photo illustration by Samara Pearlstein
Admittedly, the rock of Tiger pitching has on occasion been more like “the weak pebble of Tiger pitching”, especially in the bullpen, but you know, anything in the service of a dumb Photoshop gag.
The Phillies never had a big inning in this game, at least not when it came to scoring. There were some messy innings that I guess the unscrupulous blogger could call ‘big’, especially when Andrew Miller started plunking guys hither and yon and making errors (o tender pitching youth), but they never managed more than one run per inning. Of course, when you do that in 6 different innings, you’re still going to have a pretty effective offensive game, even if it is more chipping than overpowering blasting. Behold my attempt to use the word ‘inning’ as many times in one paragraph as I possibly can, because there is no good synonym for the word ‘inning’.
The two home runs that the Tigers got early (courtesy of Guillen and Granderson) made it seem like there was going to be a dynamite-blast of tiger-striped offense, but The Aged Jamie Moyer settled down and that was it for us. He only allowed 4 hits over 7 innings, and two of those hits were the two early home runs. I guess there’s a reason he’s stuck around the league as long as he has.
As was the case a couple games ago, a last-inning spurt of offense started to draw up the tender spring seedlings of our hope before crushing them under the cruel indifferent lawn mower blade of a loss. Last time I bemoaned the lack of Polanco, Guillen, and Pudge, saying how their presence in the lineup might have made the game winable. In this game Polanco did provide an RBI double in the 9th, but hilariously (read: not very hilariously at all) it was Guillen and Pudge who made the last two outs of the game. Shows what I know.
Although this post is about Saturday’s game, I am in my usual fashion writing and posting it in the wee hours of the morning, so it’ll be up on Sunday. I will therefore take this opportunity to say a little something in a timely, holiday-related vein.
Father’s Day is usually a big deal in the baseball world, in part because the sport is seen as such a ‘father-son’ kind of thing. I always give a hearty WHATEVER to that, because in my case it would be father-daughter, and heck, my mom’s a Red Sox fan who always scoffs in mild disbelief when I’m watching a Tigers game instead of a Red Sox game (which does not always happen; sometimes I watch the Sox game instead. On those days, I wing posts over here based on box scores and my own fertile, deranged imagination). Baseball is a whole-family affair in the Pearlstein household.
It is, however, solely my dad’s fault that I’m a Tigers fan. He grew up in Michigan and has gleefully encouraged me to follow the Tigers ever since I started getting interested in baseball, which I eventually did, despite my geographic inclination towards the Red Sox. I still don’t have anything near the kind of encyclopedic baseball knowledge that he (and my brother) possess, but I think I’m coming close in obsession. And that’s a wonderful thing, don’t you think? Of course you think so; you’re READING A BASEBALL BLOG, you are probably just as obsessed.
The blogging was my own responsibility, but the fact that I’m a Tigers fan can rest squarely on the shoulders of my dad. So it is, in a way, my dad’s fault that this blog exists and so you, in a way, have him to thank/curse for that.
Be careful raising baseball fans, moms and dads and grandparents. They just might grow up to write baseball blogs and post photos of you on the Magical Internets. Happy Father’s Day to all you dads out there!