My dad got a new car recently. Vast excitement, I know. The important bit is that this vehicle has XM satellite radio, which means that even out here in Red Sox Nation, we can now get Tigers games, if we’re willing to drive around for no ready reason with the radio on, which we’ve done a few times now. It kicks rump.
So I’ve been hearing the Tigers games in bits and pieces lately, which isn’t as good as getting to see them, but it’s certainly better than nothing.
We had a skid. It happens. AROUS is slowing down from his torrid start at the plate, something that makes sense, given that these are the big leagues and pitchers, y’know, adjust. Unless they’re Mariano Rivera throwing the same damn pitch over and over again, but it doesn’t really matter for him. The pitchers struggled a bit, the relievers struggled a bit more FERNANDORODNEYTODDJONES. Everyone vowed death and destruction on them. I can’t say I was completely immune from this panic, even in my remote eastern blogging bunker. It’s easier to be a bit calm about the Tigs when everyone around you is more concerned with how soon Keith Foulke can be fattened for the roasting spit, but even I had a moment there where I wanted Todd Jones to get some bat donuts sewn into his jersey and take a swim in the Detroit River.
Then, after having an outing that makes Tigers fans want to run screaming off of cliffs, he goes and says something like this:
“I slept like a baby… I woke up every two hours crying.”
His pitching can infuriate the hairballs out of me, but damn, I just can’t actually dislike the guy.
His mustache, however… well, let’s not even go there.
And then Pudge, wishing to remind us that although he is getting up there in years, although he’s been catching in the majors for so long that some of us can’t remember baseball without him in it, although he’s entering what should be the ‘whine and moan’ stage of his long contract, he is still PUDGE FREAKIN’ RODRIGUEZ, goes and has a 5 RBI night and just generally creates havoc with the bat.
And then the next game goes to 13 innings and we pull it out in a squeaker that, to be sure, is a little embarrassing against the Devil Rays. But it’s still the sort of win we were getting at the start of the year, when we had Mad Crazy Luck Yo.
And, as deranged as this still seems to me, it’s almost halfway through June and we’re still. In. First.
We only have to win two more games all season to match 2003. I’ve got nothing to complain about.