It’s hard to call any game where you don’t face elimination a ‘must win’ situation, but a game where you can put yourself in that position is certainly cause for alarm. If anything I’m more discouraged about the Tigers’ prospects after the 8 – 3 loss Thursday than I was by their 2 – 0 shutout on Wednesday (Oops, swap Wednesday and Thursday).
I mean, if your bats are working and your pitching and defense can’t keep you in the game enough to make them matter you are really being outclassed. Bumgarner, totally ineffective throughout the post season, is suddenly invincible and Verlander the unstoppable winning machine looks like a minor leaguer tossing practice.
And unless the Tigers extend tonight there’s every prospect he can dust off his putter in time for a quick round on the front nine while it’s not too dark to see.
“Then George had the heart attack and for the next 3 holes it was hit the ball, drag George, hit the ball, drag George.”
It’s only a game.
I always figured it was talent made a man big, you know, if I was the best at something. I mean, we’re the guys they come to see. Without us, there ain’t a ballgame. Yeah, but look at who’s holding the money and look at who’s facing a jail cell. Talent don’t mean nothing. And where’s Comiskey and Sullivan, Attell, Rothstein? Out in the back room cutting up profits, that’s where. That’s the damn conspiracy.
Of course if you haven’t irresponsibly committed yourself in print or have a natural affinity for pretty places that could slide into the ocean at any random instant it may look like a a fairly good Series to you until it all comes to a crashing (but triumphant) end tomorrow when it will be wait until Pitchers and Catchers for everybody.
Lola looked at me and said, ooh you look so weird.
She said, man, there’s really something wrong with you.
One day you’re gonna self-destruct.
Youre up, you’re down, I can’t work you out
You get a good thing goin then you blow yourself out.
On Opening Day every team starts out leading.
I think I’ve mentioned my former brother-in-law who thought ‘good sport’ meant sitting on an insurmountable advantage and tormenting you with it. He was (and is) a huge Red Sox fan in a sea of pinstripes because he feels violent encounters with random strangers is more entertaining than the game. I had the good fortune to watch Game 6 in ’86 with him, at least until he beat his wreck room TV into spark spitting submission with a cue and my sister wisely moved the party to a room with a better working and far more expensive unit and fewer potential missiles and blunt objects.
Which is, I guess, my way of saying that miracles can happen and tonight is as good a time as any.
The Giants are starting Vogelsong (14 – 9, 3.37 ERA) against Sanchez (4 – 6, 3.74 ERA). This is good news for the ‘Grrs because if history teaches us anything it’s that Aces are the worst pitchers on your staff and never, ever win. Too bad they will only face him once.
And win or lose there is always Sunday when we shall worship at the Church of Baseball at least one last time this year.
All games played on Faux.