Tuesday, April 08, 2008


It was Sunday Night Baseball with Verlander on the mound against Mark Buehrle, who the Tigers have fared pretty well against the past two seasons. They were certainly going to win this one.

Nick Swisher hit a homer on the second pitch of the game.

I immediately started drinking.

I found half a fifth of Popov that I hid underneath the couch and began drinking it straight out of the bottle. Then I found myself looking for other means of distracting myself from the inevitable. I turned off the volume to the television and put on a Stevie Wonder CD (becuase I couldn't find my Miley Cyrus CD anywhere). You must be wondering why I wasn't hooking up my mp3 player (stolen out of my car) or listening to a playlist on my laptop (broken), because no one listens to CDs anymore.

About 10 hours later I woke up in a pool of my own vomit. It was everywhere - on the floor, pillow, blanket, and on the empty bottle of vodka. I was somewhat surprised that I blacked out so easily, but I remembered that I had hardly eaten anything at all the day before.

Despite the mess I had to deal with, my first order of business was to turn on ESPN and find out the final score of the game, since I had no recollection of when I passed out or what the score was at the time.

After dutifully eliminating the evidence of my latest act of brilliance (I'm so pathetic), I took two Tylenol and laid down in the shower for about 40 minutes, until the hot water ran out, and thought about what was probably going to happen to the Tigers this year.

As of right now, they are sitting at 0-6, which is just 4.5 games out of first place. Obviously, the Tigers are not looking at an insurmountable deficit; however, teams that typically make the playoffs just don't drop the first six games of the season. Also, the bullpen, which was believed to be a potential (or maybe probable) Achilles heel, has been as bad as many have feared.

I would rather gargle with broken glass than see Jason Grilli, with that bullshit, white trash, idiot look on his face as he watches an 0-2 belt-high fastball sail into the 10th row of the left field seats by some slap-dick #9 hitter. You know what really pisses me off? Watching the fucking replay and listening to Rod Allen say: "Boy, he hit that one right on the screws." Oh, right on the screws. Thanks Rod. Could you do me a favor and tell me how the FUCK you came up with that? Or explain where the screws are, since there aren't any on the bat or the ball or anything related to game at all.

I digress, back to what I was saying.

Injuries haven't helped either, but every team has key injuries during the 162 game marathon. Sure, the Tigers have been hit with injuries worse than most teams at this point with Granderson, Zumaya, and Rodney completely unavailable and Sheffield/Cabrera playing hurt and missing games as well. They still have five healthy starters and enough bats in the lineup to easily be one of the best two or three offenses in the league, and one would think that a legitimate playoff contender would have found a way to steal a game or two at home against the lowly Royals and White Sox.

Now the Tigers are rolling into Boston for a three game series starting today. Now I know you probably want to raise your index finger and firmly place it on the panic button. OK, go ahead. I think it's a good idea.


Anonymous said...

"About 10 hours later I woke up in a pool of my own vomit."


Rachel said...

I love your Grilli rants. Awesome. I don't know why he is still on the team.

self-righteous said...

Re: pool of my own vomit

Yeah, who do I think I am Charles Bukowski? Well, at least, he actually had sex.