smacked him right in the face. On his 'retirement tour' in '95, the Illinois coach gifted him with an Illini football helmet, in memory of the event. (Here is a wonderful article by Jack McCallum in Sports Illustrated, from back in '95, that does a great job of capturing the Essential Jud)
In the years since his retirement, Jud mainly kept a low profile. He moved back to Spokane, Washington, to be closer to his adult children, but also to leave Tom Izzo the freedom to establish his own coaching career without the Old Man looking over his shoulder. But he would show up for all of the tournament games. It reminded me, in a way, of how my dad was to me, in his later years - a source of wisdom, for sure, but just comforting to have him around. The last time I saw him on TV, I remember thinking that he was getting old, and feeling a little sad about that. And now he's gone. Nothing sits still.
A friend of mine once sat next to Jud on an airplane. When I asked him how that was, he smiled oddly. "Jud is a very funny man," he said. "And VERY profane." So there you go.
I have my own Jud story to relate (and now seems a fitting time to tell it). I was in my last year at MSU, which coincided with the national championship team of '79. That team lost six games, five of them by one or two points. The exception was an 18-point loss to Northwestern, which is about as inexplicable as things come in college basketball. My roommate and I had a regular paddleball date on Monday afternoons, and it was the Monday after that Northwestern game. All the regular paddleball courts were in use, so we ended up playing on the designated Handball court (which was identical to the paddleball/racquetball courts, but it was 'reserved' for handball; meaning that, if someone wanted to play handball, they could claim the court, and any paddleball/racquetball players had to relinquish the court to them). We'd been playing for a half-hour or so, when a voice came from the balcony above and behind us - "I'm sorry, fellas, but I'm here to play handball. So finish your game, but I need the court." We looked up, and there, to our astonishment, was Coach Heathcote. So we finished our game, and went up to the balcony, figuring we'd enjoy watching Jud playing handball with whomever his partner turned out to be. But no partner ever appeared. Jud bounced the ball, and - WHAM!! - smashed it against the front wall, then stomped after it in a deliberate, plodding manner and - WHAM!! - smashed it again, then stomped after it again, and - WHAM!! - and again and again. My roommate and I turned and smiled at each other, and continued watching for a few more minutes, as Jud smashed out his frustrations on that poor little handball. After that, the team went on a long winning streak, which eventually carried them all the way to the national championship.
Rest in peace, Coach. We're gonna miss you.
Nothing sits still. . .
-------------------------
Forgive me if I indulge myself in a bit of sports-as-metaphor-of-life. I am a lifelong fan of baseball in general, and the Detroit Tigers in particular. The past decade has generally been an era of notable success for my Tigers, with four American League Central Division titles and two World Series appearances (neither of which they won, alas). I've taken to referring to this latest period of success as Tigers 5.0 (if you're interested, 1.0 was the Ty Cobb-era team of the 1900s/10s, 2.0 the Charley Gehringer-Hank Greenberg teams of the 30s/40s, 3.0 the Al Kaline-Willie Horton-Mickey Lolich teams of the 60s, and 4.0 the Whitaker-Trammell-Jack Morris teams of the 80s; and if you're not interested, just ignore what you just read); this season, and yesterday most particularly, brought the sad news that Tigers 5.0 is now definitively over. Justin Verlander was traded to the Houston Astros.
You could see this day coming, even a few years ago, realizing that players age, and get injured, or sign free-agent contracts with other teams (*cough-Max Scherzer-cough*). One way or another, the good times never last forever. Nothing sits still. The end of the era began in earnest back in 2015, when the Tigers traded David Price and Yoenis Cespedes at the July trade deadline, in exchange for young players who, it was hoped, would one day develop into Tigers 6.0 (they have shown flashes of promise, but the jury, alas, is still out. . .). And the team's payroll was bloated way past their market size, to say nothing of their recent level of success. (Just as a footnote, it blows my mind just a little that, for the second half of the 2014 season, the Tigers' starting rotation of pitchers included four Cy Young award winners, and the fifth starter, Anibal Sanchez, won an ERA title, and threw a no-hitter, besides).
This season began with hope that the band could come together again, and perhaps do something wonderful one more time. But alas, such was not to be. Our best hitter, Miguel Cabrera, hurt his back during spring training (curse you, World Baseball Classic!) and has been a shell of himself all season. Ian Kinsler, our all-star infielder and clubhouse leader, has had an awful year. Victor Martinez, who's been a key hitter all through the team's run of success, is on (almost literally) his last legs. Pitchers who'd had off-years in 2016 were hoped to recover the old glory; none did. And on and on and on. Only two hitters were having strong years - Justin Upton and J.D. Martinez, and both of them were eligible for free agency at the end of this season.
The final agony began in July, when J.D. Martinez was traded to the Arizona Diamonbacks. That was a little hard to take - J.D. had really established himself with the Tigers, and become a fan favorite; still, it was understood that the Tigers had to trade him, to get something in return, rather than let him walk for nothing at seaons's end. That was followed by Justin Wilson (our best relief pitcher) and Alex Avila going to the Chicago Cubs. And then yesterday, the day began with Justin Upton (the other hitter who was having a good year) being sent to the Los Angeles Angels.
I have always had a special affection for Justin Verlander. Even as a young pitcher, you could just see the power he pitched with. On his good days, hitters were almost defenseless against his combination of blazing speed, wicked breaking balls and a baffling change-up. And he had a lot of good days. Denny McLain, back in the 60s, is the only other pitcher the Tigers have had in my lifetime who could just dominate opposing hitters game after game after game; but Denny only did it for a few seasons, before hurting his arm (Denny was also one of the world's great a**holes, but whatchagonnado?). JV, as he's known, threw two no-hitters for the Tigers, and won a unanimous Cy Young award in 2011. Twice, he shut out the Oakland A's in the deciding game of a playoff series. At his best, you wondered every time he took the mound if he was going to throw a no-hitter that night. He's been that good. He had a couple seasons (from roughly mid-'13 to mid-'15) in which his effectiveness was diminished by a core-muscle injury, but since the middle of the '15 season, he's been pretty close to the old JV. Last year, he came within a whisker of winning his second Cy Young Award (and God bless Rick Porcello, but JV should have won it; just sayin'). And after a slow start this season, he's again been blowing hitters away, especially over the past two months.
Verlander has been, along with Miguel Cabrera, the visible face of Tigers 5.0. And so, it is with great sadness that I watch him go. Through the course of this season, it has seemed ever-clearer that he would soon be moving on. His contract was just too big for a team that needed to cut payroll, and invest in younger players. And the idea of JV, in the golden years of his career, pitching for a team of youngsters just learning how to play and win, seems somehow not quite right. He really should be pitching for a playoff contender, trying to win the World Series championship that he never quite got in Detroit. When Clayton Kershaw was injured, I was all-but-certain that he was going to the Dodgers. But the Astros were always part of the conversation, and for the past month, it has been, 'why aren't the Astros going after Verlander? They certainly need the pitching.' And finally, at about the time that it looked like he'd be staying after all, the Astros and Tigers finally pulled the trigger at 11:59, and JV is a Tiger no more.
It is hard to see the face of my favorite team leave town. But nothing sits still. He leaves with absolutely no ill-will from me. I know I'll be pulling for the Astros in the post-season, and hoping for JV to finally win the ring that he so richly deserves (and there is something portentous, is there not - in a Saints-win-the-Super-Bowl kind of way - in Verlander going to Houston, trying to win a World Series in the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey?) (and also something delicious in Justin Verlander going to work for Nolan Ryan). . .
(Just as an odd aside, the Tigers began the season with three players named Justin on their roster - Verlander, Upton, and Wilson - and all three are with other teams now; and if you include JV's fiancee, we've lost two Uptons, as well; God bless you, Houston. . .)
(edit 6Sep: As another aside, the number of ex-Tigers distributed across this year's playoff-contending teams is almost staggering - Rick Porcello, David Price, Doug Fister and Rajai Davis with the Red Sox, Max Scherzer and Edwin Jackson with the Nationals, Curtis Granderson with the Dodgers, Robbie Ray, Fernando Rodney and J.D. Martinez with the Diamondbacks, Alex Avila and Justin Wilson with the Cubs, Austin Jackson and Andrew Miller with the Indians, and now Justin Upton with the Angels and Justin Verlander (and even Cameron Maybin!) with the Astros. If the playoffs began today, there would be 17 ex-Tigers distributed across 8 of the 10 playoff teams; y'all are very welcome. . .)
*************************
Nothing sits still. This past Monday brought the news that Jud Heathcote, who coached my beloved MSU Spartan basketball team from 1976-95, had died, at 90 years of age. Jud was certainly the greatest basketball coach in MSU history not named Tom Izzo. In fact, Tom Izzo was essentially Jud's parting gift to MSU when he retired, as Jud convinced the university to hire Izzo as his successor, a year or two before he finally retired.
Jud was a wonderful coach. His teams won three Big Ten championships in 19 years, played in nine NCAA tournaments (seven in 11 seasons, once the field expanded to 64 teams in 1985), and famously, won MSU's first national chapionship in 1979, with a team featuring Magic Johnson and Gregory Kelser.
His talent as a coach, however, goes beyond mere wins and losses. The aforementioned Magic Johnson aside, Jud developed the talent of players like Jay and Sam Vincent, Scott Skiles, Steve Smith, Shawn Respert and Eric Snow, all of whom had successful NBA careers, and all of whom came to MSU with a notable lack of recruiting fanfare. Jud was a notoriously indifferent recruiter. He wouldn't cheat to get a kid, and he absolutely refused to kiss the asses of 18-year-old prima donnas. So (Magic aside), such success as his teams had, was mainly accomplished with less-talented rosters than his major opponents.
But for all his success, Jud will be remembered by the MSU community as an absolutely unique character. His public face tended to be that of a grumpy curmudgeon. His 'Jud thuds' were legendary, when one of his players would make a mistake, and he would ball up his fists and slam them against his own forehead, usually two or three times. In one game at Illinois, he was upset with the officiating (as basketball coaches will be, from time to time). The ball happened to roll out-of-bounds into his hands, and he slammed it violently to the floor, whereupon it bounced up and smacked him right in the face. On his 'retirement tour' in '95, the Illinois coach gifted him with an Illini football helmet, in memory of the event. (Here is a wonderful article by Jack McCallum in Sports Illustrated, from back in '95, that does a great job of capturing the Essential Jud)
In the years since his retirement, Jud mainly kept a low profile. He moved back to Spokane, Washington, to be closer to his adult children, but also to leave Tom Izzo the freedom to establish his own coaching career without the Old Man looking over his shoulder. But he would show up for all of the tournament games. It reminded me, in a way, of how my dad was to me, in his later years - a source of wisdom, for sure, but just comforting to have him around. The last time I saw him on TV, I remember thinking that he was getting old, and feeling a little sad about that. And now he's gone. Nothing sits still.
A friend of mine once sat next to Jud on an airplane. When I asked him how that was, he smiled oddly. "Jud is a very funny man," he said. "And VERY profane." So there you go.
I have my own Jud story to relate (and now seems a fitting time to tell it). I was in my last year at MSU, which coincided with the national championship team of '79. That team lost six games, five of them by one or two points. The exception was an 18-point loss to Northwestern, which is about as inexplicable as things come in college basketball. My roommate and I had a regular paddleball date on Monday afternoons, and it was the Monday after that Northwestern game. All the regular paddleball courts were in use, so we ended up playing on the designated Handball court (which was identical to the paddleball/racquetball courts, but it was 'reserved' for handball; meaning that, if someone wanted to play handball, they could claim the court, and any paddleball/racquetball players had to relinquish the court to them). We'd been playing for a half-hour or so, when a voice came from the balcony above and behind us - "I'm sorry, fellas, but I'm here to play handball. So finish your game, but I need the court." We looked up, and there, to our astonishment, was Coach Heathcote. So we finished our game, and went up to the balcony, figuring we'd enjoy watching Jud playing handball with whomever his partner turned out to be. But no partner ever appeared. Jud bounced the ball, and - WHAM!! - smashed it against the front wall, then stomped after it in a deliberate, plodding manner and - WHAM!! - smashed it again, then stomped after it again, and - WHAM!! - and again and again. My roommate and I turned and smiled at each other, and continued watching for a few more minutes, as Jud smashed out his frustrations on that poor little handball. After that, the team went on a long winning streak, which eventually carried them all the way to the national championship.
Rest in peace, Coach. We're gonna miss you.
Nothing sits still. . .
Monday, October 6, 2014
Well, That Was Quick. . .
Recalling what I said in my previous post about frequency of posting during the baseball post-season month of October. . . Yeah, well, so much for that. My Tigers were unceremoniously swept out of the playoffs yesterday evening. It's not like I didn't see it coming, or anything, but, you know, we hoped for better. . .
Our three-game whirlwind tour (and I use the term 'whirlwind' both in the sense of 'brief and frenetic', and also 'getting slammed by a tornado') of the baseball post-season was really something of a microcosm of the entire season - the bullpen imploding, wasting creditable, if not spectacular starting pitching, and then the bats inexplicably disappearing when we did get solid pitching. I mean, 12 FREAKIN' RUNS OVER CONSECUTIVE 8TH INNINGS? Twelve!?! Seriously?!? But such was the quality of our bullpen this year; no lead was ever safe. I'd be listening to a game on the radio, and the starter would be through seven innings with 110 or so pitches, and a nine-run lead, and I'd be anxiously wringing my hands, wondering if a nine-run lead could hold up through two innings of relief pitching. (I don't recall if the bullpen ever actually blew a nine-run lead or not, but it had some atrocious meltdowns. I know we lost more than one lead of three runs or more in the 9th inning)
And, for all the all-star caliber hitters the Tigers have, they were prone to mystifying offensive droughts, making guys with career ERAs of 5.86 look like Sandy Freakin' Koufax. On paper, before the season, it looked like we should win our division by at least 10 games. Our starting rotation included two of the past three Cy Young Award winners (and we picked up the third one at the trade deadline), and Miguel Cabrera was the two-time defending Most Valuable Player. We even unloaded Prince Fielder's horrible contract and even more horrible defense; things were looking good. We had some injury problems, but nothing terribly our of the ordinary (although both Cabrera and Justin Verlander were coming off off-season surgeries, and both of them were mystifyingly un-dominant for long stretches of the season). We ended up squeaking out the division championship by one game, after looking up at the Kansas City Royals for a lot of the summer. It was a frustrating season, but it seemed like were starting to get our stuff together just in time for the playoffs. I guess not, huh?
But hey, the Los Angeles Angels, who by most all accounts were the best team in the American League, got similarly broomed out of the playoffs by the aforementioned Royals, and the Washington Nationals, who were likewise counted the best team in the National League, are on life support, having lost their first two games at home, and heading to San Francisco with no more losses 'to give'. Which goes to show, I suppose, that once you get into the playoffs, anything can happen. . .
The coming off-season promises to be tumultuous for my Tigers, in all sorts of ways. Max Scherzer, our best pitcher the past two seasons, is a free agent, and I can't imagine that the Tigers will be able to match the money that teams like the Yankees will be prepared to throw at him. Victor Martinez, who was our best hitter this year, is also a free agent, and it is not a given that we will be able to re-sign him, either. Torii Hunter has given the Tigers a couple of solid seasons, even at 39 years of age, and he's a free agent, too. We will see what we will see, of course (we always do), but there is a large sense that the Tigers' window of opportunity to win a World Series is about to slam shut. It's been a nice run for the past 5-6 seasons, but they haven't yet won it all, and it seems about to become less likely, not more.
(*sigh*)
-------------------------
The Lions also lost ignominiously yesterday afternoon, making it a dismally lost weekend for Detroit professional sports teams. . .
But at least, on a somewhat happier note, my Spartans won their game Saturday night. Not, however, before they gave up most of a 24-point, end-of-the-3rd-quarter lead, having to intercept a pass on the 10-yard-line with 30 seconds left in order to hang on for a 5-point win. In the last four minutes of the game, they gave up a touchdown on a punt return, and bounced a short filed goal off the upright. I was seriously hyperventilating at that point. Credit to Nebraska, our opponent, for not getting the memo that the game was over at the end of the 3rd quarter. The mismatch in intensity between the two teams in the 4th quarter was glaring. My Spartans will have to play hard for all four quarters, if they hope to contend for the kind of honors they aspire to.
-------------------------
At any rate, given the end of the Tigers' season, things might be a tad less sports-oriented around these parts than I'd hoped (or some of my readers might have feared) this month. So, who knows what stuff I might be posting about? With a sideways tip of the hat to my friend Suldog, I can't promise that my next post will be soon, and I sure can't promise that it'll be better. But, you know, eventually, with more stuff, of one sort or another. . .
Our three-game whirlwind tour (and I use the term 'whirlwind' both in the sense of 'brief and frenetic', and also 'getting slammed by a tornado') of the baseball post-season was really something of a microcosm of the entire season - the bullpen imploding, wasting creditable, if not spectacular starting pitching, and then the bats inexplicably disappearing when we did get solid pitching. I mean, 12 FREAKIN' RUNS OVER CONSECUTIVE 8TH INNINGS? Twelve!?! Seriously?!? But such was the quality of our bullpen this year; no lead was ever safe. I'd be listening to a game on the radio, and the starter would be through seven innings with 110 or so pitches, and a nine-run lead, and I'd be anxiously wringing my hands, wondering if a nine-run lead could hold up through two innings of relief pitching. (I don't recall if the bullpen ever actually blew a nine-run lead or not, but it had some atrocious meltdowns. I know we lost more than one lead of three runs or more in the 9th inning)
And, for all the all-star caliber hitters the Tigers have, they were prone to mystifying offensive droughts, making guys with career ERAs of 5.86 look like Sandy Freakin' Koufax. On paper, before the season, it looked like we should win our division by at least 10 games. Our starting rotation included two of the past three Cy Young Award winners (and we picked up the third one at the trade deadline), and Miguel Cabrera was the two-time defending Most Valuable Player. We even unloaded Prince Fielder's horrible contract and even more horrible defense; things were looking good. We had some injury problems, but nothing terribly our of the ordinary (although both Cabrera and Justin Verlander were coming off off-season surgeries, and both of them were mystifyingly un-dominant for long stretches of the season). We ended up squeaking out the division championship by one game, after looking up at the Kansas City Royals for a lot of the summer. It was a frustrating season, but it seemed like were starting to get our stuff together just in time for the playoffs. I guess not, huh?
But hey, the Los Angeles Angels, who by most all accounts were the best team in the American League, got similarly broomed out of the playoffs by the aforementioned Royals, and the Washington Nationals, who were likewise counted the best team in the National League, are on life support, having lost their first two games at home, and heading to San Francisco with no more losses 'to give'. Which goes to show, I suppose, that once you get into the playoffs, anything can happen. . .
The coming off-season promises to be tumultuous for my Tigers, in all sorts of ways. Max Scherzer, our best pitcher the past two seasons, is a free agent, and I can't imagine that the Tigers will be able to match the money that teams like the Yankees will be prepared to throw at him. Victor Martinez, who was our best hitter this year, is also a free agent, and it is not a given that we will be able to re-sign him, either. Torii Hunter has given the Tigers a couple of solid seasons, even at 39 years of age, and he's a free agent, too. We will see what we will see, of course (we always do), but there is a large sense that the Tigers' window of opportunity to win a World Series is about to slam shut. It's been a nice run for the past 5-6 seasons, but they haven't yet won it all, and it seems about to become less likely, not more.
(*sigh*)
-------------------------
The Lions also lost ignominiously yesterday afternoon, making it a dismally lost weekend for Detroit professional sports teams. . .
But at least, on a somewhat happier note, my Spartans won their game Saturday night. Not, however, before they gave up most of a 24-point, end-of-the-3rd-quarter lead, having to intercept a pass on the 10-yard-line with 30 seconds left in order to hang on for a 5-point win. In the last four minutes of the game, they gave up a touchdown on a punt return, and bounced a short filed goal off the upright. I was seriously hyperventilating at that point. Credit to Nebraska, our opponent, for not getting the memo that the game was over at the end of the 3rd quarter. The mismatch in intensity between the two teams in the 4th quarter was glaring. My Spartans will have to play hard for all four quarters, if they hope to contend for the kind of honors they aspire to.
-------------------------
At any rate, given the end of the Tigers' season, things might be a tad less sports-oriented around these parts than I'd hoped (or some of my readers might have feared) this month. So, who knows what stuff I might be posting about? With a sideways tip of the hat to my friend Suldog, I can't promise that my next post will be soon, and I sure can't promise that it'll be better. But, you know, eventually, with more stuff, of one sort or another. . .
Monday, September 29, 2014
Fire the Bastards!
It's October, and in recent years here in The Yard, that has meant a sudden uptick in my posting frequency, as I follow my Tigers through the baseball post-season, and this year, that grand tradition continues, as the Tigers have won their division for the fourth consecutive year, the first time in team history that they've appeared in four consecutive post-seasons. Although, to be candid, post-seasons these days are not what they once were, with 10 teams out of 30 qualifying for the festivities; whereas, back when Ty Cobb and the boys were appearing in three consecutive World Series from 1907-09, two teams out of 16 faced each other in the World Series, so that still seems like a bigger deal. . .
Even so, these recent years have been a period of noteworthy success for the Detroit Baseball Club. You might think that such a period of unprecedented sustained success would make for a happy group of Tiger fans. But you would be wrong. At least on a wider level; myself, I'm as happy a Tiger fan as I've ever been, except in the immediate aftermath of the '68 and '84 World Series. But at least judging from the people who call in to the sports-talk-radio stations, Tiger fans by-and-large are unprecedentedly angry and frustrated.
Both last year and this year, the Tigers finished atop the division standings by just a single game over the second-place team. Many fans, evidently spoiled by the team's run of success, think that the division race should have been over by Labor Day, and by such a dominant margin that the next-best team should be in third place, not second. When the team struggled with injuries, and a few of the players who were being counted on to perform at a high level, um, didn't, these fans became even more angry and frustrated.
The Tigers' manager this year is a man named Brad Ausmus, who is on his first managing job after a long career as a player, during which he achieved average-to above-average success from, shall we say, less-than-elite-level skills. He played two separate tours with the Tigers, during which he was a consistent fan favorite. So when he was named the Tigers' manager last winter, the move was met with approval, for the most part. But when the team failed to dominate in the 'expected' manner, a growing undertone of anger arose.
This is nothing new, mind you. For the eight seasons prior to this one, the Tigers' manager was a man named Jim Leyland, who was what they call a 'baseball lifer'. He'd had a couple previous gigs as a major-league manager, taking the Pittsburgh Pirates to a couple of post-seasons back in the early 90s, and winning a World Series with the Florida Marlins in '98. In his eight seasons in Detroit, the Tigers made the post-season four times, and played in two World Series, both of which they lost (they also lost a one-game tie-breaker in '09, which ought to count as a 'post-season' game, especially if you're going to count a one-game wild-card playoff as a post-season game; but I digress).
Virtually every day of those eight years, somebody in Detroit was calling in on talk-radio, calling for him to be fired. Because he didn't call for the bunt when he should have. Because he called for the bunt when he shouldn't have. Because he left his starter in one batter too long. Because he pulled his starter, who was obviously cruising, and good for another 23 innings. Because a hit-and-run play backfired. Because the third-baseman threw the ball into the upper deck, or the left-fielder missed the cutoff man. Etc., etc, etc. All under the general heading of "We know more about baseball than you do." A guy who's been in professional baseball for 50 years, and some pizza-delivery guy is certain that he knows more about baseball than him. 'Cuz, you know, he played baseball in high school, and he KNOWS baseball. It would be funny if it weren't so pathetic.
And so this year, when injuries set in, and key players under-performed, and success was less certain than it 'should have been', the same set of brilliant fans began calling for Brad Ausmus to be fired. Or Dave Dombrowski, the general manager. Or both of them, in a public execution at home plate, before the next game. It's just a good thing that the Tigers finally did win; who knows what might have happened if they hadn't.
And here's the thing that really grinds my backside about the whole thing, even beyond the pathetic aspect of thinking they know more about baseball than a guy who's been in the game professionally for 50 years - these folks are awfully casual about wanting someone else to lose their job. Look, I know that professional sports is a results-driven business, and if you don't win, you won't keep your job for long; I get that. But the constant, day-after-day drumbeat of 'Fire the Bastard!' directed at a team, and a manager, having considerably more-than-normal success, is jaw-droppingly bizarre. Would they want other people to be as casual about pulling the plug on their continued employment as they are about the managers of their favorite sports teams? Do people act like this in other towns? I mean, other than New York?
My modest proposal - anyone who goes on talk radio and calls for the coach of his favorite team to be fired, should be judged by the same standard. Get the change wrong on a pizza order - you're fired! Have a typo in your sales report - you're fired! And so on down the line. Any bit of strategy that backfires - that's it, you're gone! Have great results year after year, but some guy with flecks of spittle on his I-phone thinks you're a moron and he could've done better? You're screwed, get outta here!
(*puff, pant*) (*puff, pant*)
(*deep, cleansing breath*)
Okay, better now. . .
Anyway, the Tigers begin their fourth consecutive post-season on Thursday against the Orioles in Baltimore. And once again, hope springs eternal. I wish all your teams well, until they play my Tigers. Maybe this will finally be our year. . .
Even so, these recent years have been a period of noteworthy success for the Detroit Baseball Club. You might think that such a period of unprecedented sustained success would make for a happy group of Tiger fans. But you would be wrong. At least on a wider level; myself, I'm as happy a Tiger fan as I've ever been, except in the immediate aftermath of the '68 and '84 World Series. But at least judging from the people who call in to the sports-talk-radio stations, Tiger fans by-and-large are unprecedentedly angry and frustrated.
Both last year and this year, the Tigers finished atop the division standings by just a single game over the second-place team. Many fans, evidently spoiled by the team's run of success, think that the division race should have been over by Labor Day, and by such a dominant margin that the next-best team should be in third place, not second. When the team struggled with injuries, and a few of the players who were being counted on to perform at a high level, um, didn't, these fans became even more angry and frustrated.
The Tigers' manager this year is a man named Brad Ausmus, who is on his first managing job after a long career as a player, during which he achieved average-to above-average success from, shall we say, less-than-elite-level skills. He played two separate tours with the Tigers, during which he was a consistent fan favorite. So when he was named the Tigers' manager last winter, the move was met with approval, for the most part. But when the team failed to dominate in the 'expected' manner, a growing undertone of anger arose.
This is nothing new, mind you. For the eight seasons prior to this one, the Tigers' manager was a man named Jim Leyland, who was what they call a 'baseball lifer'. He'd had a couple previous gigs as a major-league manager, taking the Pittsburgh Pirates to a couple of post-seasons back in the early 90s, and winning a World Series with the Florida Marlins in '98. In his eight seasons in Detroit, the Tigers made the post-season four times, and played in two World Series, both of which they lost (they also lost a one-game tie-breaker in '09, which ought to count as a 'post-season' game, especially if you're going to count a one-game wild-card playoff as a post-season game; but I digress).
Virtually every day of those eight years, somebody in Detroit was calling in on talk-radio, calling for him to be fired. Because he didn't call for the bunt when he should have. Because he called for the bunt when he shouldn't have. Because he left his starter in one batter too long. Because he pulled his starter, who was obviously cruising, and good for another 23 innings. Because a hit-and-run play backfired. Because the third-baseman threw the ball into the upper deck, or the left-fielder missed the cutoff man. Etc., etc, etc. All under the general heading of "We know more about baseball than you do." A guy who's been in professional baseball for 50 years, and some pizza-delivery guy is certain that he knows more about baseball than him. 'Cuz, you know, he played baseball in high school, and he KNOWS baseball. It would be funny if it weren't so pathetic.
And so this year, when injuries set in, and key players under-performed, and success was less certain than it 'should have been', the same set of brilliant fans began calling for Brad Ausmus to be fired. Or Dave Dombrowski, the general manager. Or both of them, in a public execution at home plate, before the next game. It's just a good thing that the Tigers finally did win; who knows what might have happened if they hadn't.
And here's the thing that really grinds my backside about the whole thing, even beyond the pathetic aspect of thinking they know more about baseball than a guy who's been in the game professionally for 50 years - these folks are awfully casual about wanting someone else to lose their job. Look, I know that professional sports is a results-driven business, and if you don't win, you won't keep your job for long; I get that. But the constant, day-after-day drumbeat of 'Fire the Bastard!' directed at a team, and a manager, having considerably more-than-normal success, is jaw-droppingly bizarre. Would they want other people to be as casual about pulling the plug on their continued employment as they are about the managers of their favorite sports teams? Do people act like this in other towns? I mean, other than New York?
My modest proposal - anyone who goes on talk radio and calls for the coach of his favorite team to be fired, should be judged by the same standard. Get the change wrong on a pizza order - you're fired! Have a typo in your sales report - you're fired! And so on down the line. Any bit of strategy that backfires - that's it, you're gone! Have great results year after year, but some guy with flecks of spittle on his I-phone thinks you're a moron and he could've done better? You're screwed, get outta here!
(*puff, pant*) (*puff, pant*)
(*deep, cleansing breath*)
Okay, better now. . .
Anyway, the Tigers begin their fourth consecutive post-season on Thursday against the Orioles in Baltimore. And once again, hope springs eternal. I wish all your teams well, until they play my Tigers. Maybe this will finally be our year. . .
Friday, October 25, 2013
Wait 'Til Next Year, I Guess. . . Again
Well, those of you who have been following the first couple games of the World Series have no doubt noticed that my Tigers aren't playing in it. Alas. They could only manage to win two games in the time it took the Red Sox to win the requisite four, and so our friends from Boston have duly moved on to the championship round, and congratulations to them on that account. They are a good team, and most definitely worthy contestants for Baseball's Ultimate Prize; we wish them well.
I hope it doesn't come off sounding like sour grapes, but I will admit to a degree of frustration that you all didn't get to see my Tigers at their best (starting pitching aside). Our best hitter (and, if I may be so bold, the Best Hitter in Baseball Today) (heck, one of the best ever), Miguel Cabrera, was a shell of himself, owing to an injury that hobbled him from the beginning of September on. Now, a shell of Miguel Cabrera is still pretty decent, as hitters go, but quite a hit to the Tigers' offense, nonetheless. And our bullpen was a trainwreck. Losing one game of a best-4-of-7 series to a late-inning grand slam is bad, but stuff happens, right? Doing it twice in six games is awful. But then, really, it's nothing new. Our bullpen struggled all year, and our bats were prone to maddening stretches of quietude, especially given some of the hitters we've got on our team. Given the overall level of talent on our roster, we should have won our division by WAY more than the single game that separated us from the Cleveland Indians at season's end (and in saying that, I do not denigrate the Indians in the slightest; they played well and hard all season, and I take my hat off to 'em). So, the Boston series was, in many ways, a microcosm of our whole season - excellence punctuated by glaring flaws. And ain't that just the way of things?
Anyway, congratulations to Red Sox Nation, and good luck in the World Series!
(If my friend Suldog is reading this, the ingredients for the bean soup are now in place, and the slow-cooking should be commencing soon. Then it remains only to get the payment of my debt into your hands. Soon, my friend, soon.)
-------------------------
And then Monday (at the risk of totally driving away the non-baseball portion of whatever meager number of readers I still have left), our manager, Jim Leyland, announced that he was retiring, and wouldn't be managing the team any more. He's 68 years old, so I suppose it shouldn't have come as a complete surprise, but it did. Man, that is a blow. I'm hopeful that our team is strong enough to attract a capable replacement, but Jim Leyland has been one of the best managers the Tigers have ever had. You can see my previous post about three post-seasons in a row, and four in eight years, and all that. It's hard to express, as a Tiger fan, how unique this period of time has been. The Tigers have not been prone to long, sustained eras of excellence. Typically, they've had short peaks of 'Wonderful', amid long stretches of Competitively Above Average (and, in the decade or so before Leyland arrived, more years of Putrid Awfulness than we'd have preferred). So, we're not used to this Every-Year-In-the-Playoffs thing. And Jim Leyland presided over all of it. Even Sparky Anderson, our Hall-of-Fame manager from the 80s-90s, only took the Tigers to two League Championship Series, and one World Series, in 17 seasons. Leyland doubled both those accomplishments, in half as many years. The only thing he didn't do with the Tigers is win a World Series (though he did win one with the '97 Marlins).
Anyway, good luck, Mr. Leyland. We will sure miss you.
-------------------------
I would have intended to post this a few days ago, in the more immediate aftermath of our series with Boston, but the end of last week, work, um. . . exploded. Stuff was breaking that wasn't supposed to be breaking, and the first order of business was to figure out WHY it was breaking, because, as designed, it wasn't supposed to be seeing any load conditions that would even remotely cause it to break. And then we had to re-work the design, so that it doesn't break any more. And math, math, science, science, etc, etc. engineer-speak. The immediate upshot of which is that I worked last Saturday, and, even given that I didn't go in to the office until 8PM Sunday, I worked another 6 hours that day, too. And this week has featured 10-12 hour days pretty much every day. I'm starting to lose track of my normal circadian cycle. I like my job, and there's something exhilarating about really kicking ass to solve a problem, but a week is about all of that that I can stand. I'm fortunate that Jen is willing to take up the slack while I help slay the dragon, and that our marriage is strong enough to bear the strain, but any day now, I'm ready to go back home and kiss my wife and hug my kids and forget all about cars and machines and computers and such. KnowwhatImean?
And then, last night, as I was wrapping up the latest 12-hour day, my phone rings with a text message from Jen, informing me that 7M broke his wrist playing football, and she was on her way to the hospital with him. So, there's that. He'll recover, and so will we all. But right about now, I could use a cold beer and a ballgame on TV, and absolutely nothing to think about for the next three days. . .
I hope it doesn't come off sounding like sour grapes, but I will admit to a degree of frustration that you all didn't get to see my Tigers at their best (starting pitching aside). Our best hitter (and, if I may be so bold, the Best Hitter in Baseball Today) (heck, one of the best ever), Miguel Cabrera, was a shell of himself, owing to an injury that hobbled him from the beginning of September on. Now, a shell of Miguel Cabrera is still pretty decent, as hitters go, but quite a hit to the Tigers' offense, nonetheless. And our bullpen was a trainwreck. Losing one game of a best-4-of-7 series to a late-inning grand slam is bad, but stuff happens, right? Doing it twice in six games is awful. But then, really, it's nothing new. Our bullpen struggled all year, and our bats were prone to maddening stretches of quietude, especially given some of the hitters we've got on our team. Given the overall level of talent on our roster, we should have won our division by WAY more than the single game that separated us from the Cleveland Indians at season's end (and in saying that, I do not denigrate the Indians in the slightest; they played well and hard all season, and I take my hat off to 'em). So, the Boston series was, in many ways, a microcosm of our whole season - excellence punctuated by glaring flaws. And ain't that just the way of things?
Anyway, congratulations to Red Sox Nation, and good luck in the World Series!
(If my friend Suldog is reading this, the ingredients for the bean soup are now in place, and the slow-cooking should be commencing soon. Then it remains only to get the payment of my debt into your hands. Soon, my friend, soon.)
-------------------------
And then Monday (at the risk of totally driving away the non-baseball portion of whatever meager number of readers I still have left), our manager, Jim Leyland, announced that he was retiring, and wouldn't be managing the team any more. He's 68 years old, so I suppose it shouldn't have come as a complete surprise, but it did. Man, that is a blow. I'm hopeful that our team is strong enough to attract a capable replacement, but Jim Leyland has been one of the best managers the Tigers have ever had. You can see my previous post about three post-seasons in a row, and four in eight years, and all that. It's hard to express, as a Tiger fan, how unique this period of time has been. The Tigers have not been prone to long, sustained eras of excellence. Typically, they've had short peaks of 'Wonderful', amid long stretches of Competitively Above Average (and, in the decade or so before Leyland arrived, more years of Putrid Awfulness than we'd have preferred). So, we're not used to this Every-Year-In-the-Playoffs thing. And Jim Leyland presided over all of it. Even Sparky Anderson, our Hall-of-Fame manager from the 80s-90s, only took the Tigers to two League Championship Series, and one World Series, in 17 seasons. Leyland doubled both those accomplishments, in half as many years. The only thing he didn't do with the Tigers is win a World Series (though he did win one with the '97 Marlins).
Anyway, good luck, Mr. Leyland. We will sure miss you.
-------------------------
I would have intended to post this a few days ago, in the more immediate aftermath of our series with Boston, but the end of last week, work, um. . . exploded. Stuff was breaking that wasn't supposed to be breaking, and the first order of business was to figure out WHY it was breaking, because, as designed, it wasn't supposed to be seeing any load conditions that would even remotely cause it to break. And then we had to re-work the design, so that it doesn't break any more. And math, math, science, science, etc, etc. engineer-speak. The immediate upshot of which is that I worked last Saturday, and, even given that I didn't go in to the office until 8PM Sunday, I worked another 6 hours that day, too. And this week has featured 10-12 hour days pretty much every day. I'm starting to lose track of my normal circadian cycle. I like my job, and there's something exhilarating about really kicking ass to solve a problem, but a week is about all of that that I can stand. I'm fortunate that Jen is willing to take up the slack while I help slay the dragon, and that our marriage is strong enough to bear the strain, but any day now, I'm ready to go back home and kiss my wife and hug my kids and forget all about cars and machines and computers and such. KnowwhatImean?
And then, last night, as I was wrapping up the latest 12-hour day, my phone rings with a text message from Jen, informing me that 7M broke his wrist playing football, and she was on her way to the hospital with him. So, there's that. He'll recover, and so will we all. But right about now, I could use a cold beer and a ballgame on TV, and absolutely nothing to think about for the next three days. . .
Friday, October 11, 2013
Movin' On. . .
Well, once again, for the third year in a row, my Tigers have passed through the Division Series round of Major League Baseball's post-season playoffs, and earned for themselves the right to play for the American League championship. And this time, we get to play against my friend Suldog's Boston Red Sox (or Sawx, if, you know, you're from there. . .) Now that the Sox have won themselves a couple World Series in the last decade, they'll happily revert to their status quo ante as baseball's (or at least the American League's) calvinistically star-crossed team, right? The Curse of the Bambino, and all that (or, maybe now there's a Curse of The Youk) (well, there could be. . .) (or maybe a Curse of Josh Beckett; wait, is that laughter I hear coming from the Northeast?) Yeah, I know. . . probably not. . .
But you know, it's actually fairly amazing to me that we're here. A couple days ago, it really didn't look like we would be. When the A's won Game 3 of our series, things were not looking good for mis Tigres. Of the first 27 innings between the Tigers and A's, the Tigers had failed to score in 25 of them, including one excruciating stretch of 20 in a row. Incredibly, Justin Verlander threw 15 innings in two starts against the A's, without giving up a single run, and only had one victory to show for it (and the tying run was at the plate in the 9th inning last night. . . but, I'm getting ahead of myself).
Game 4 was a great game, unless you have heart issues. Once again, the A's took the early lead, and halfway through the game, the Tigers had yet to score, running their scoring drought to 29 of their first 31 turns at bat. They tied the game in the bottom of the 5th, but the A's re-took the lead in the top of the 7th, leaving the Tigers nine outs from elimination. But Victor Martinez tied the game on a home run that may or may not have been interfered with by a fan (OK, OK, it WAS interfered with, but if Reddick actually catches that ball, it's one of the great catches of all time; just sayin'), and then Austin Jackson, who set a record by striking out 13 times (13 times!!) in a 5-game series, drove in the go-ahead run while splinters of his bat were flying in every direction at once.
Looking good, right? Not so fast. In the top of the 8th, Max Scherzer (this year's Best Pitcher on the Tigers, and possible Cy Young Award winner), pitching in relief, loads the bases with nobody out. Uh-oh (as in, Uh-freakin'-Oh). Two strikeouts and a fly-out later, and the lead is intact. Edge-of-the-seat, pressure baseball at its very finest, right there. We add three more runs in the bottom of the 8th (and a good thing, too, 'cuz the A's scored two more in the 9th), and escape to Game 5.
Then, last night, Justin Verlander pitched for the Tigers, and, just like he did last year, squeezed all the life out of the poor A's, who have got to be having nightmares about Verlander about now. In the last two playoffs, Verlander has started four games against the A's, allowing a single run in the first inning of Game 1 last year, and nothing since. 30 consecutive turns at bat against Verlander, and the A's have yet to score their second playoff run against him. (Just as a footnote to what I was saying above - counting the two playoff games so far, Verlander has had ten starts this season in which he gave up no runs; ten starts, no runs, and his record in those ten games is 5-0, with five - count 'em five - no-decisions, every single one of which eventuated in a loss for the Tigers; and thereby hangs a tale of the sometime frustrations of this season for Tiger fans. . .) The A's didn't get their first base-runner until a one-out walk in the 6th inning, and two outs into the 7th, Verlander was still working on a no-hitter. The Tigers weren't exactly lighting up the skies offensively, either, but somehow or other, Miguel Cabrera (who is to hitting roughly what Verlander has been to pitching, except that nagging 'lower-body' injuries have sapped his power, and his ability to, uh, move, since September; ever see a 370-foot single off the wall? Tiger fans have). . . Okay, uh, where was I, before I was abducted by parentheses? Oh, yeah - Miguel Cabrera turned on an inside fastball with a runner on, so we actually had a couple runs on the board. Which, the way Verlander was pitching, could last into February, if it had to. And we're movin' on. . .
. . . to Boston, and a best-of-seven series with the Suldog's Red Sox for the championship of the American League. It should be a good series; the Red Sox are a good team, and one of the few whose starting pitching is close to as good as ours (*cough*Dodgers*cough*). And their hitting might be better than ours (at least, the way we've been hitting lately). We've never played the Red Sox in the post-season before (heck, from the beginning of divisional play in '69, through 2005, the Tigers played in exactly three League Championship Series, all of them while the Tigers and Red Sox were in the same division, so that wouldn't be as surprising as all that).
And all of a sudden, Jim Leyland's move of using Max Scherzer in relief in Game 4, looks like a genius move; now, Anibal Sanchez (the AL's ERA leader, and nominally the second-best pitcher on the Tigers this year) will start Game 1 against the Sox, and Scherzer and Verlander will pitch Games 2 and 3; should the series go the full seven games, Scherzer and Verlander will pitch Games 6 and 7. Nice.
Anyway, it should be a fun series, between two really good teams.
Let's Go, Tigers!
But you know, it's actually fairly amazing to me that we're here. A couple days ago, it really didn't look like we would be. When the A's won Game 3 of our series, things were not looking good for mis Tigres. Of the first 27 innings between the Tigers and A's, the Tigers had failed to score in 25 of them, including one excruciating stretch of 20 in a row. Incredibly, Justin Verlander threw 15 innings in two starts against the A's, without giving up a single run, and only had one victory to show for it (and the tying run was at the plate in the 9th inning last night. . . but, I'm getting ahead of myself).
Game 4 was a great game, unless you have heart issues. Once again, the A's took the early lead, and halfway through the game, the Tigers had yet to score, running their scoring drought to 29 of their first 31 turns at bat. They tied the game in the bottom of the 5th, but the A's re-took the lead in the top of the 7th, leaving the Tigers nine outs from elimination. But Victor Martinez tied the game on a home run that may or may not have been interfered with by a fan (OK, OK, it WAS interfered with, but if Reddick actually catches that ball, it's one of the great catches of all time; just sayin'), and then Austin Jackson, who set a record by striking out 13 times (13 times!!) in a 5-game series, drove in the go-ahead run while splinters of his bat were flying in every direction at once.
Looking good, right? Not so fast. In the top of the 8th, Max Scherzer (this year's Best Pitcher on the Tigers, and possible Cy Young Award winner), pitching in relief, loads the bases with nobody out. Uh-oh (as in, Uh-freakin'-Oh). Two strikeouts and a fly-out later, and the lead is intact. Edge-of-the-seat, pressure baseball at its very finest, right there. We add three more runs in the bottom of the 8th (and a good thing, too, 'cuz the A's scored two more in the 9th), and escape to Game 5.
Then, last night, Justin Verlander pitched for the Tigers, and, just like he did last year, squeezed all the life out of the poor A's, who have got to be having nightmares about Verlander about now. In the last two playoffs, Verlander has started four games against the A's, allowing a single run in the first inning of Game 1 last year, and nothing since. 30 consecutive turns at bat against Verlander, and the A's have yet to score their second playoff run against him. (Just as a footnote to what I was saying above - counting the two playoff games so far, Verlander has had ten starts this season in which he gave up no runs; ten starts, no runs, and his record in those ten games is 5-0, with five - count 'em five - no-decisions, every single one of which eventuated in a loss for the Tigers; and thereby hangs a tale of the sometime frustrations of this season for Tiger fans. . .) The A's didn't get their first base-runner until a one-out walk in the 6th inning, and two outs into the 7th, Verlander was still working on a no-hitter. The Tigers weren't exactly lighting up the skies offensively, either, but somehow or other, Miguel Cabrera (who is to hitting roughly what Verlander has been to pitching, except that nagging 'lower-body' injuries have sapped his power, and his ability to, uh, move, since September; ever see a 370-foot single off the wall? Tiger fans have). . . Okay, uh, where was I, before I was abducted by parentheses? Oh, yeah - Miguel Cabrera turned on an inside fastball with a runner on, so we actually had a couple runs on the board. Which, the way Verlander was pitching, could last into February, if it had to. And we're movin' on. . .
. . . to Boston, and a best-of-seven series with the Suldog's Red Sox for the championship of the American League. It should be a good series; the Red Sox are a good team, and one of the few whose starting pitching is close to as good as ours (*cough*Dodgers*cough*). And their hitting might be better than ours (at least, the way we've been hitting lately). We've never played the Red Sox in the post-season before (heck, from the beginning of divisional play in '69, through 2005, the Tigers played in exactly three League Championship Series, all of them while the Tigers and Red Sox were in the same division, so that wouldn't be as surprising as all that).
And all of a sudden, Jim Leyland's move of using Max Scherzer in relief in Game 4, looks like a genius move; now, Anibal Sanchez (the AL's ERA leader, and nominally the second-best pitcher on the Tigers this year) will start Game 1 against the Sox, and Scherzer and Verlander will pitch Games 2 and 3; should the series go the full seven games, Scherzer and Verlander will pitch Games 6 and 7. Nice.
Anyway, it should be a fun series, between two really good teams.
Let's Go, Tigers!
Friday, October 4, 2013
October Baseball. . . Again
Well, it's October, and my Tigers are back in Major League Baseball's post-season for the third consecutive year, and the fourth in eight (I'm tempted to say the fifth in eight, since we did have that Game 163 thing with the Twins in '09, which sure seemed like a post-season game to me, but the baseball purists are adamant that things don't work that way, and it doesn't count. So, PPPHHHLLLBBBTTT!!!!). Anyway, Woo-hoo! Honestly, the Tiges have never had such a sustained run of prosperity in my lifetime. They've typically had one monster year (say, 1968, or 1984), followed a couple years later by a lesser, 'aftershock'-type season (eg, 1972, 1987) where the old gang manages to wring out one last bit of glory before they all retire en masse (or, you know, sign with the Dodgers as free agents). But four post-seasons, and two World Series, in eight years? Be still, my heart! You'd have to go back to the Ty Cobb days of 1907-08-09 to find another Tiger team that played beyond the regular season for three years in a row (of course, in those days, all they had was the World Series, so that seems like a bigger deal than this, but I wasn't around in those days, so I wouldn't know) (hard as that may be for some of you to believe). Or the Hank Greenberg - Charley Gehringer days, when they made four World Series in twelve years between 1934-45.
----------
Incidentally, the 1908 Tigers are the last team to lose a World Series to the Chicago Cubs (the Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance Cubs, among whose pitching staff were Three-Finger Brown and Orval Overall), and the '45 Tigers are the last team to play the Cubs in a World Series. Which, given the way Cubs fans go on and on about their team and post-season futility, seems like it must be a big deal, somehow or other.
----------
This year's Tigers began the season with great expectations, and by-and-large, they met them, although it never seemed to be quite as straightforward as it was supposed to be. The team is headlined by the splendid Miguel Cabrera, last year's Triple Crown winner and American League Most Valuable Player, who was still in the hunt for a second consecutive Triple Crown (which, baseball types are well aware, is simply ridiculous) at the end of August, by which time nagging injuries wore him down, and he had to settle for just winning the American League batting and slugging titles (although a second consecutive MVP is very much a live possibility). Prince Fielder and Victor Martinez, along with Torii Hunter and Austin Jackson, made major offensive contributions (not that anyone was offended by their contributions; it's just that, you know, the batting and scoring-runs part of the game is called 'offense'. . . never mind). And mid-season, they picked up Jose Iglesias from Suldog's Red Sawx, to provide wizardly defense (because the guy who played the first two-thirds of the season at shortstop, Jhonny Peralta (yes, I know the 'h' and the 'o' are transposed; take it up with his mother), managed to get himself suspended for 50 games for using illegal Performance-Enhancing Drugs) (*sigh*)
The real strength of this Tigers team is its starting pitching. Justin Verlander is a former Cy Young award-winner, finished second in the voting last year, and he was no better than the third best of our five starting pitchers this season. Max Scherzer might well win this season's Cy Young award, and Anibal Sanchez led the American League in Earned Run Average. Doug Fister would be a solid #2 starter on most other teams, and Rick Porcello, still only 24, had the best of his five seasons in the big leagues so far.
All that being said, this is not a flawless baseball team. Our relief pitching was an area of concern all year, though it did get stronger toward the end of the season. And for all the big bats in our lineup, we were prone to maddening scoring droughts. I think that we led the majors in losses in which our starting pitchers gave up 1 run or less.
So, who knows what lies ahead? Another World Series would be wonderful, but I take nothing for granted. Just based on how the season has gone, I can see us winning it all, or I can see us getting swept out by the A's in the Division Series, possibly scoring less than a run a game. But one way or another, I am simply enjoying the ride, for the third year in a row. I'm not used to this. But I admit, I could get to like it. . .
----------
Incidentally, the 1908 Tigers are the last team to lose a World Series to the Chicago Cubs (the Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance Cubs, among whose pitching staff were Three-Finger Brown and Orval Overall), and the '45 Tigers are the last team to play the Cubs in a World Series. Which, given the way Cubs fans go on and on about their team and post-season futility, seems like it must be a big deal, somehow or other.
----------
This year's Tigers began the season with great expectations, and by-and-large, they met them, although it never seemed to be quite as straightforward as it was supposed to be. The team is headlined by the splendid Miguel Cabrera, last year's Triple Crown winner and American League Most Valuable Player, who was still in the hunt for a second consecutive Triple Crown (which, baseball types are well aware, is simply ridiculous) at the end of August, by which time nagging injuries wore him down, and he had to settle for just winning the American League batting and slugging titles (although a second consecutive MVP is very much a live possibility). Prince Fielder and Victor Martinez, along with Torii Hunter and Austin Jackson, made major offensive contributions (not that anyone was offended by their contributions; it's just that, you know, the batting and scoring-runs part of the game is called 'offense'. . . never mind). And mid-season, they picked up Jose Iglesias from Suldog's Red Sawx, to provide wizardly defense (because the guy who played the first two-thirds of the season at shortstop, Jhonny Peralta (yes, I know the 'h' and the 'o' are transposed; take it up with his mother), managed to get himself suspended for 50 games for using illegal Performance-Enhancing Drugs) (*sigh*)
The real strength of this Tigers team is its starting pitching. Justin Verlander is a former Cy Young award-winner, finished second in the voting last year, and he was no better than the third best of our five starting pitchers this season. Max Scherzer might well win this season's Cy Young award, and Anibal Sanchez led the American League in Earned Run Average. Doug Fister would be a solid #2 starter on most other teams, and Rick Porcello, still only 24, had the best of his five seasons in the big leagues so far.
All that being said, this is not a flawless baseball team. Our relief pitching was an area of concern all year, though it did get stronger toward the end of the season. And for all the big bats in our lineup, we were prone to maddening scoring droughts. I think that we led the majors in losses in which our starting pitchers gave up 1 run or less.
So, who knows what lies ahead? Another World Series would be wonderful, but I take nothing for granted. Just based on how the season has gone, I can see us winning it all, or I can see us getting swept out by the A's in the Division Series, possibly scoring less than a run a game. But one way or another, I am simply enjoying the ride, for the third year in a row. I'm not used to this. But I admit, I could get to like it. . .
Monday, October 29, 2012
Well, That Was Quick. . .
(*sigh*)
The World Series is over, and for the second time in the last six years, my Tigers are left wondering what the hell hit them. The Giants played the whole Series with lightning bolts shooting out of their eyes, and my Tigers. . . didn't. They just kicked our asses every way they could possibly be kicked, and hats off to 'em. Not much doubt as to who was the better team for those four games. . .
I won't belabor the things you can read elsewhere. Our best pitcher got rocked, and our best hitters (especially young Mr. Fielder) struggled. Frankly, all season long, our hitters, aside from Cabrera and Fielder and Jackson, were disappointing, and prone to long, frustrating slumps. It was bad timing for them to fall into another of their familiar funks in the World Series, but whatchagonnado?
Our pitching actually wasn't that bad. Fister and Sanchez were very good, and deserved better from their bat-wielding teammates. Not to take anything away from the Giant pitchers, but when you hit .159 for the Series, you're not gonna win much.
I don't really mean this as the lame excuse that it's gonna come off as, but, one of these years, I'd like to play one of these things without having to sit for a week before we get there. It's tough to come back from a week off and jump in against a team. . . well, you know, that lightning-bolt thing. . .
-------------------------
Anyway, we'll have a couple weeks of post-season awards, and Tigers have a decent shot to win a couple of 'em. Then we start the process of looking forward to next year, and wondering if we'll be better or worse, or if we can make the playoffs again. For a World Series team, we've really got quite a few holes in our roster, and it would be nice if a few of the more glaring ones could be upgraded. But, overall, we've got enough talent to have realistic hopes of being back in the post-season with some moderate regularity. Perhaps. And once we get there, who knows?
But for now, baseball season is over, and we will return to our regularly-scheduled programming with the next post. . .
The World Series is over, and for the second time in the last six years, my Tigers are left wondering what the hell hit them. The Giants played the whole Series with lightning bolts shooting out of their eyes, and my Tigers. . . didn't. They just kicked our asses every way they could possibly be kicked, and hats off to 'em. Not much doubt as to who was the better team for those four games. . .
I won't belabor the things you can read elsewhere. Our best pitcher got rocked, and our best hitters (especially young Mr. Fielder) struggled. Frankly, all season long, our hitters, aside from Cabrera and Fielder and Jackson, were disappointing, and prone to long, frustrating slumps. It was bad timing for them to fall into another of their familiar funks in the World Series, but whatchagonnado?
Our pitching actually wasn't that bad. Fister and Sanchez were very good, and deserved better from their bat-wielding teammates. Not to take anything away from the Giant pitchers, but when you hit .159 for the Series, you're not gonna win much.
I don't really mean this as the lame excuse that it's gonna come off as, but, one of these years, I'd like to play one of these things without having to sit for a week before we get there. It's tough to come back from a week off and jump in against a team. . . well, you know, that lightning-bolt thing. . .
-------------------------
Anyway, we'll have a couple weeks of post-season awards, and Tigers have a decent shot to win a couple of 'em. Then we start the process of looking forward to next year, and wondering if we'll be better or worse, or if we can make the playoffs again. For a World Series team, we've really got quite a few holes in our roster, and it would be nice if a few of the more glaring ones could be upgraded. But, overall, we've got enough talent to have realistic hopes of being back in the post-season with some moderate regularity. Perhaps. And once we get there, who knows?
But for now, baseball season is over, and we will return to our regularly-scheduled programming with the next post. . .
Sunday, October 28, 2012
A New PR. . .
All the leaves are down,
And the sky is gray. . .
OK, not quite all of the leaves are down, but about 90% of 'em are, and the ones that are left are mostly all brown and shriveled. But the sky today was a friendly bright blue, with a few puffy white clouds scattered about. The temperature topped out just below 50F, so I broke out the sweats for my ride yesterday.
I did 32 miles, bringing my total for the year to 1617, a full eight miles more than I did two years ago. And still roughly a month left in the riding season, before the snow and ice and cold of winter set in in earnest. So there's still a decent chance that I could go above 1700 miles for the season, and wouldn't that be cool?
-------------------------
And things are not going well for my Tigers. Their ace aside, they've pitched well enough. Actually, they've pitched REALLY well. But their bats have utterly deserted them, especially in clutch situations, like bases-loaded, one out. In a 3-0 hole, it will take a comeback verging on the miraculous (yes, Suldog, I know about your '04 Red Sox; but that's one in how many hundred 7-game series?). This could be over tomorrow, if we don't start getting a few timely hits.
(*sigh*)
At least my Spartans won. . .
And the sky is gray. . .
OK, not quite all of the leaves are down, but about 90% of 'em are, and the ones that are left are mostly all brown and shriveled. But the sky today was a friendly bright blue, with a few puffy white clouds scattered about. The temperature topped out just below 50F, so I broke out the sweats for my ride yesterday.
I did 32 miles, bringing my total for the year to 1617, a full eight miles more than I did two years ago. And still roughly a month left in the riding season, before the snow and ice and cold of winter set in in earnest. So there's still a decent chance that I could go above 1700 miles for the season, and wouldn't that be cool?
-------------------------
And things are not going well for my Tigers. Their ace aside, they've pitched well enough. Actually, they've pitched REALLY well. But their bats have utterly deserted them, especially in clutch situations, like bases-loaded, one out. In a 3-0 hole, it will take a comeback verging on the miraculous (yes, Suldog, I know about your '04 Red Sox; but that's one in how many hundred 7-game series?). This could be over tomorrow, if we don't start getting a few timely hits.
(*sigh*)
At least my Spartans won. . .
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Random Thoughts on Game 1. . .
I really hadn't planned on doing game-by-game commentary on the World Series (and I still don't), but a few thoughts are oozing out of my perfervid brain this morning. . .
First, I feel like I should apologize to my Giant-fan friends - that was not the real Justin Verlander you saw last night. I think it's safe to say that a week off didn't do happy things for his sharpness. Truthfully, though, even The Best Pitcher in Baseball has his off-nights; it's just that Game 1 of the World Series is a god-awful time to have one. His record this season was 17-8. Sometimes, his hitters didn't hit behind him; sometimes his bullpen left him with a no-decision in a game he should have won. But he did have a couple games this year (unlike 2011) where he got rocked around a bit. I'm not old enough, though, to remember the last time he left after four innings. He has occasionally been prone to getting 'over-geeked' and overthrowing when things go against him. I think that Pagan's freakish little double with two out in the third flustered him, just a bit (and Scutaro's single was just the dictionary definition of 'clutch'). Then he started trying to throw the ball through the wall, and when he does that, it never goes well for him. The fourth inning, he was all over the place, and when Zito got the RBI single. . . well, you just throw your hands up and realize it's not gonna be your night. . .
And Pablo Sandoval. . . what can I say? Did somebody give him an injection of blood from Babe Freakin' Ruth? This guy hit 12 homers this year? With 63 RBIs? No freakin' way! And his second homer off Verlander was a low-and-away fastball; not exactly a fat pitch. So now, including the All-Star game, Sandoval's batting line against The Best Pitcher in Baseball is - three plate appearances, two homers and a triple, six RBI. That's a slugging percentage of 3.667. I'm sure even Sandy Koufax had guys who were inexplicably hard for him to get out, but that's ridiculous. I can only echo Verlander himself and say, "Wow!"
But then, it's only one game. And my Tigers made a whole season out of grinding their way back out of a hole of their own digging. I'm sure it's already forgotten, and their minds are on tonight's game (at least, they'd better be). I was a little annoyed at the way so many of the national commentators were saying that it was all over if the Giants beat Verlander in Game 1. It's not like our other starters are dogmeat; I can believe that they might not exactly be household names around the National League, but Fister, Sanchez and Scherzer are pretty darn good in their own right. So I'm not remotely conceding defeat.
Besides, I think the Giants are falling into their own trap, jumping out to an early lead in the Series. They're never gonna get enough elimination games for themselves if they keep playing like this. . .
First, I feel like I should apologize to my Giant-fan friends - that was not the real Justin Verlander you saw last night. I think it's safe to say that a week off didn't do happy things for his sharpness. Truthfully, though, even The Best Pitcher in Baseball has his off-nights; it's just that Game 1 of the World Series is a god-awful time to have one. His record this season was 17-8. Sometimes, his hitters didn't hit behind him; sometimes his bullpen left him with a no-decision in a game he should have won. But he did have a couple games this year (unlike 2011) where he got rocked around a bit. I'm not old enough, though, to remember the last time he left after four innings. He has occasionally been prone to getting 'over-geeked' and overthrowing when things go against him. I think that Pagan's freakish little double with two out in the third flustered him, just a bit (and Scutaro's single was just the dictionary definition of 'clutch'). Then he started trying to throw the ball through the wall, and when he does that, it never goes well for him. The fourth inning, he was all over the place, and when Zito got the RBI single. . . well, you just throw your hands up and realize it's not gonna be your night. . .
And Pablo Sandoval. . . what can I say? Did somebody give him an injection of blood from Babe Freakin' Ruth? This guy hit 12 homers this year? With 63 RBIs? No freakin' way! And his second homer off Verlander was a low-and-away fastball; not exactly a fat pitch. So now, including the All-Star game, Sandoval's batting line against The Best Pitcher in Baseball is - three plate appearances, two homers and a triple, six RBI. That's a slugging percentage of 3.667. I'm sure even Sandy Koufax had guys who were inexplicably hard for him to get out, but that's ridiculous. I can only echo Verlander himself and say, "Wow!"
But then, it's only one game. And my Tigers made a whole season out of grinding their way back out of a hole of their own digging. I'm sure it's already forgotten, and their minds are on tonight's game (at least, they'd better be). I was a little annoyed at the way so many of the national commentators were saying that it was all over if the Giants beat Verlander in Game 1. It's not like our other starters are dogmeat; I can believe that they might not exactly be household names around the National League, but Fister, Sanchez and Scherzer are pretty darn good in their own right. So I'm not remotely conceding defeat.
Besides, I think the Giants are falling into their own trap, jumping out to an early lead in the Series. They're never gonna get enough elimination games for themselves if they keep playing like this. . .
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
It's On!
The World Series starts tonight, Game 1 in San Francisco as my Detroit Tigers go against the San Francisco Giants, much beloved of Uncle Skip and others.
We'll see if the six days off between dispatching the (stunningly hapless) New York Yankees and the beginning of the next round translates into 'rusty' or 'well-rested'. The same thing happened in 2006, and it didn't work to my Tigers' advantage.
We've got the Best Pitcher in Baseball on the mound for us tonight, and the Best Hitter in Baseball (who just happened to win the Triple Crown this year) playing third base for us. And a few other decent players, besides - our first baseman and center-fielder are pretty darned good, and our other three starting pitchers (NOT named Verlander) are pretty good, too.
That said, the Tigers are far from a perfect team; they're not the '84 Tigers, just cruising through the playoffs on their way to coronation. Beyond the three guys I just mentioned, our hitting has been, uh, sporadic for most of the season, tho a couple guys have decided to get hot at the best possible time; hopefully, they can keep that going for a few more games. Our defense isn't very good, either, but when Verlander and Scherzer are striking guys out by the bushel, that might possibly be less of an issue. And our bullpen has struggled for much of the year; it's a good thing our starters have been so amazing in the post-season, because there's not a lot to inspire confidence once they leave the game.
So we will see. I don't know that much about the Giants, beyond the fact that their pitching might be just as good as ours (Verlander aside). I'm told that young Mr. Posey is quite a ballplayer, and of course, there's the matter of that bases-loaded triple that Mr. Sandoval hit off Verlander in the All-Star game. So I take nothing for granted.
But it's baseball; it's the World Series, and it's the Tigers. I do intend to enjoy the ride. . .
We'll see if the six days off between dispatching the (stunningly hapless) New York Yankees and the beginning of the next round translates into 'rusty' or 'well-rested'. The same thing happened in 2006, and it didn't work to my Tigers' advantage.
We've got the Best Pitcher in Baseball on the mound for us tonight, and the Best Hitter in Baseball (who just happened to win the Triple Crown this year) playing third base for us. And a few other decent players, besides - our first baseman and center-fielder are pretty darned good, and our other three starting pitchers (NOT named Verlander) are pretty good, too.
That said, the Tigers are far from a perfect team; they're not the '84 Tigers, just cruising through the playoffs on their way to coronation. Beyond the three guys I just mentioned, our hitting has been, uh, sporadic for most of the season, tho a couple guys have decided to get hot at the best possible time; hopefully, they can keep that going for a few more games. Our defense isn't very good, either, but when Verlander and Scherzer are striking guys out by the bushel, that might possibly be less of an issue. And our bullpen has struggled for much of the year; it's a good thing our starters have been so amazing in the post-season, because there's not a lot to inspire confidence once they leave the game.
So we will see. I don't know that much about the Giants, beyond the fact that their pitching might be just as good as ours (Verlander aside). I'm told that young Mr. Posey is quite a ballplayer, and of course, there's the matter of that bases-loaded triple that Mr. Sandoval hit off Verlander in the All-Star game. So I take nothing for granted.
But it's baseball; it's the World Series, and it's the Tigers. I do intend to enjoy the ride. . .
Friday, October 19, 2012
World Series Bound (Again)
Once again, for the eleventh time in history, and the fourth time in my young life (and the second time in my bloggerly existence), my Tigers are headed to the World Series. Woo, as they say, Hoo!
I don't know if I can handle this properly, or not; the Tigers, in my lifetime, have been pretty much of a once-every-twenty-years-or-so team, when it comes to the World Series. For them to make a third post-season appearance (to say nothing of that Game-163 thing in '09), and a second World Series, in six years, just seems sorta, I dunno, extravagant. I mean, is it our turn again already? Not, mind you, that I'm complaining. . .
As things turned out, it was the Tigers' unpleasant duty to bring an end to the Oakland A's Feel-Good-Story-of-the-Year in the first round, but not before getting to the winner-take-all 5th game. But then, Justin Verlander (known in these parts as The Best Pitcher in Baseball, or TBPiB, for short) just kinda squeezed all the life out of the poor A's in the deciding game. Somewhere along the way, we started noticing that, hey, ALL our starting pitchers are pitching REALLY well; not just Verlander, but Doug Fister, Max Scherzer and Anibal Sanchez, were just stifling the opposing bats to a pretty incredible degree. Against the A's, our four starters had a combined Earned-Run-Average (ERA) of 1.30, and only allowed 21 hits in 34-2/3 innings; the A's hit a combined .176 against them. For those of you who don't follow baseball, or for whom baseball statistics are drooling-stupor-inducing, I'll just say that those are just mind-bogglingly good numbers, and all the moreso against a team that was good enough to make the playoffs, and had won 9 of its last 11 games, and 33 of its last 46, before the playoffs.
After dispatching the A's, we moved on to face the dreaded New York Yankees in the League Championship Series, and our pitching got even better (altho, to hear the New York media tell it, the Yankees were a bunch of mentally-defective degenerates, so the Tigers could hardly help sweeping them away; but those degenerates somehow managed to win 95 games this season). The Yankees only scored six runs total in four games against the Tigers, and four of those were in a single, epic melt-down of an inning, against our erstwhile one-time closer, who has struggled all year, but most especially in the playoffs. In 27-1/3 innings, our starters allowed two runs and 13 hits; those are simply ridiculous numbers.
Honestly, it feels a little odd to be sitting here, waiting for the World Series to start, after the season we had this year. Virtually everyone expected the Tigers to run away with the Central Division this year, especially after signing Prince Fielder to augment what was already a pretty potent offense. But the team seemed to be playing in molasses all year. Doug Fister, who had pitched so well for us in 2011, spent the first half or more of the season on and off of the injury list, and Max Scherzer got off to a horrible start. Our hitting was inconsistent, and maddeningly un-clutch; I can't think of how many times a runner on third base with no outs failed to score, or how many times we hit into double-plays with the bases loaded and one out. Plus, when our starters pitched well, our bullpen would blow the games at the end. 58 games into the season, the Tigers' record was 26-32, and they were six games behind the division-leading Chicago White Sox.
Eventually, they started to play better, but all season long, it was three steps forward, two steps back. They'd go on a 13-2 run, and follow it with a 2-6 stretch, followed by a 6-0 run, then 1-5. As late as September 17, they lost a critical game against the White Sox that left them three games behind with 16 to play. And on the 23rd, they lost both ends of a doubleheader against the Twins (the freakin' TWINS!), when winning even one of them would have pulled them into a tie for first. As a fan, it was continuously, maddeningly frustrating.
But the Tigers won eight of their final ten games and surged past the White Sox , who were stumbling just as we were hitting our stride. At the same time, Miguel Cabrera went on a personal tear of his own, that ended with him winning the Triple Crown, the first hitter since 1967 to accomplish that feat. We ended up winning the division by three games.
And I recalled thinking that, if we could just make it into the post-season, our pitching was good enough to possibly carry us pretty far. Little did I know. . .
At the moment, it looks likely that we'll be facing the St. Louis Cardinals in the World Series, for the fourth time (unless Uncle Skip's Giants can pull off another three-game, come-from-behind miracle). The Cardinals beat us the last time we were in the Series, in 2006, so there's a certain sentiment in these parts that wants to see the rematch. But, really, we just want to play the Series against whoever shows up, and, hopefully, win.
It's funny - the first two times I watched the Tigers in the World Series, in '68 and '84, they just kicked ass all season long, and carried it over into the playoffs. I'm not used to this sneaking-in the last couple days thing.
But - good times to be a Tiger fan. Good, good times. . .
Go Tigers!!!
-------------------------
It's actually kinda nice, in a way, that the World Series doesn't start until next Wednesday. My Spartans play their annual Rivalry Game against our Sister School from down the road this weekend, and it's nice to have a brief break from the Tigers, so we can concentrate all of our passion and energy on the football game for the weekend. My Spartans have won the last four in a row against the maize-and-blue (well, they call it maize; we call it corn), but this season hasn't gone quite as well for the ol' alma mater. Not that the Wolver-persons are all that and a bag of chips, but for us to extend our winning streak against them would be a bit of an upset. We'll see. . .
Go Green! Go White! Go Spartans!
*************************
(add, 22 Oct)
(*sigh*)
Well, my Spartans couldn't extend their winning streak over their in-state rivals this past weekend, losing 12-10 on a last-second field goal. The game was right there for them to win it, but it's just been that kind of season for 'em. Ah, well; I suppose we have to let 'em win every five years or so, or they won't want to play with us anymore. . .
But hey, maybe there'll be some kind of karmic balance, and it'll bode well for my Tigers in the World Series. We still don't know who we're gonna play come Wednesday night; Uncle Skip's Giants came back from the brink, and play a deciding Game 7 tonight, the winner of which will be our World Series opponent. . .
I don't know if I can handle this properly, or not; the Tigers, in my lifetime, have been pretty much of a once-every-twenty-years-or-so team, when it comes to the World Series. For them to make a third post-season appearance (to say nothing of that Game-163 thing in '09), and a second World Series, in six years, just seems sorta, I dunno, extravagant. I mean, is it our turn again already? Not, mind you, that I'm complaining. . .
As things turned out, it was the Tigers' unpleasant duty to bring an end to the Oakland A's Feel-Good-Story-of-the-Year in the first round, but not before getting to the winner-take-all 5th game. But then, Justin Verlander (known in these parts as The Best Pitcher in Baseball, or TBPiB, for short) just kinda squeezed all the life out of the poor A's in the deciding game. Somewhere along the way, we started noticing that, hey, ALL our starting pitchers are pitching REALLY well; not just Verlander, but Doug Fister, Max Scherzer and Anibal Sanchez, were just stifling the opposing bats to a pretty incredible degree. Against the A's, our four starters had a combined Earned-Run-Average (ERA) of 1.30, and only allowed 21 hits in 34-2/3 innings; the A's hit a combined .176 against them. For those of you who don't follow baseball, or for whom baseball statistics are drooling-stupor-inducing, I'll just say that those are just mind-bogglingly good numbers, and all the moreso against a team that was good enough to make the playoffs, and had won 9 of its last 11 games, and 33 of its last 46, before the playoffs.
After dispatching the A's, we moved on to face the dreaded New York Yankees in the League Championship Series, and our pitching got even better (altho, to hear the New York media tell it, the Yankees were a bunch of mentally-defective degenerates, so the Tigers could hardly help sweeping them away; but those degenerates somehow managed to win 95 games this season). The Yankees only scored six runs total in four games against the Tigers, and four of those were in a single, epic melt-down of an inning, against our erstwhile one-time closer, who has struggled all year, but most especially in the playoffs. In 27-1/3 innings, our starters allowed two runs and 13 hits; those are simply ridiculous numbers.
Honestly, it feels a little odd to be sitting here, waiting for the World Series to start, after the season we had this year. Virtually everyone expected the Tigers to run away with the Central Division this year, especially after signing Prince Fielder to augment what was already a pretty potent offense. But the team seemed to be playing in molasses all year. Doug Fister, who had pitched so well for us in 2011, spent the first half or more of the season on and off of the injury list, and Max Scherzer got off to a horrible start. Our hitting was inconsistent, and maddeningly un-clutch; I can't think of how many times a runner on third base with no outs failed to score, or how many times we hit into double-plays with the bases loaded and one out. Plus, when our starters pitched well, our bullpen would blow the games at the end. 58 games into the season, the Tigers' record was 26-32, and they were six games behind the division-leading Chicago White Sox.
Eventually, they started to play better, but all season long, it was three steps forward, two steps back. They'd go on a 13-2 run, and follow it with a 2-6 stretch, followed by a 6-0 run, then 1-5. As late as September 17, they lost a critical game against the White Sox that left them three games behind with 16 to play. And on the 23rd, they lost both ends of a doubleheader against the Twins (the freakin' TWINS!), when winning even one of them would have pulled them into a tie for first. As a fan, it was continuously, maddeningly frustrating.
But the Tigers won eight of their final ten games and surged past the White Sox , who were stumbling just as we were hitting our stride. At the same time, Miguel Cabrera went on a personal tear of his own, that ended with him winning the Triple Crown, the first hitter since 1967 to accomplish that feat. We ended up winning the division by three games.
And I recalled thinking that, if we could just make it into the post-season, our pitching was good enough to possibly carry us pretty far. Little did I know. . .
At the moment, it looks likely that we'll be facing the St. Louis Cardinals in the World Series, for the fourth time (unless Uncle Skip's Giants can pull off another three-game, come-from-behind miracle). The Cardinals beat us the last time we were in the Series, in 2006, so there's a certain sentiment in these parts that wants to see the rematch. But, really, we just want to play the Series against whoever shows up, and, hopefully, win.
It's funny - the first two times I watched the Tigers in the World Series, in '68 and '84, they just kicked ass all season long, and carried it over into the playoffs. I'm not used to this sneaking-in the last couple days thing.
But - good times to be a Tiger fan. Good, good times. . .
Go Tigers!!!
-------------------------
It's actually kinda nice, in a way, that the World Series doesn't start until next Wednesday. My Spartans play their annual Rivalry Game against our Sister School from down the road this weekend, and it's nice to have a brief break from the Tigers, so we can concentrate all of our passion and energy on the football game for the weekend. My Spartans have won the last four in a row against the maize-and-blue (well, they call it maize; we call it corn), but this season hasn't gone quite as well for the ol' alma mater. Not that the Wolver-persons are all that and a bag of chips, but for us to extend our winning streak against them would be a bit of an upset. We'll see. . .
Go Green! Go White! Go Spartans!
*************************
(add, 22 Oct)
(*sigh*)
Well, my Spartans couldn't extend their winning streak over their in-state rivals this past weekend, losing 12-10 on a last-second field goal. The game was right there for them to win it, but it's just been that kind of season for 'em. Ah, well; I suppose we have to let 'em win every five years or so, or they won't want to play with us anymore. . .
But hey, maybe there'll be some kind of karmic balance, and it'll bode well for my Tigers in the World Series. We still don't know who we're gonna play come Wednesday night; Uncle Skip's Giants came back from the brink, and play a deciding Game 7 tonight, the winner of which will be our World Series opponent. . .
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Go Get 'Em, Tigers!
OK, I know that there are not so many avid baseball fans among my readership, but you'll indulge me for one short post, won't you? 'Rejoice with those who rejoice,' and all that, right?
My beloved Detroit Tigers are division champions again this year. Taken together with their division championship from last year, it's the first time that they've made the post-season in consecutive years since 1934-35, in the years of Hank Greenberg and Charlie Gehringer and Mickey Cochrane, and lots of other guys whose playing careers were over many years before I was born. Honestly, the whole 'post-season' thing is a little bit lame; up through 1968 (coincidentally, the Tigers won the World Series that year, transporting my 12-year-old soul on clouds of bliss), only one team from each league qualified for the 'post-season', which in those days was simply called the World Series. From '69 thru '93, the American and National Leagues were both split into two divisions, and each league had a 'Championship Series' between its divison winners, and that winner moved on to the World Series; so there were two rounds of 'post-season' in those years. From '95 to the present day, four teams from each league qualify for three rounds of post-season playoffs. So, whereas in 1968, two of 20 major-league teams qualified for the 'post-season', now eight of 30 do. So, qualifying for the 'post-season' isn't quite as hard to do as it once was. But then, the only way to get to the World Series is to make the post-season first, so there you go. . .
At this stage, my own feeling about the season is more one of relief than exultation. From the time the team signed Prince Fielder to a contract last winter, the expectation was more or less that the team, which had run away from the division in 2011, had just gotten significantly better, and 2012 would be something of a cakewalk to the division title. It, uh, didn't quite work out that way. Lots of the guys who'd had good years in 2011 didn't come close to duplicating them in 2012. The team's hitting, which had been expected to be an over-arching strength, struggled for most of the season, especially when it came to the kind of timely, clutch hitting that contributes to scoring runs. The pitching staff was disrupted by numerous injuries, and the bullpen, which had been amazingly solid in 2011, was considerably shakier this year; they lost way too many games in which they had a lead in the late innings, because the relief pitchers couldn't hold them. And the team's fielding, which hadn't exactly been stellar before, became very shaky indeed, with the addition of Fielder at first base, which necessitated Miguel Cabrera (of whom, more later) moving to third base. So lots of batted balls which last year's team would have fielded, wound up getting through the infield for base hits.
That's a lot of 'baseball talk' (and I am grateful for those of you who are still reading, this far into the post) for saying that it was a long, frustrating summer, watching the Tigers struggle and stumble when we had expected them to win, and win easily. As recently as September 23, they lost both games of a doubleheader to the lowly Minnesota Twins, to stay securely in second place. Over the course of the full season, they were actually in first place for something like 40 days (and probably 30 of those were in April and early May). But just in the nick of time, they put together a late run (and it didn't hurt that their main competition, the Chicago White Sox, went into a tailspin at the same time), and clinched the division title this past Monday.
(*heavy sigh*)
So now, they're in the playoffs, and once you're in the playoffs, anyone can win. They face the Oakland A's in the first round of the playoffs, starting this Saturday. The Tigers' pitching, especially their starting pitching, is solid, starting with Justin Verlander, arguably the best pitcher in the game right now, and it has been getting even stronger in recent weeks. And strong pitching is about the most important thing a team can have in the post-season. Our hitting is capable of putting up impressive scores, but whether it will or not remains to be seen.
But you can't win if you don't get to play, and just making the playoffs is the key first step.
So, congratulations to my Tigers. From here on in, we will see what we will see. . .
-------------------------
I also need to say something about Miguel Cabrera, the Tigers' third baseman. He is arguably the best hitter in the game right now (and gee - if we have the best hitter and the best pitcher, how is it, again, that we just barely scraped into the playoffs?). But this season, he did something truly rare and remarkable - he led the American League in all three of the 'classical' hitting stats - Batting Average, Home Runs, and Runs Batted In - which, taken all together, are called the Triple Crown. Winners of the Triple Crown are quite rare; the last Triple Crown winner was the Boston Red Sox' Carl Yastrzemski in 1967, 45 years ago (oddly enough, the Baltimore Orioles' Frank Robinson also won the Triple Crown the year before Yaz did). Heck, it's noteworthy when someone leads his league in even two of the Triple Crown categories the same year (especially if one of them is Batting Average; Homers and RBI tend to go together much more often). Since 1901, there have only been 14 Triple Crown seasons, by 12 hitters, and all of them except Cabrera (for the simple, obvious reason that he's still playing) are in the Hall of Fame. So, this is a Big Deal, and it is our privilege here in Michigan to get to see Miguel Cabrera hit every day, during the baseball season.
As a personal aside, last night was one of the more interesting nights of following baseball that I've ever experienced. Cabrera went into last night's games leading in all three statistical categories, but his leads in both batting average and home runs were slim enough that he could have been passed by the second-place hitters. In home runs, the Texas Rangers' Josh Hamilton was only one behind Cabrera, so I brought up the live-game summary of the Rangers' game on my computer, to see if Hamilton hit any homers. He didn't, so I switched to the Los Angeles Angels' game to check on Mike Trout, their young hitting phenom. If Trout had a 4-for-4 game, he could pass Cabrera if Cabrera went 0-for-4. So, when Trout made an out on his second plate appearance, the Triple Crown was essentially sewn up. Shortly after that, Tigers manager Jim Leyland removed Cabrera from their game, allowing him a curtain call in front of the fans in Kansas City (and a bit of rest in an otherwise meaningless game), who showed real class, recognizing what they were seeing. There was a bit of late heartburn when the Yankees' Curtis Granderson hit a second homer in their game with the Red Sox, leaving him tied for second in homers with the aforementioned Mr. Hamilton. But Granderson came out of the game soon afterward, leaving Miggy's crown in place. It was really kinda fun to watch it all unfold.
So, congratulations to Miguel Cabrera. The likes of him don't come around very often. . .
My beloved Detroit Tigers are division champions again this year. Taken together with their division championship from last year, it's the first time that they've made the post-season in consecutive years since 1934-35, in the years of Hank Greenberg and Charlie Gehringer and Mickey Cochrane, and lots of other guys whose playing careers were over many years before I was born. Honestly, the whole 'post-season' thing is a little bit lame; up through 1968 (coincidentally, the Tigers won the World Series that year, transporting my 12-year-old soul on clouds of bliss), only one team from each league qualified for the 'post-season', which in those days was simply called the World Series. From '69 thru '93, the American and National Leagues were both split into two divisions, and each league had a 'Championship Series' between its divison winners, and that winner moved on to the World Series; so there were two rounds of 'post-season' in those years. From '95 to the present day, four teams from each league qualify for three rounds of post-season playoffs. So, whereas in 1968, two of 20 major-league teams qualified for the 'post-season', now eight of 30 do. So, qualifying for the 'post-season' isn't quite as hard to do as it once was. But then, the only way to get to the World Series is to make the post-season first, so there you go. . .
At this stage, my own feeling about the season is more one of relief than exultation. From the time the team signed Prince Fielder to a contract last winter, the expectation was more or less that the team, which had run away from the division in 2011, had just gotten significantly better, and 2012 would be something of a cakewalk to the division title. It, uh, didn't quite work out that way. Lots of the guys who'd had good years in 2011 didn't come close to duplicating them in 2012. The team's hitting, which had been expected to be an over-arching strength, struggled for most of the season, especially when it came to the kind of timely, clutch hitting that contributes to scoring runs. The pitching staff was disrupted by numerous injuries, and the bullpen, which had been amazingly solid in 2011, was considerably shakier this year; they lost way too many games in which they had a lead in the late innings, because the relief pitchers couldn't hold them. And the team's fielding, which hadn't exactly been stellar before, became very shaky indeed, with the addition of Fielder at first base, which necessitated Miguel Cabrera (of whom, more later) moving to third base. So lots of batted balls which last year's team would have fielded, wound up getting through the infield for base hits.
That's a lot of 'baseball talk' (and I am grateful for those of you who are still reading, this far into the post) for saying that it was a long, frustrating summer, watching the Tigers struggle and stumble when we had expected them to win, and win easily. As recently as September 23, they lost both games of a doubleheader to the lowly Minnesota Twins, to stay securely in second place. Over the course of the full season, they were actually in first place for something like 40 days (and probably 30 of those were in April and early May). But just in the nick of time, they put together a late run (and it didn't hurt that their main competition, the Chicago White Sox, went into a tailspin at the same time), and clinched the division title this past Monday.
(*heavy sigh*)
So now, they're in the playoffs, and once you're in the playoffs, anyone can win. They face the Oakland A's in the first round of the playoffs, starting this Saturday. The Tigers' pitching, especially their starting pitching, is solid, starting with Justin Verlander, arguably the best pitcher in the game right now, and it has been getting even stronger in recent weeks. And strong pitching is about the most important thing a team can have in the post-season. Our hitting is capable of putting up impressive scores, but whether it will or not remains to be seen.
But you can't win if you don't get to play, and just making the playoffs is the key first step.
So, congratulations to my Tigers. From here on in, we will see what we will see. . .
-------------------------
I also need to say something about Miguel Cabrera, the Tigers' third baseman. He is arguably the best hitter in the game right now (and gee - if we have the best hitter and the best pitcher, how is it, again, that we just barely scraped into the playoffs?). But this season, he did something truly rare and remarkable - he led the American League in all three of the 'classical' hitting stats - Batting Average, Home Runs, and Runs Batted In - which, taken all together, are called the Triple Crown. Winners of the Triple Crown are quite rare; the last Triple Crown winner was the Boston Red Sox' Carl Yastrzemski in 1967, 45 years ago (oddly enough, the Baltimore Orioles' Frank Robinson also won the Triple Crown the year before Yaz did). Heck, it's noteworthy when someone leads his league in even two of the Triple Crown categories the same year (especially if one of them is Batting Average; Homers and RBI tend to go together much more often). Since 1901, there have only been 14 Triple Crown seasons, by 12 hitters, and all of them except Cabrera (for the simple, obvious reason that he's still playing) are in the Hall of Fame. So, this is a Big Deal, and it is our privilege here in Michigan to get to see Miguel Cabrera hit every day, during the baseball season.
As a personal aside, last night was one of the more interesting nights of following baseball that I've ever experienced. Cabrera went into last night's games leading in all three statistical categories, but his leads in both batting average and home runs were slim enough that he could have been passed by the second-place hitters. In home runs, the Texas Rangers' Josh Hamilton was only one behind Cabrera, so I brought up the live-game summary of the Rangers' game on my computer, to see if Hamilton hit any homers. He didn't, so I switched to the Los Angeles Angels' game to check on Mike Trout, their young hitting phenom. If Trout had a 4-for-4 game, he could pass Cabrera if Cabrera went 0-for-4. So, when Trout made an out on his second plate appearance, the Triple Crown was essentially sewn up. Shortly after that, Tigers manager Jim Leyland removed Cabrera from their game, allowing him a curtain call in front of the fans in Kansas City (and a bit of rest in an otherwise meaningless game), who showed real class, recognizing what they were seeing. There was a bit of late heartburn when the Yankees' Curtis Granderson hit a second homer in their game with the Red Sox, leaving him tied for second in homers with the aforementioned Mr. Hamilton. But Granderson came out of the game soon afterward, leaving Miggy's crown in place. It was really kinda fun to watch it all unfold.
So, congratulations to Miguel Cabrera. The likes of him don't come around very often. . .
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Baseball in '68
I've mentioned before, on more than one occasion, that I grew up a baseball fan, in a baseball town. But I also grew up way Up North in Michigan, which meant that I was (and still am) a devout follower of the Detroit Tigers. But in those days, in that place, it was something on the order of a five-hour drive to Detroit, so we didn't go to Tiger games very often; maybe once a year. Maybe.
In 1968, I was twelve years old. Also in 1968, my beloved Tigers had a very good team, eventually winning the World Series. The '68 Tigers were comprised of one Hall-of-Famer (Al Kaline) a few perennial, or at least occasional, All-Stars (Bill Freehan, Willie Horton, Norm Cash, Dick McAulliffe, Mickey Lolich, Earl Wilson). . . and Denny McLain.
In recent years, it has become painfully clear that Denny McLain is one of the great a**holes in the entire history of professional sports. But for 1968, Denny, the pitcher, was in a class all by himself. He won 31 games, which, even in those days, was an absurd number (from 1934 to the present day, he is the only pitcher to surpass 30 wins; just to give an idea). Every four days, all summer, Denny took the mound, allowing hardly any runs to the other team, striking out a lot of them, and almost always coming away with the win.
Everything Denny touched in 1968 turned to gold for him. Heck, I recall a game he pitched against the Baltimore Orioles, which was one of the few televised games we got Up North in those days. He had runners on first and second, with nobody out and Boog Powell at the plate (and you just have to hold a special place in your heart for a guy named 'Boog', dontcha?). Well, Mr. Powell crushed the pitch Denny sent him, sending a screaming line drive heading directly toward a spot somewhere between Denny's belly-button and. . . a bit lower than that. Reflexively, Denny coiled up, just trying to protect himself from the projectile whistling toward him, and the ball lodged in his glove. For a split second, you could practically see Denny do a double-take - "You mean, I'm not dead? Oh, look - the ball is in my glove!" Both runners had broken with the pitch, so Denny whirled and threw to second, doubling off the runner, and the shortstop threw the ball to first, beating the runner who was desperately trying to get back there. So Denny went from his life flashing before his eyes to a triple play in about a second. It was that kind of year for him.
But honestly, as incredible as his '68 season was, I didn't come here to talk about Denny McLain (about whom, the less said, the better, as a general rule)
-------------------------
In 1968, the one game I went to was on the night of August 21, a Wednesday, against the Chicago White Sox. I'm not sure why we'd have gone to a Wednesday night game; we almost always went to Saturday afternoon games, since that gave us the time to get to Detroit, watch a game, and get back home on more-or-less the same calendar day. I vaguely recall that my dad had some manner of business in Detroit, so he took my brother and me with him, and dropped us at Tiger Stadium while he took care of his business.
As a twelve-year-old boy, walking into a major-league stadium was almost a transcendent experience. We walked to the gate, gave the usher our tickets, and then walked up the ramp into the stadium, trying to locate our seats. Up a long concrete ramp, turn a corner, climb another ramp, and then a sign saying 'Section XYZ', with an arrow. At the top of the ramp, we emerged onto a concourse. Looking to our left, we saw it - a bright, well-lit expanse of luminescent green grass. The ball field at Tiger Stadium. It bore a superficial resemblance to the fields we played on back home, but I think the grass at Tiger Stadium that night was the purest, greenest grass I'd ever seen.
Our seats weren't great - we were in the lower deck, near the top row, on the first-base side. Which meant that we were well behind the posts - roughly every 30 feet or so - supporting the upper deck. It also meant that the upper deck hung down low in front of us, so any ball hit reasonably high in the air disappeared behind the upper-deck overhang. Then we'd follow the movements of the fielders to try to gage where the ball was headed, craning our necks and swiveling our heads to see around the posts. If the fielder moved a few feet, then settled into a spot, looking up, we knew it was an easy fly ball. If the fielder took off running, glancing over his shoulder as he ran, that meant trouble. But we didn't care - it was just great to be watching the Tigers - the first-place Tigers - play ball, in their great green cathedral.
The game itself was a fairly low-scoring affair (as were many games in '68), and frustrating to watch. Pat Dobson started for the Tigers, and pitched very well, but midway through the 8th inning, the Tigers trailed, 2-1. Then in the bottom of the 8th, Mickey Stanley hit a home run to tie the score at 2, which is where the game stood at the end of nine innings.
The White Sox didn't score in the top of the 10th, and with one out in the bottom of the 10th, the pitcher (by that time, Darryl Patterson had relieved Dobson) was due up, so Mayo Smith, the Tigers' manager, sent Jim Price up to pinch-hit (and don't you just have to wonder a little, about parents who would name their infant son 'Mayo'?).
Now, every team has its role-players - guys who aren't the big stars, but who fill an important role on the team, and make a valuable contribution, even if they aren't the 'big dogs'. And there are many more role-players than stars. Every twelve-year-old boy will generally have one or two of those 'role players' that, for whatever inscrutable reason, they take a liking to. Jim Price was one of those guys for me. Don't even ask me to explain it; he just was. Or maybe he became one that night. But I'm getting ahead of myself. . .
Anyway, Jim Price, who was nominally the Tigers' backup catcher, came into the game to pinch-hit for the pitcher in the bottom of the 10th inning, with the game tied at 2-2. And he hit the ball into the lower-deck seats in left-field. As I described above, the ball left his bat and, from my vantage-point, quickly disappeared behind the upper-deck overhang, at an angle and speed that suggested that this could be really good. Our eyes shifted to the White Sox' outfielders, and we watched as the left-fielder scurried back and back and back, onto the warning track, and then up against the fence, until all he could do was look up, and watch the ball fly over his head, a few rows into the stands, the Tigers winning the game, 3-2.
So - from way Up North, we could only go to one Tiger game a year. And that was the one game that I attended in the championship season of 1968, when I was twelve. Jim Price played in all of 64 games for the '68 Tigers, coming to bat 132 times, and hitting .174. Not that great. He hit 3 home runs in 1968, and 18 in a five-year major-league career. But one of 'em was when I was there to watch. . .
-------------------------
When I was in high school (I want to say it was the fall of '70), we had our annual fall sports banquet, and since I'd played football that fall, I was there. The organizers had pulled off a real coup, getting for the speaker, a beloved member of the exalted '68 Tigers - Jim Price (I guess Al Kaline had a previous engagement). . .
These days, Jim Price is the color commentator for the Tigers' radio broadcasts, so every time I have the game on the radio as I'm driving somewhere, I have Jim Price's voice to keep me company, and to remind me of that night in August of '68. . .
In 1968, I was twelve years old. Also in 1968, my beloved Tigers had a very good team, eventually winning the World Series. The '68 Tigers were comprised of one Hall-of-Famer (Al Kaline) a few perennial, or at least occasional, All-Stars (Bill Freehan, Willie Horton, Norm Cash, Dick McAulliffe, Mickey Lolich, Earl Wilson). . . and Denny McLain.
In recent years, it has become painfully clear that Denny McLain is one of the great a**holes in the entire history of professional sports. But for 1968, Denny, the pitcher, was in a class all by himself. He won 31 games, which, even in those days, was an absurd number (from 1934 to the present day, he is the only pitcher to surpass 30 wins; just to give an idea). Every four days, all summer, Denny took the mound, allowing hardly any runs to the other team, striking out a lot of them, and almost always coming away with the win.
Everything Denny touched in 1968 turned to gold for him. Heck, I recall a game he pitched against the Baltimore Orioles, which was one of the few televised games we got Up North in those days. He had runners on first and second, with nobody out and Boog Powell at the plate (and you just have to hold a special place in your heart for a guy named 'Boog', dontcha?). Well, Mr. Powell crushed the pitch Denny sent him, sending a screaming line drive heading directly toward a spot somewhere between Denny's belly-button and. . . a bit lower than that. Reflexively, Denny coiled up, just trying to protect himself from the projectile whistling toward him, and the ball lodged in his glove. For a split second, you could practically see Denny do a double-take - "You mean, I'm not dead? Oh, look - the ball is in my glove!" Both runners had broken with the pitch, so Denny whirled and threw to second, doubling off the runner, and the shortstop threw the ball to first, beating the runner who was desperately trying to get back there. So Denny went from his life flashing before his eyes to a triple play in about a second. It was that kind of year for him.
But honestly, as incredible as his '68 season was, I didn't come here to talk about Denny McLain (about whom, the less said, the better, as a general rule)
-------------------------
In 1968, the one game I went to was on the night of August 21, a Wednesday, against the Chicago White Sox. I'm not sure why we'd have gone to a Wednesday night game; we almost always went to Saturday afternoon games, since that gave us the time to get to Detroit, watch a game, and get back home on more-or-less the same calendar day. I vaguely recall that my dad had some manner of business in Detroit, so he took my brother and me with him, and dropped us at Tiger Stadium while he took care of his business.
As a twelve-year-old boy, walking into a major-league stadium was almost a transcendent experience. We walked to the gate, gave the usher our tickets, and then walked up the ramp into the stadium, trying to locate our seats. Up a long concrete ramp, turn a corner, climb another ramp, and then a sign saying 'Section XYZ', with an arrow. At the top of the ramp, we emerged onto a concourse. Looking to our left, we saw it - a bright, well-lit expanse of luminescent green grass. The ball field at Tiger Stadium. It bore a superficial resemblance to the fields we played on back home, but I think the grass at Tiger Stadium that night was the purest, greenest grass I'd ever seen.
Our seats weren't great - we were in the lower deck, near the top row, on the first-base side. Which meant that we were well behind the posts - roughly every 30 feet or so - supporting the upper deck. It also meant that the upper deck hung down low in front of us, so any ball hit reasonably high in the air disappeared behind the upper-deck overhang. Then we'd follow the movements of the fielders to try to gage where the ball was headed, craning our necks and swiveling our heads to see around the posts. If the fielder moved a few feet, then settled into a spot, looking up, we knew it was an easy fly ball. If the fielder took off running, glancing over his shoulder as he ran, that meant trouble. But we didn't care - it was just great to be watching the Tigers - the first-place Tigers - play ball, in their great green cathedral.
The game itself was a fairly low-scoring affair (as were many games in '68), and frustrating to watch. Pat Dobson started for the Tigers, and pitched very well, but midway through the 8th inning, the Tigers trailed, 2-1. Then in the bottom of the 8th, Mickey Stanley hit a home run to tie the score at 2, which is where the game stood at the end of nine innings.
The White Sox didn't score in the top of the 10th, and with one out in the bottom of the 10th, the pitcher (by that time, Darryl Patterson had relieved Dobson) was due up, so Mayo Smith, the Tigers' manager, sent Jim Price up to pinch-hit (and don't you just have to wonder a little, about parents who would name their infant son 'Mayo'?).
Now, every team has its role-players - guys who aren't the big stars, but who fill an important role on the team, and make a valuable contribution, even if they aren't the 'big dogs'. And there are many more role-players than stars. Every twelve-year-old boy will generally have one or two of those 'role players' that, for whatever inscrutable reason, they take a liking to. Jim Price was one of those guys for me. Don't even ask me to explain it; he just was. Or maybe he became one that night. But I'm getting ahead of myself. . .
Anyway, Jim Price, who was nominally the Tigers' backup catcher, came into the game to pinch-hit for the pitcher in the bottom of the 10th inning, with the game tied at 2-2. And he hit the ball into the lower-deck seats in left-field. As I described above, the ball left his bat and, from my vantage-point, quickly disappeared behind the upper-deck overhang, at an angle and speed that suggested that this could be really good. Our eyes shifted to the White Sox' outfielders, and we watched as the left-fielder scurried back and back and back, onto the warning track, and then up against the fence, until all he could do was look up, and watch the ball fly over his head, a few rows into the stands, the Tigers winning the game, 3-2.
So - from way Up North, we could only go to one Tiger game a year. And that was the one game that I attended in the championship season of 1968, when I was twelve. Jim Price played in all of 64 games for the '68 Tigers, coming to bat 132 times, and hitting .174. Not that great. He hit 3 home runs in 1968, and 18 in a five-year major-league career. But one of 'em was when I was there to watch. . .
-------------------------
When I was in high school (I want to say it was the fall of '70), we had our annual fall sports banquet, and since I'd played football that fall, I was there. The organizers had pulled off a real coup, getting for the speaker, a beloved member of the exalted '68 Tigers - Jim Price (I guess Al Kaline had a previous engagement). . .
These days, Jim Price is the color commentator for the Tigers' radio broadcasts, so every time I have the game on the radio as I'm driving somewhere, I have Jim Price's voice to keep me company, and to remind me of that night in August of '68. . .
Monday, May 28, 2012
Memorial Day Doubleheader
Back when I was young, there used to be such things as baseball doubleheaders, which is to say, two games on the same day, for the price of a single admission. In baseball lore, this virtually always used to draw a reference to Ernie Banks, Hall-of-Fame shortsop-first-baseman for the Chicago Cubs (and anyone who could make the Hall of Fame playing for the Cubs in those days was a special ballplayer, indeed), who, aside from being a great, great ballplayer, was also one of the happiest men ever to put on a major-league uniform. Ernie (and now I'm wondering if there isn't just something associated with baseball happiness that attaches to the name 'Ernie'?) was often heard to say, "It's a beautiful day; let's play two." Back in my childhood days, most Sundays, as well as holidays like Labor Day, Memorial Day, and the Fourth of July, were occasions for doubleheaders, as if there were just something celebratory about twice as much baseball as usual (and, honestly, who can argue with that?).
Nowadays, there is pretty much no such thing as a doubleheader anymore. Oh, teams will schedule doubleheaders to make up for rainouts, and such, but they're not 'doubleheaders' in the sense defined above; they're 'day-night' doubleheaders, in which, rather than play two games back-to-back on a single admission, they'll play an afternoon game, then clear the stadium and charge a second admission for a separate night game. It's directly traceable to the baleful influence of money on what is, at its essence, a bucolic, pastoral game (if you'll allow me briefly to go all Bart Giamatti on you). Teams need every one of those 81 paying crowds in order to meet their expenses (read: player salaries); 70 or so simply won't feed the bulldog (or, you know, the $27-million-a-year third-baseman). So, no more doubleheaders. It is, for baseball fans, a significant loss. . .
-------------------------
I grew up a long, long drive from Detroit, so we didn't go to many Tigers games when I was a kid; once a year, maybe. But when I went to college, and suddenly realized that Tiger Stadium was only an hour-and-a-half from campus, it became much more reasonable to think about heading down for a game on the weekend, and we did, maybe a couple times during the spring term, and a couple more times in the summer.
It was 1981, I'm pretty sure (because it was one of the last games before the players' strike that took out the middle third of the season), that my buddy Steve and I went down to Tiger Stadium for a Memorial Day doubleheader against the Baltimore Orioles (I was 25 years old, and hadn't yet marked my first wedding anniversary; Jen wasn't even pregnant, so it was a LONG time ago). The Tigers had an up-and-coming young team full of players like Alan Trammell and Lou Whitaker, Lance Parrish and Kirk Gibson (who, only a couple years previously, had been wandering the same college campus as I had), still three years away from their World Championship of '84. The Orioles, on the other hand, were a team of established veterans midway between a pair of World Series appearances in '79 (they lost) and '83 (they won).
My buddy Steve and his wife had just moved to Our Town from Texas a few months before, and we had instantly hit it off with each other. Steve was a 'ticket guy' - he was always on the lookout for tickets to really cool sporting events. Whereas I was mostly content to watch stuff on TV, Steve would come to me from time-to-time, saying, "Hey, I got tickets to the Indy 500 this year; you wanna go?" So yeah, I went to the '84 Indy 500 (won by Rick Mears, the second of his four Indy wins), with Steve.
So, in '81, with the threat of a strike looming, Steve came to me with tickets for the Memorial Day doubleheader between the Tigers and Orioles. We had a regular pattern when we attended Tiger games, in those days. We'd buy reserved seats in the upper deck (in front of the posts, if possible), usually on the 3rd-base side. From there, we'd spy out empty seats down by the visitors' dugout, and 'move up' for the end of the game.
In the first game, Dan Petry started and won for the Tigers; Steve Kemp homered and had 4 RBI. For the Orioles, Ken Singleton was a one-man wrecking crew; he came into the game hitting .380 or so, then went 3-for-4 with a double. But that didn't really capture how well he was hitting the ball. Every ball he hit was crushed; even the out he made flew over 400 feet to the center-field warning track. Kenny was seeing the ball real good that day. (Even pretty devoted baseball fans might not remember, but Ken Singleton was a 3-time All-Star, and twice finished top-3 in the MVP voting)
For the second game, we duly moved up to seats between the Orioles' dugout and home plate, in the second row from the field. We were so close, that we couldn't see the shortstop's feet, or the left-fielder's legs, because of the crowning of the field (for drainage purposes). We could hear the catchers jawing with the umpires (in only the most deferential, respectful tones, you can be sure) over balls and strikes (without ever actually arguing over balls and strikes; it's a subtle art). And we could talk to the on-deck hitters.
So when Ken Singleton appeared in the on-deck circle in the top of the first inning of Game 2, he was standing about 8 feet from where we were sitting. "Come on, Ken," I implored. "You killed us in the first game; take it easy this time, OK?"
He smiled. "Can't do it, man. You won the game; what do you want?"
We laughed, and then engaged in similar good-natured banter every time he appeared on-deck. He ended up going the most awsome 0-for-4 I think I've ever seen, again hitting every ball hard, and a couple of them a long, long way, but right at the defense; he hit one line drive that Trammell caught out of pure self-preservation instinct, just before it would have exploded his skull. The Tigers ended up winning when Lance Parrish hit a 2-run homer in the 8th, breaking a tie, so we went home happy, having seen the Tigers sweep a doubleheader from a pretty good team. . .
But you won't see anything like that anymore, because there aren't any doubleheaders anymore. . .
Nowadays, there is pretty much no such thing as a doubleheader anymore. Oh, teams will schedule doubleheaders to make up for rainouts, and such, but they're not 'doubleheaders' in the sense defined above; they're 'day-night' doubleheaders, in which, rather than play two games back-to-back on a single admission, they'll play an afternoon game, then clear the stadium and charge a second admission for a separate night game. It's directly traceable to the baleful influence of money on what is, at its essence, a bucolic, pastoral game (if you'll allow me briefly to go all Bart Giamatti on you). Teams need every one of those 81 paying crowds in order to meet their expenses (read: player salaries); 70 or so simply won't feed the bulldog (or, you know, the $27-million-a-year third-baseman). So, no more doubleheaders. It is, for baseball fans, a significant loss. . .
-------------------------
I grew up a long, long drive from Detroit, so we didn't go to many Tigers games when I was a kid; once a year, maybe. But when I went to college, and suddenly realized that Tiger Stadium was only an hour-and-a-half from campus, it became much more reasonable to think about heading down for a game on the weekend, and we did, maybe a couple times during the spring term, and a couple more times in the summer.
It was 1981, I'm pretty sure (because it was one of the last games before the players' strike that took out the middle third of the season), that my buddy Steve and I went down to Tiger Stadium for a Memorial Day doubleheader against the Baltimore Orioles (I was 25 years old, and hadn't yet marked my first wedding anniversary; Jen wasn't even pregnant, so it was a LONG time ago). The Tigers had an up-and-coming young team full of players like Alan Trammell and Lou Whitaker, Lance Parrish and Kirk Gibson (who, only a couple years previously, had been wandering the same college campus as I had), still three years away from their World Championship of '84. The Orioles, on the other hand, were a team of established veterans midway between a pair of World Series appearances in '79 (they lost) and '83 (they won).
My buddy Steve and his wife had just moved to Our Town from Texas a few months before, and we had instantly hit it off with each other. Steve was a 'ticket guy' - he was always on the lookout for tickets to really cool sporting events. Whereas I was mostly content to watch stuff on TV, Steve would come to me from time-to-time, saying, "Hey, I got tickets to the Indy 500 this year; you wanna go?" So yeah, I went to the '84 Indy 500 (won by Rick Mears, the second of his four Indy wins), with Steve.
So, in '81, with the threat of a strike looming, Steve came to me with tickets for the Memorial Day doubleheader between the Tigers and Orioles. We had a regular pattern when we attended Tiger games, in those days. We'd buy reserved seats in the upper deck (in front of the posts, if possible), usually on the 3rd-base side. From there, we'd spy out empty seats down by the visitors' dugout, and 'move up' for the end of the game.
In the first game, Dan Petry started and won for the Tigers; Steve Kemp homered and had 4 RBI. For the Orioles, Ken Singleton was a one-man wrecking crew; he came into the game hitting .380 or so, then went 3-for-4 with a double. But that didn't really capture how well he was hitting the ball. Every ball he hit was crushed; even the out he made flew over 400 feet to the center-field warning track. Kenny was seeing the ball real good that day. (Even pretty devoted baseball fans might not remember, but Ken Singleton was a 3-time All-Star, and twice finished top-3 in the MVP voting)
For the second game, we duly moved up to seats between the Orioles' dugout and home plate, in the second row from the field. We were so close, that we couldn't see the shortstop's feet, or the left-fielder's legs, because of the crowning of the field (for drainage purposes). We could hear the catchers jawing with the umpires (in only the most deferential, respectful tones, you can be sure) over balls and strikes (without ever actually arguing over balls and strikes; it's a subtle art). And we could talk to the on-deck hitters.
So when Ken Singleton appeared in the on-deck circle in the top of the first inning of Game 2, he was standing about 8 feet from where we were sitting. "Come on, Ken," I implored. "You killed us in the first game; take it easy this time, OK?"
He smiled. "Can't do it, man. You won the game; what do you want?"
We laughed, and then engaged in similar good-natured banter every time he appeared on-deck. He ended up going the most awsome 0-for-4 I think I've ever seen, again hitting every ball hard, and a couple of them a long, long way, but right at the defense; he hit one line drive that Trammell caught out of pure self-preservation instinct, just before it would have exploded his skull. The Tigers ended up winning when Lance Parrish hit a 2-run homer in the 8th, breaking a tie, so we went home happy, having seen the Tigers sweep a doubleheader from a pretty good team. . .
But you won't see anything like that anymore, because there aren't any doubleheaders anymore. . .
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Roar of the Tigers
OK, with apologies to all my non-sports-fan readers (which is to say, pretty much all of you except Suldog); you know how some guys are with their sports teams. . .
-------------------------
My Detroit Tigers had a pretty darned good year in 2011, winning the American League's Central Division, thus reaching the post-season for the first time in five years (unless you count the 12-inning play-in game they lost to the Minnesota Twins in '09), and only the sixth time in my own young life. Then we beat the mighty Yankees in the first-round series, earning us the right to be defeated in six games by the Texas Rangers for the American League championship. Alas, of our four losses to the Rangers, one was by one run, and two were in 11 innings (although getting beat 15-5 in the final game tends to stick in people's minds). That said, the Rangers are a really strong team (such hitters!), and they'll acquit themselves well in the World Series, I'm sure.
I'll beg your indulgence for a few paragraphs while I briefly review the season. . .
It was an odd season, beginning with a sense that this was a pretty good, competitive team, and that the Central Division was ripe for them to win it, with even the better teams all flawed, to varying degrees. And yet, us Tiger fans spent most of the season in frustration, wondering when the team was going to stop struggling so much, and show its true quality. Well into August, the Tigers were only six games above .500, and a game or two ahead of the second-place Cleveland Indians (or was it the Chicago White Sox? It varied from day to day). Then suddenly, in mid-August, everything started clicking, and the Tigers finished with 95 wins, winning the division by 15 games. Amazing.
For much of the season, the only real attention given to any individual Tiger was focused on Justin Verlander, their ace pitcher, who will undoubtedly win the American League's Cy Young Award as the best pitcher in the league. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say that JV won 24 games (a really large number, in these days of five-man pitching rotations), allowing 2.4 runs per nine innings. Opposing hitters could only hit .192 against him, and he amassed 250 strikeouts during the season, besides throwing his second no-hitter. As phenomenal a season as any Tiger pitcher has ever had.
There was also our closer, Jose Valverde, who collected 49 saves without blowing a single opportunity (which isn't to say that we were never nervous when he was in the game). Miguel Cabrera had a relatively quiet season, by his standards, but still led the league in batting average, while hitting 30 home runs and driving in 105 runs.
A couple of the Tigers' young players had breakout seasons - Alex Avila made the All-Star game as the best catcher in the American League; not many of us saw that coming. And Brennan Boesch developed into a steady, productive major-league outfielder, which was not obvious at the end of 2010.
The pitching looked to be a strength, given how well Max Scherzer had pitched the second half of 2010, but he never really found that groove in 2011. Rick Porcello is still a promising young pitcher, but the fulfillment of that promise remains mostly in the future. But the acquisition of Doug Fister at the trade deadline was a stroke of pure genius; he'd gone 3-12 in Seattle, but with an ERA of around 3.3, so he was pitching well, without much to show for it. Then, practically from the minute he arrived in Detroit, he was right on a level with Verlander for shutting down opposing hitters (and frankly, in the post-season, he pitched considerably better than Verlander did).
In fact, several of the Tigers' deals this year paid big dividends. The big off-season free-agent signings were Victor Martinez and Joaquin Benoit, and both were huge contributors to the team's success. If Martinez did nothing else, he earned his pay for making opponents pitch to Cabrera; a .330 batting average (and close to .400 with runners in scoring position, or when Cabrera was walked ahead of him), with 103 RBIs, were above and beyond. And Benoit, after some early struggles, settled into a lights-out 8th-inning guy, handing games over to Valverde.
At the trade deadline, the Tigers picked up Wilson Betemit and Delmon Young, besides the aforementioned Mr. Fister, who both contributed solidly to the amazing stretch run, capably filling gaps in the lineup. In the past, these deadline deals have often as not turned to dust (*cough* Jerrod Washburn *cough* Aubrey Huff *cough*), but this year, it seemed like every single player addition (with the exception of Brad Penny, and even he had his moments) just worked out wonderfully. I love it when a plan comes together.
So, it was an odd season - four months of frustratingly mild success, capped off with an incredible final six weeks. And in the end, this was one of the better teams in Tiger history, for sure.
And the nice thing is, the team looks to be set up for a nice run for a few years to come. With few exceptions, most of the Tigers main players are young - 28 and younger. And if some of the younger players start living up to their potential (which, I realize, is never guaranteed), we could be having a lot of fun for the next few years. It would be nice to have it be our turn to win the division for four or five years in a row. We've never done that (at least, not in my lifetime); it would be nice to see how it feels. . .
-------------------------
And, as long as you're indulging me my sporting affections, can I also mention that yesterday, my beloved Spartans were victorious over our intense in-state rivals from Ann Arbor? And that this was our fourth consecutive victory over the Wolverines? And thus, an entire senior class will have graduated from the University of Michigan never having defeated their 'little brothers' from up the road? I can hear the Wailing of the Victims from 60 miles away. . .
All kidding aside (well, most of it, anyway), these are good times to be a Spartan. . .
-------------------------
Thank you; you all are very kind to indulge me in my reverie. We will return to our regularly-scheduled programming with the next post. . .
-------------------------
My Detroit Tigers had a pretty darned good year in 2011, winning the American League's Central Division, thus reaching the post-season for the first time in five years (unless you count the 12-inning play-in game they lost to the Minnesota Twins in '09), and only the sixth time in my own young life. Then we beat the mighty Yankees in the first-round series, earning us the right to be defeated in six games by the Texas Rangers for the American League championship. Alas, of our four losses to the Rangers, one was by one run, and two were in 11 innings (although getting beat 15-5 in the final game tends to stick in people's minds). That said, the Rangers are a really strong team (such hitters!), and they'll acquit themselves well in the World Series, I'm sure.
I'll beg your indulgence for a few paragraphs while I briefly review the season. . .
It was an odd season, beginning with a sense that this was a pretty good, competitive team, and that the Central Division was ripe for them to win it, with even the better teams all flawed, to varying degrees. And yet, us Tiger fans spent most of the season in frustration, wondering when the team was going to stop struggling so much, and show its true quality. Well into August, the Tigers were only six games above .500, and a game or two ahead of the second-place Cleveland Indians (or was it the Chicago White Sox? It varied from day to day). Then suddenly, in mid-August, everything started clicking, and the Tigers finished with 95 wins, winning the division by 15 games. Amazing.
For much of the season, the only real attention given to any individual Tiger was focused on Justin Verlander, their ace pitcher, who will undoubtedly win the American League's Cy Young Award as the best pitcher in the league. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say that JV won 24 games (a really large number, in these days of five-man pitching rotations), allowing 2.4 runs per nine innings. Opposing hitters could only hit .192 against him, and he amassed 250 strikeouts during the season, besides throwing his second no-hitter. As phenomenal a season as any Tiger pitcher has ever had.
There was also our closer, Jose Valverde, who collected 49 saves without blowing a single opportunity (which isn't to say that we were never nervous when he was in the game). Miguel Cabrera had a relatively quiet season, by his standards, but still led the league in batting average, while hitting 30 home runs and driving in 105 runs.
A couple of the Tigers' young players had breakout seasons - Alex Avila made the All-Star game as the best catcher in the American League; not many of us saw that coming. And Brennan Boesch developed into a steady, productive major-league outfielder, which was not obvious at the end of 2010.
The pitching looked to be a strength, given how well Max Scherzer had pitched the second half of 2010, but he never really found that groove in 2011. Rick Porcello is still a promising young pitcher, but the fulfillment of that promise remains mostly in the future. But the acquisition of Doug Fister at the trade deadline was a stroke of pure genius; he'd gone 3-12 in Seattle, but with an ERA of around 3.3, so he was pitching well, without much to show for it. Then, practically from the minute he arrived in Detroit, he was right on a level with Verlander for shutting down opposing hitters (and frankly, in the post-season, he pitched considerably better than Verlander did).
In fact, several of the Tigers' deals this year paid big dividends. The big off-season free-agent signings were Victor Martinez and Joaquin Benoit, and both were huge contributors to the team's success. If Martinez did nothing else, he earned his pay for making opponents pitch to Cabrera; a .330 batting average (and close to .400 with runners in scoring position, or when Cabrera was walked ahead of him), with 103 RBIs, were above and beyond. And Benoit, after some early struggles, settled into a lights-out 8th-inning guy, handing games over to Valverde.
At the trade deadline, the Tigers picked up Wilson Betemit and Delmon Young, besides the aforementioned Mr. Fister, who both contributed solidly to the amazing stretch run, capably filling gaps in the lineup. In the past, these deadline deals have often as not turned to dust (*cough* Jerrod Washburn *cough* Aubrey Huff *cough*), but this year, it seemed like every single player addition (with the exception of Brad Penny, and even he had his moments) just worked out wonderfully. I love it when a plan comes together.
So, it was an odd season - four months of frustratingly mild success, capped off with an incredible final six weeks. And in the end, this was one of the better teams in Tiger history, for sure.
And the nice thing is, the team looks to be set up for a nice run for a few years to come. With few exceptions, most of the Tigers main players are young - 28 and younger. And if some of the younger players start living up to their potential (which, I realize, is never guaranteed), we could be having a lot of fun for the next few years. It would be nice to have it be our turn to win the division for four or five years in a row. We've never done that (at least, not in my lifetime); it would be nice to see how it feels. . .
-------------------------
And, as long as you're indulging me my sporting affections, can I also mention that yesterday, my beloved Spartans were victorious over our intense in-state rivals from Ann Arbor? And that this was our fourth consecutive victory over the Wolverines? And thus, an entire senior class will have graduated from the University of Michigan never having defeated their 'little brothers' from up the road? I can hear the Wailing of the Victims from 60 miles away. . .
All kidding aside (well, most of it, anyway), these are good times to be a Spartan. . .
-------------------------
Thank you; you all are very kind to indulge me in my reverie. We will return to our regularly-scheduled programming with the next post. . .
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Jim Northrup, RIP
The timing of events leads me to post this today, even though I put up another post just yesterday. I try to keep things more-or-less well-spaced around here, and I rarely post twice in the same week anymore, much less on consecutive days. But do be sure to go back and catch up on yesterday's post, if you haven't seen it yet. . .
And those of you who aren't sports fans, you'll indulge me this, won't you? I mean, I post about sports maybe a couple times a year. Besides, this is about my own boyhood, almost as much as the specific subject-matter. . .
-------------------------
This morning's news brought tidings of the passing of Jim Northrup, at the age of 71 (and seriously - I'm supposed to just blithely accept that my boyhood heroes are in their 70s? When did that happen?). Mr. Northrup was a member of my beloved Detroit Tigers during the 1960s-70s, and in particular the 1968 World Championship team. He was a personal favorite of mine - one of those guys who was a pretty key player on the team, a good player, and key contributor to the team's championship; but outside of Michigan, he may not have attracted much notice at all. The thing about Jim Northrup, which was also true of several members of the '68 team, was that he was a Michigan kid, who grew up to play for the Tigers, which was the cherished dream of every kid who grew up in this state.
Northrup grew up in Breckenridge, which is a small town roughly between Saginaw and Mt. Pleasant (he graduated from high school when I was roughly two years old); he attended Alma College, and was drafted by the Tigers in 1960. He played his first game for the Tigers in September of '64, and by '66 he was getting 400+ at-bats.
By 1968, Northrup was essentially the everyday right-fielder, when Al Kaline went down with a broken arm from being hit by a pitch (in fact, when Kaline finally returned from his injury, manager Mayo Smith had to figure out what to do with his Hall-of-Fame outfielder, since Northrup was playing too well to sit him down). Northrup led the team with 153 hits and 90 RBIs. Of his 21 home runs in '68, four were grand slams; two in one game against the Indians, and another five days later against the White Sox (the three grand slams in a week are still a major-league record). Northrup himself told the story of how, in that latter game, he actually came to bat yet again with the bases loaded, and thus an opportunity to hit his fourth grand slam in a week, but he struck out, swinging over-anxiously at three bad pitches.
In the '68 World Series, Mr. Grand Slam struck again, putting the crowning touch on the Tigers' 10-run third inning in Game 6. Then in Game 7, Northrup had probably the defining moment of his entire major-league career, hitting a two-run triple to deep center off Bob Gibson (who barely gave up any runs at all in '68, and in World Series games, most especially; it was the only triple that Gibson surrendered that season), in the seventh inning of what had been a scoreless pitchers' duel between Gibson and Mickey Lolich, and propelling the Tigers to the World Championship.
Northrup continued to play well for the Tigers; from '68-'71, the peak years of his major-league career, he hit for a .273 average, and averaged 21 homers and 77 RBIs. He was never an All-Star, a fact that has always struck me as a bit odd; there are certainly lesser players than him, who have been All-Stars at least once in their lives (and speaking of which, here's one of my favorite baseball trivia questions: who's the only MVP who was never an All-Star? answer below. . .). . .
When Billy Martin became the Tigers' manager in '71, Northrup's days as a Tiger were probably numbered. He was a fairly acerbic and outspoken person, and Martin always seemed to take particular delight in putting Northrup 'in his place', which Northrup, by his own nature, was not about to suffer quietly. So he ended his playing days as a member of the Baltimore Orioles.
For a while in the 80s-90s, Northrup was a color-commentator on the Tigers' TV broadcasts, but his penchant for acerbically calling it like he saw it eventually rubbed his bosses the wrong way, and that gig ended (during a time in Tigers history when there was no lack of things about which to comment acerbically) (I'm really liking the word 'acerbic' today; can you tell?)
(OK, Answer to trivia question: Kirk Gibson (you just knew it was gonna have something to do with the Tigers, didn't you?), who was the NL MVP in '88, but never an All-Star)
But just because he played for the Tigers, and played such a key role in one of the high points of my own boyhood, I've always harbored a fondness for Jim Northrup.
And may he rest in peace. . .
And those of you who aren't sports fans, you'll indulge me this, won't you? I mean, I post about sports maybe a couple times a year. Besides, this is about my own boyhood, almost as much as the specific subject-matter. . .
-------------------------
This morning's news brought tidings of the passing of Jim Northrup, at the age of 71 (and seriously - I'm supposed to just blithely accept that my boyhood heroes are in their 70s? When did that happen?). Mr. Northrup was a member of my beloved Detroit Tigers during the 1960s-70s, and in particular the 1968 World Championship team. He was a personal favorite of mine - one of those guys who was a pretty key player on the team, a good player, and key contributor to the team's championship; but outside of Michigan, he may not have attracted much notice at all. The thing about Jim Northrup, which was also true of several members of the '68 team, was that he was a Michigan kid, who grew up to play for the Tigers, which was the cherished dream of every kid who grew up in this state.
Northrup grew up in Breckenridge, which is a small town roughly between Saginaw and Mt. Pleasant (he graduated from high school when I was roughly two years old); he attended Alma College, and was drafted by the Tigers in 1960. He played his first game for the Tigers in September of '64, and by '66 he was getting 400+ at-bats.
By 1968, Northrup was essentially the everyday right-fielder, when Al Kaline went down with a broken arm from being hit by a pitch (in fact, when Kaline finally returned from his injury, manager Mayo Smith had to figure out what to do with his Hall-of-Fame outfielder, since Northrup was playing too well to sit him down). Northrup led the team with 153 hits and 90 RBIs. Of his 21 home runs in '68, four were grand slams; two in one game against the Indians, and another five days later against the White Sox (the three grand slams in a week are still a major-league record). Northrup himself told the story of how, in that latter game, he actually came to bat yet again with the bases loaded, and thus an opportunity to hit his fourth grand slam in a week, but he struck out, swinging over-anxiously at three bad pitches.
In the '68 World Series, Mr. Grand Slam struck again, putting the crowning touch on the Tigers' 10-run third inning in Game 6. Then in Game 7, Northrup had probably the defining moment of his entire major-league career, hitting a two-run triple to deep center off Bob Gibson (who barely gave up any runs at all in '68, and in World Series games, most especially; it was the only triple that Gibson surrendered that season), in the seventh inning of what had been a scoreless pitchers' duel between Gibson and Mickey Lolich, and propelling the Tigers to the World Championship.
Northrup continued to play well for the Tigers; from '68-'71, the peak years of his major-league career, he hit for a .273 average, and averaged 21 homers and 77 RBIs. He was never an All-Star, a fact that has always struck me as a bit odd; there are certainly lesser players than him, who have been All-Stars at least once in their lives (and speaking of which, here's one of my favorite baseball trivia questions: who's the only MVP who was never an All-Star? answer below. . .). . .
When Billy Martin became the Tigers' manager in '71, Northrup's days as a Tiger were probably numbered. He was a fairly acerbic and outspoken person, and Martin always seemed to take particular delight in putting Northrup 'in his place', which Northrup, by his own nature, was not about to suffer quietly. So he ended his playing days as a member of the Baltimore Orioles.
For a while in the 80s-90s, Northrup was a color-commentator on the Tigers' TV broadcasts, but his penchant for acerbically calling it like he saw it eventually rubbed his bosses the wrong way, and that gig ended (during a time in Tigers history when there was no lack of things about which to comment acerbically) (I'm really liking the word 'acerbic' today; can you tell?)
(OK, Answer to trivia question: Kirk Gibson (you just knew it was gonna have something to do with the Tigers, didn't you?), who was the NL MVP in '88, but never an All-Star)
But just because he played for the Tigers, and played such a key role in one of the high points of my own boyhood, I've always harbored a fondness for Jim Northrup.
And may he rest in peace. . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
