photo illustration by Samara Pearlstein
FSN is replaying the Tigers’ postseason victories on Mondays, and of course I watched it tonight. Game 2 of the ALDS, which, as we all know, the Tigers won in New York, 4-3.
I totally had forgotten some of this stuff, like when Morgan was insisting to Jon Miller that the Yankees didn’t count their season successful unless they won the World Series, while every other team just wanted to get there. Holy freakin’ cats Morgan, NO, I am pretty sure that most teams do not dearly wish to get to the World Series only to lose in some horrible embarrassing fashion once there. Pretty sure everyone wants to win the World Series. Small children and Tampa Bay Devil Rays do not dream of the bright lights and crushing shame of crumbling before the Yankees in October.
It is nice to know that my disgust for Joe Morgan remains as gloriously intact as ever even in the middle of the most barren stretch of the offseason.
After seeing this game, let me reiterate how much I do not want to see Gary Sheffield at first base. Granted, most of the plays he missed were either not REALLY his fault (error on the Jete) or else plays that, say, Shelton or Casey wouldn’t make anyways, BUT! totally plays that Carlos Pena would make. And I KNOW WE DON’T HAVE CARLOS PENA ANYMORE I KNOW THAT OK, but it’s the PRINCIPLE of the thing. If I am going to have to deal with a defensively inept player at first, I at least want it to be someone I like (Casey) or someone I am amused by in an “aww, lookit you, also please don’t procreate, ever” kind of way (Shelton). Not someone whose spleen I would like to see bloodily removed at midfield by Kyle Farnsworth in a bout of righteous anger.
Also I hate Johnny Damon so hard.
How hot was that play where Inge didn’t even see the ball until it was practically on top of him, and he still made a great play on it? Super freakin’ hot. I know I actually blathered about this at the time (‘tho you can’t see it because the archives are still in transit– soon, my patient little readerlings, soon), but it’s still SUCH a wonderfully understated play, the kind of quietly amazing thing that us mere mortals cannot do, and Brandon Inge CAN do.
Of course, this time around, it also set me and semi-roommate Derek off, attempting perhaps to recreate the heady feeling of being Joe Morgan and Jon Miller in the booth.
“He’s actually blind, he had no idea what was coming at him.”
“Right, but he knew it was SOMEthing! He was ready to field it.”
“It could’ve been anything.”
“Could’ve been Johnny Damon’s head, bouncing down the line.”
“But he was there, he was ready for it.”
“Actually, he plays by sense of smell.”
“Deaf, dumb and blind kid sure plays a mean baseball.”
The moral of the story is, NEVER WATCH A BASEBALL GAME WITH US.
Oh, and I just wanted to mention this. Posada ran into the railing and the Morgan/Miller genuismachine went on and on about how he maybe got a bruise from it or something. This is especially ridiculous to me because a) Posada showed no particular signs of being hurt, there was no need to talk about it for a good solid 5 minutes, and b) I just got through watching the Winter X Games (I know, I know, shut up), where people are HURLED THROUGH THE AIR, sometimes while attempting to ride 400 LB MACHINES, and sometimes they come CRASHING DOWN WITH THOSE MACHINES ON TOP OF SOME PART OF THEM, and these people more often than not GET UP AND WALK IT OFF. I love baseball, and I accept that it stops for rain and that hangnails are the end of the world sometimes, but really, come on now.
After the game: “How hard is it to do special things, when you are trying very hard to do special things?” That was our very own John Keating, to Marcus Thames. Because we are all 5 years old.
From this game we learned:
-The Moose, his bowels be loose.
-Brandon Inge is a superhuman.
-The people love Joel Zumaya.
-It is fun beating the Yankees in New York.