Monday, October 09, 2006
An October Classic Or Two
I am a huge baseball fan. When I was a kid, I watched baseball, I played baseball, I talked baseball, and I studied baseball. I had baseball cards, baseball games, baseball books, and baseball pictures. I read biographies of Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Lou Gehrig, and Abner Doubleday. And this was all before I had completed grade school.
So, naturally, I was totally immersed in the baseball playoffs last week. My only disappointment was that none of the series lasted the full five games. My greatest pleasure? Watching the Yankees lose.
You see, I hate the Yankees. I despise them with every fibre of my non-being. I believe that George Steinbrenner has done more to harm the game than anyone else in the history of the game.
It should also be noted that, in my childhood, my team was the Detroit Tigers. I still swoon over the mention of the 1968 Tigers with Al Kaline, Denny McClain, Mickey Lolich, Bill Freehan, and Willie Horton (who was my favorite player for many years). I still get nostalgic thinking of the 1984 Tigers, who started the season 35-5, won 104 games in that season, and beat San Diego in five games in the World Series. I worship Sparky Anderson, Alan Trammell, Lou Whitaker, Kurt Gibson, Lance Parish, and, yes, even Rusty Kuntz (pronounced “KOON-TZ” for you perverts out there).
So, naturally, I was doubly pleased to see the Yankees sent home by my Tigers. To see their hall-of-fame, $200-million lineup throttled by the young hitters and, especially, pitchers on the Tigers. To see them spraying the fans with champagne. To see the tears well up in Jim Leyland’s eyes.
The only sad thing for me is that the loss appears to be costing Joe Torre his job. The losses weren’t his fault. As a matter of fact, Torre is the main reason why this band of high-priced losers (except for Jeter, who is not a loser) manages to perform so well each season. The fault lies with Mr. Steinbrenner, who does not understand the importance of the roll player in making a champion.
Angela is also a baseball fan. Unfortunately, she does not believe in the Tigers as much as I do. She believes that Oakland will make short work of my team in the League Championship. To which I say:
Piffle.
Besides Barry Zito, the A’s pitching is vulnerable, and the Tigers will pummel them.
Therefore, my precious wife and I have made a bet. The wager is not something monetary, though. In the true spanko, or Spanko, fashion, we have wagered a most creative spanking. I have not decided what her spanking will be when the Tigers win, but I’m imagining her wearing nothing but a Tigers’ jersey and cap, perhaps yelling “Ball!” or “Strike!” after each swat. I have a week or so to plan, so, in the meantime, I can enjoy my boyhood team for a few more games.
To my Tigers, I say: I hope that you all play fantastic.
So, naturally, I was totally immersed in the baseball playoffs last week. My only disappointment was that none of the series lasted the full five games. My greatest pleasure? Watching the Yankees lose.
You see, I hate the Yankees. I despise them with every fibre of my non-being. I believe that George Steinbrenner has done more to harm the game than anyone else in the history of the game.
It should also be noted that, in my childhood, my team was the Detroit Tigers. I still swoon over the mention of the 1968 Tigers with Al Kaline, Denny McClain, Mickey Lolich, Bill Freehan, and Willie Horton (who was my favorite player for many years). I still get nostalgic thinking of the 1984 Tigers, who started the season 35-5, won 104 games in that season, and beat San Diego in five games in the World Series. I worship Sparky Anderson, Alan Trammell, Lou Whitaker, Kurt Gibson, Lance Parish, and, yes, even Rusty Kuntz (pronounced “KOON-TZ” for you perverts out there).
So, naturally, I was doubly pleased to see the Yankees sent home by my Tigers. To see their hall-of-fame, $200-million lineup throttled by the young hitters and, especially, pitchers on the Tigers. To see them spraying the fans with champagne. To see the tears well up in Jim Leyland’s eyes.
The only sad thing for me is that the loss appears to be costing Joe Torre his job. The losses weren’t his fault. As a matter of fact, Torre is the main reason why this band of high-priced losers (except for Jeter, who is not a loser) manages to perform so well each season. The fault lies with Mr. Steinbrenner, who does not understand the importance of the roll player in making a champion.
Angela is also a baseball fan. Unfortunately, she does not believe in the Tigers as much as I do. She believes that Oakland will make short work of my team in the League Championship. To which I say:
Piffle.
Besides Barry Zito, the A’s pitching is vulnerable, and the Tigers will pummel them.
Therefore, my precious wife and I have made a bet. The wager is not something monetary, though. In the true spanko, or Spanko, fashion, we have wagered a most creative spanking. I have not decided what her spanking will be when the Tigers win, but I’m imagining her wearing nothing but a Tigers’ jersey and cap, perhaps yelling “Ball!” or “Strike!” after each swat. I have a week or so to plan, so, in the meantime, I can enjoy my boyhood team for a few more games.
To my Tigers, I say: I hope that you all play fantastic.
