We’ve all had those kind of relationships where we really like the person, we’re really comfortable with them and we have so many memories of the good times together that it’s nearly impossible to say goodbye. It’s not that you no longer like them, it’s just that it’s not there anymore. Well, that’s kind of what happened last week between the Tigers and Brandon Inge.
We’ve known that something was off with the relationship the last couple years. It just didn’t feel as fresh and fulfilling as it used to. Sure, we convinced ourselves that the old magic was still there, hiding someplace. And every once in awhile that spark would rekindle something and we’d see flashes of what used to be there. It’s like that magical vacation you take to try and find what used to be there and for a week or so, you rediscover it briefly. But, just like in real life, things soon return to normal and you slowly begin to accept what has to happen.
The thing is, it’s hard to leave a relationship like that, especially when you’ve had so many truly terrible relationships previously. Dontrelle Willis? Mike Maroth? Those two were like the alcoholic chick you picked up at the bar who decided to leave a toothbrush behind the first night and then just refused to leave. But Inge? He was more than a relationship. Even your parents liked him. He played multiple roles and he always seemed to step up and do what was asked of him. He was a metaphor for everything that had happened over the previous five seasons.
But whether the relationship is certifiably insane or has just run its course, the end result is the same. You gotta get out. I’m not saying that makes it any easier. Even though I know dropping Inge was the right choice, it’s not like I can just forget him. I’ll probably still check his facebook and occasionally look at the photos we took together. Luckily, it’s not like we’re left all alone. There’s a new crush who has caught my eye and he’s a real Prince.
RSBS Special Correspondent and Wikipiebenga Creator, Mark “Pie” Piebenga reports:
As soon as Victor Martinez went down, I thought, “well, season’s over.”  But then the Tigers won the Fielder sweepstakes (at a cost that boggles the mind: apparently Little Caesar’s is a pretty lucrative organization. Everybody reading this please buy a five dollar Hot N Ready so they can pay the Prince. And here is my obligatory admission that the back end of that contract is going to be a total nightmare). A season that looked suddenly suspect just as suddenly became the most exciting spring I can remember.
If they can keep healthy, and get production anywhere close to last year from Delmon Young, Alex Avila, and Brennan Boesch’s first half, and get consistent quality from Messrs. Verlander, Fister, Scherzer, and Porcello (not to mention the newly Dotel-ified bullpen), it augers Another Very Interesting Year To Be A Tigers Fan.
There are still some big question marks. It’s looking like a platoon of Ryan Raburn and Ramon Santiago at second, which doesn’t do us a ton of favors at the plate. With the diminished defensive range and crInge worthy batting of the once-exceptional Brandon Inge, the Miguel Cabrera return-to-third experiment will be interesting and hopefully not embarrassing. Danny Worth and Don Kelly will probably spot start there as well. Finally, can Austin Jackson achieve leadoff effectiveness even approaching two years ago?
For the last seven years or so I’ve approached the start of the season with same kind of a nervous ambivalence. The most positive outlook I’ve had could be described as ‘cautious optimism,’ which I feel now. It’s a very strange feeling to see the Tigers as the projected favorite to win the A.L. Central (hell, until last year, we hadn’t done it since 1987. Didn’t even do it in ’84.) The Tigers have been good lately, but as a typically suspicious and superstitious fan, I’m always nervous. In ’06 they got in the playoffs as a wildcard. When they forced the 163rd game with the Twinkies in ’09, I never had the feeling that we were a legit contending team. Last year they didn’t really seem to have any implicit dominance until rifling off that twelve game winning streak in September. (My father and I credit ourselves for that, having seen live their last loss before the streak started at a blinding hot day game Sept 1st, when the Royals came to Detroit.)
Speaking of which, I am very nervous about the Kansas City Royals. They were rated the 11th best team in the league in the ESPN prospects power rankings (I don’t know if this is a remotely useful metric, but Buster Olney seems like a smart guy). At the game with my dad September First we were sitting along the third base line, and during a lull in the game Royals third baseman Mike Moustakas was shooting the bull with the umpire and throwing the ball around. He was basically standing in the coache’s box, well behind third and in foul territory, and dude scooped up lazy grounder that came his way. Barely breaking eye-contact with the ump, he made a throw off his back foot that looked casual as hell, but judging by the angry snap of the leather Eric Hosmer’s glove at first, it could’ve been shot from a rifle. The lineup is getting spooky over there.
It’s foolish to make predictions about what’s going to happen, and we’re still forty four days till opening. Naturally when things don’t go your way for a couple of decades, you begin to doubt that anything good is going to happen. But the Tigs lately have provided all one can demand of any team, and that’s meaningful baseball in August and September. It will be really interesting to see what this team does in the face of injuries, statistical regression, and the rigors of the season.
 I can be a little dramatic.
 Verlander’s remarkable season was well documented. While he was hardly under the radar, I think a brief digression on Alex Avila is in order here. He had a .389 OBP (10th highest in baseball), an .895 OPS (8th in the AL), and hit .295. All while catching 133 games, and ranking top five among AL catchers in most defensive categories (e.g., tied for 1st with 40 runners caught stealing). And one of my least/most favorite things was the sheer number of times he got hit by deflections. I know catchers get hit all the time, but honestly I can’t remember seeing anything like his 2011 season behind the plate. (for example, check out sparks flying off his mask, and him getting hit in the neck.)
1. Remembering that no one gave us a chance in 2006 either
2. Sending a boatload of chicken, beer and video games to the Rangers’ clubhouse
4. Encouraging Wash to use Ogando against Craig, again and forever
5. Trying to find a reason to hate the Rangers (it’s hard!)
7. Watching — over and over and over again — Waino’s snappy curve to strikeout Inge in ’06
8. Driving by Wrigley Field, reminding myself that LIFE COULD ALWAYS BE WORSE
9. Organizing a harem of hotties to stand outside of Josh Hamilton’s house with an 8-ball and body shots
10. Whisky and beer
Happy Saturday, Y’all!
RSBS Podcast regular and Second City performer, Mark “Pie” Piebenga shares with us his thoughts:
Brennan Boesch made his major league debut last season at the Ballpark at Arlington on April 23, 2010. On my sketchy MLB.TV feed I heard Rod Allen’s sing-song voiceover on a shot of him sticking his head out of the visitor dugout, for the first time examining an empty big league park in all it’s vastness, no doubt dumbstruck by the thought, “I’m going to be playing in this joint tonight.” That night Boesch went 2 for 4 with a double (albeit in a Tigers loss), a prescient harbinger for his strong season and 5th place in rookie of the year voting (which honestly I remembered as better than his .256/.320/.416, 14 HR, 67 RBI line). Early days though it may be, he’s putting up even better numbers offensively (.300/.359/.485, 10 HR, 38 RBI) and similarly adequate defensive ones (RF 1.91 in ’10, 2.00) this year.
This improvement was epitomized in his return to Arlington with the Tigers on June 6 this year, a game in which he went 5-5 with 2 HR and 5 RBI. Clearly the 97° degree weather made for a lively ball, belied by the 13-7 Tiger win. You can’t expect that kind of an outing every time from the young man, but there’s something so exciting about production out of young players.
Last Tuesday afternoon (6/21) Tiger Don Kelly knocked in his second home run of the year, off Matt Guerrier, at Chavez Ravine against the Dodgers. (Until this week Guerrier owned a sub-3.00 lifetime ERA against the Tigers, owing to seven years tendered with the Twinkies.) At 31, Kelly is five years older than Boesch, and lacks his pedigree (not to his body type – Kelly has a thin-necked way about him. And at what point can any of us say that the name “Don” has inspired much in the way of terror in the hearts of men? “Save us! The heathen hordes are approach the city gates, at the helm of their curs-ed onslaught is the much-feared chief and leader, Don! AHHHH! Flee for the caves!”).
Kelly’s season home run total is now two, a bit behind last year’s mark of nine (incidentally the number Ty Cobb hit in 1909). Don Kelly is my age, and it pains me to think that he has passed the years by which baseball players tend to have proved themselves. Can I equate any meaningful life lessons based on Don Kelly’s baseball career? It’s a lifetime, to this point, where four of the last five years have seen him make it to baseball’s biggest stage. Among minor league players he would be considered a flying success. He’s earned the major league minimum wage in four of the last five seasons. That’s many hundreds of thousands of dollars more than his minor league contemporaries will ever make.
But when you put him in the context of a rookie like Brennan Boesch, whose success this year and last year, while perhaps not wildly unbelievable, dwarfs kelly’s achievements. His thin neck and his name of Don combine to make me feel an amiability towards him, a sadness, and a certain feeling of doom.
Don Kelly hit .244 last year. That’s not great. This year he’s up to .260, which is sure as hell a lot better than Ryan Raburn (or Brandon Inge, who he recently covered for at 3B). Why am I so transfixed by this guy? Is it because he is achieving his dream, and yet is markedly below the figures who capture our imaginations, even in the fairly low-stratosphere Detroit Tigers?
My fascination with the poor bastard seems to come from the fact that I identify with him. I believe I could achieve nominally in a given field, and even surpass a number of my contemporaries. But deep down I feel that I hold a limited ceiling on my potential, that I am, within myself, capable of only so much achievement – good, but not great. Don Kelly is the mediocre but by all accounts successful prototype which I fear myself to be. And it is only human to know that sometimes you are going to have people surpass your accomplishment if you hang around long enough to get shown up. Kurt Vonnegut offers us this advice in Timequake: “If you do something long enough, even if you’re really good at it, eventually you’re going to come across someone who is going to cut you a new a**hole. What I tell young people is: stay home, stay home stay home.”
Eventually you’re going to find someone who’s going to be so much better at what you do, you’re going to “feel like something the cat dragged in,” to borrow another quip Vonnegut loves. Does this mean that we should perhaps not try at all? Of course not. Don Kelly has done nothing but try. He’s displayed a level of commitment that I in my personal life would very much aspire to, and to which I honestly must conclude I have come up short.
I dated a girl once whose parents never told her that she could be anything she wanted to be when she grew up. But she’s the only person who I’ve ever met like that. Everyone else I know had parents who said, “you can be anything you put your mind to.” I was raised in a best-of-all-possible-worlds-Candide-type home. Unfortunately, much like Candide, I have grown up to find that it’s not entirely true. I can be pretty good, but I don’t think I can be anything.
So here we are, back at Don Kelly. As I said, I feel an ambivalence for him, animosity at watching him flair in failure at so many pitches, and affection when he cranks a triple like he did the other week, or a long fly like he did the other day. Perhaps I can’t achieve even to the level he has. But I take some solace in that even if I can’t be the best, maybe I can still be pretty good. Hell, somebody’s got to back up Brandon Inge* when he’s got mono.
On an unrelated note, Jose Valverde’s homepage, un-updated from his days as an Astro, is a must-see. I mean, the URL is www.josevalverde47.com for chrissakes. Courtesy to my roommate Thomas on that one.
*My old roommate Ben insists that from a distance (ie., in most shots on TV), Inge’s forearm tattoos look like they say “Coca-Cola” (rather than the names of his sons, which is the truth). I would have to say I agree with him.
And so in this Podcast brought to you by Lifestyles…
Jeff and Johanna kick the season off by trying to name every Jewish baseballer ever known to man before PodMaster Keith let’s The 8:08 (from harried Undercast fame) into the studio… from there on out the wheels come off in one great big ball of awesomeness that includes Dodger takeovers, Hawkisms galore, goofy games that may or may not include a sexual innuendo (or fifty) and much, much more… all to make you excite!
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Subscribe to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*
Subscribe via iTunes by clicking *HERE*
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Recorded Wednesday, April 27, 2011
And so in this Podcast…
It’s our monumental TENTH EPISODE, y’all! Party is the name of the game as Jeff, Allen and Johanna dive into an exciting playoff tempered show including three hallowed memories, two Morgans (Nyjer and the Captain) and one inception… not to mention a whole lot of confusion over a $500 pair of speedos with Albert Pujols’ face on it. Plus much more, including the Lou Piniella mailbag! All to make you laughy-time!
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Subscribe to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*
Subscribe via iTunes by clicking *HERE*
thanks to Keith Carmack — our engineer, director, editor and
all-around sound guru. Check out
his Undercast podcast and visit his movie-making website Undercard Films if you don’t want him to kick your bum. Did I mention he is an MMA fighter? It’s true. How else do you think Johanna’s face got so disfigured?!? Lookout!
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Recorded Saturday, September 11, 2010
It happens on a regular basis, this gathering of young talent and grizzled veterans. The two sides (with input from the people of course because, after all, this is America) pull the brightest stars from their respective firmaments, bring them together and then allow them duke it out. And it seems like each time the result plays an increasingly ambiguous role in what eventually happens in November. Yep, that’s what the nominating conventions are all about.
Oh, I’m sorry. Did you think I was talking about the All-Star game?
It’s no coincidence that baseball and politics have so much in common. The two are intertwined in American history. Even now, Hall of Famer and former Detroit Tiger Jim Bunning terrorizes opponents from his seat in the US Senate just like he used to do from his spot on the mound.
And as I was watching the Minor League All-Star game the other day, I was reminded again of how fleeting fame can be to both baseball players and politicians. Each and every one is fighting for a chance to reach the big time, to really stand out. But it’s hard to know who has what it takes.
A year ago there was talk of Mark Sanford as a possible McCain running mate and it was almost a foregone conclusion that he would be in the thick of things when the next election cycle began. Now, he’s an also-ran, an afterthought, a cautionary tale. A teary-eyed Alex Rodriguez but with no more comeback.
Or take Sarah Palin, the politician’s equivalent of Sammy Sosa. Both had talent but made it as far as they did for all the wrong reasons. Now they’re little more than whipping boys, examples of all that’s wrong with a broken system.
However, it’s better to focus on the positives at this time of year, on people like Brandon Inge and Tim Wakefield who finally got a little respect even if things didn’t play out exactly the way they might have hoped. Because, for all the ridiculousness associated with the All-Star game or with political conventions, they really are a good show and you aren’t going to find anything like ’em except in the good ol’ US of A.
Welcome back from the All-Star break!
We almost lost another one on Wednesday night. While people were busy mourning the death of Michael, Erin almost slipped away. But more importantly, with her would have slipped away Jeff’s chances of ever getting his date with Erin Andrews. See, this is the weekend when it all happens. This is the weekend when Jeff, if he manages to stay sober and focused, will finally make good on a quest he was given by god. Well, a god of the MLBlogosphere, at least.
And that chance was almost taken away. I just hope that this event serves as a reminder to my friend that he must take nothing for granted while….questing. Times change and if we don’t adjust, we lose out. For instance, my friend likes to remind me of how the final out of the 2006 World Series involved Brandon Inge swinging wildly outside of the strike zone. But now that same man is representing the American League and Detroit in his first All-Star appearance.
Perhaps we will see a similar change in Jeff this weekend as he stop swinging wildly and finally embraces the porn-stache over which he waxed so eloquently the other day. Perhaps this testosterone fueled accoutrement could provide the same luck for him that it showered on Keith Hernandez.
Or perhaps this weekend will be just one more of those odd “what just happened” events where we try to forget all about it and hope to god that no one ever brings it up over dinner.
The choice rests in one man’s hands. So tell us Mr. Lung, what will it be? Are you Keith Hernandez or are you the woman with a squirrel between her breasts? The world needs to know.
Since you guys are always putting politics in baseball, why didn’t you
try to get out the All-Star vote? Not one post about voting for your
favorite all-star? I was shocked.
Well, Kellen, in what may have been the largest oversight since the creation of this blog, neither Jeff nor myself exploited this wonderful forum as a bully-pulpit for some sort of get-out-the-vote crusade. However, in typical politico fashion, I am going to refuse to admit to any sort of mistake and instead claim that this was all planned.
See Kellen, despite our obvious strong feelings toward our favorite teams and players, Jeff and I are also of the belief that the political process needs to proceed unfettered. And when I say unfettered, I mean that the same 18 guys should be voted onto the team every year because of their geographic location and attendant fan base. Is Derek Jeter the best shortstop in the AL? Uh, no. But he plays for the Yankees and that means he’s going to be representing the AL anyway.
Now, I could have gotten out there and exhorted you to vote for Adam Everett instead but would you have listened? No. You would have been more than happy to follow the crowd and vote your straight Red Sox, Yankees or Mets ticket. Or, in your case Kellen, probably a straight Cardinals ticket. Seriously, Rick Ankiel as an All-Star?
But we have more important questions and issues to face. Like what could possibly be going through Sarah Palin’s head? Or why have so many famous people died in the past 10 days? My best guess so far for both questions is Swine Flu.
Don’t get me wrong, Kellen. I appreciate your question and perhaps in the future one or the other of us (by which I obviously mean Jeff) will stoop to that level and cravenly demand your vote. But until that moment, RSBS will strive to remain above the fray because *cue patriotic music* America’s game demands American democracy.
And in that spirit Kellen, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to stuffing the virtual ballot box to make sure Brandon Inge makes it in to the game. Speaking of stuffing ballot boxes, any news on Mark Sanford?
Dear readers, let us all agree that the game is the game. It’s balls and strikes, it’s first to third, it’s infield shifts and 3-0 green lights. From Baltimore to Fresno to Okinawa to Calgary, baseball is a game. Or rather, baseball is the game.
Yet we follow it for the people.
Without the story lines, Kirk Gibson’s homerun is just another homerun, Derek Jeter’s dive into the third row is just a catch, Adam Wainwright’s curve to get Inge swinging is simply, just a curve. Stories make these plays so momentous, so glorious, so gut wrenching.
We wouldn’t have it any other way.
So you can imagine my excitement at getting to meet Tom Walsh from the Rocky Mountain Way, a fellow baseball blogger with a commitment to the game, to its people, while his journey brought him to Chicago last Monday evening.
I took him to Beiguo, a gem of a Chinese restaurant in my Bridgeport neighborhood where they know me as that “baseball guy”, deep in the heart of the Southside. Hearing Tom’s stories about the fascinating people he has met and the powerful stories they have shared during his cross-country trek following the game reminded me exactly why baseball is the greatest game on earth.
It brings us together.
With baseball as my loyal ally, fellowship with like-minded fans, familiar or strange, is never difficult. Whether you live in Taiwan or Tacoma, we, as baseball people can always share in the power, the memories, the communitas that is the game.
Sure, if you wear your Cubbie blue and I wear my Cardinal red there’s a chance we might argue a bit, disgrace both of our mothers and end up in the hospital, drunk, but in the end, you’ll shake my hand and I’ll shake yours. Because we’re baseball people. And baseball people are the best kind of people.
Full of cumin spiced lamb, Yangzhou fried rice and a keener sense of Todd Helton, I wished Tom well on his journey and as he drove off west I looked down and realized my fortune cookie was unopened. Quickly, I snapped it in two, grabbed the small strip of paper, held it to the light and read:
(Image courtesy of Tom Walsh)