illustration by Samara Pearlstein
True story: I drew this cartoon before the game started, with vague intentions of this post being something along the lines of, “Come on now, Cats, we do not want to be riding a skid into Boston.” Then, of course, they won, and I threw in the stop sign. THEN I’m about to start writing, and I pull up the Mothership to check the box score, and…
Thanks for stealing my headline/cartoon thunder, Mothership! And while we’re at it, stop reading my freakin’ mind, ok? It’s CREEPY.
Doug Fister. One run, 8 innings. Nine Ks. No extra-base hits allowed. A positively Verlanderian pitch count. Doug Fister had had enough of losing on the road and decided that there would be no more of that. I was listening to the radio broadcast and they could not stop talking about the size of his hands, which left open a whole other field of unspoken speculation. Not exactly what I expect from my baseball radio, but, you know, I’m ok with it.
Jhonny Peralta. Two home runs. Two home runs. Two home runs. Two Hhome Rhuns!
Stopping this skid was critical, because the Tigers are heading into Boston, and that means they’re entering RotT territory. The most important thing being my mental and emotional well-being, obviously the Tigers have to be on point when they’re on my turf. There are some other side considerations at the same time, of course: little things like keeping up with the Wrong Sox, and salvaging the road trip, etc etc. Minor stuff. Keep RotT happy and you’ll be ok, Tigers.
Of course, last time around, the Tigers handed the Sox a bunch of wins, even though things were going badly in Boston at the time. The Red Sox are a jumbled mass of drama, failure, and overly strident emotional characters right now, but that does not mean that this series doesn’t have the potential to be a trap. The Tigers have had trouble in Boston in recent years. Care must be taken. Nothing is to be taken for granted.
Going into that series on a skid of loose shale and endless losing, that’s just not the position that you want. The Tigers still have an Ugh, No Thanks record on this trip– one day of Mister Fister putting his no doubt enormous foot down and Jhonny putting his modestly-scaled bat up couldn’t change that. But they’re heading to Boston on a positive immediate note.
The Big Cats just need to pitch like they’re supposed to pitch (Justin, lookin’ at you) and everyone needs to stop wasting Super Best Friends contributions. Maybe sacrifice Ryan Raburn to the baseball gods in some sort of ritual that I will leave to your imagination (it involves dead muskrats and vanilla extract, I’ll tell you that much). Get this done, and perhaps Paws can get off the skidding slope altogether.