THE NEUROTIC TIGER: A FISTER FULL OF DOLLARS*

Hughie Jennings used to cry "Eeyah!" ever time Delmon Young hit a home run.

In the immortal words of old-tyme Tigers manager Hughie Jennings: EEYAH!

Despite the fact that my heart has been given perhaps too much of a workout, this was one hell, one freaking hell, of a great baseball game. 3-2 Tigers win, and the only dominant sombitch on our side was Papa Grande, the master potato himself, Jose Valverde.

Really, the Yankees should have won this one. Eleven–eleven!--men left on base. Twice they had the bases loaded, both times with but one out. Second time, you’re looking at Rodriguez, Teixera, and Swisher to drive ‘em home.

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by Peter Schilling Jr. Posted on October 7, 2011
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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

Grandma, at far right, with a pair of clumsy teens at Tiger Stadium in 1984.

As our cameras turn to Gotham, today I invoke the kind spirit of my Grandma Schilling, who more than anyone fostered my love of this great and noble sport.

Baseball has personal memories for everyone who loves it, tales of fathers playing catch with sons, single mothers playing catch with sons, daughters forcing their dads to acknowledge their presence by playing catch, and so on and so on. Many bad, bad movies have been made on such subjects.

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by Peter Schilling Jr. Posted on October 6, 2011
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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: BETRAYED!

In the aftermath of the Tigers’ 10-1 drubbing at the hands of the mighty New York Yankees, I invoke the sour image of one Alfred Manuel “Billy” Martin, former manager of the Tigers, Twins, A’s, Rangers, and the God damn motherfucking Yankees. At least that’s how I’d imagine Martin speaking about his former club, had they beaten his men as soundly as the Yanks did last evening. Probably, too, Martin would have saved a few ripe invectives for his own boys, especially the biggest names on the club, you know, the guys who personally threatened him.

Here we see Martin posing with his extended middle finger on his baseball bat. Yes, he is using sign language, and that profound, distant look, not only to communicate “fuck you”, but to ask God himself if there is anything he, Billy Martin, can do to convince that selfsame God to fuck over anyone and everyone in Billy Martin’s narrow path through life. Including the poor sap taking this baseball card photo. Continue reading →

by Peter Schilling Jr. Posted on October 5, 2011
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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: NO END TO THE WORRIES

At the start of the American League Division Series, your writer was about halfway through his 43rd year. At the close of the Tigers postseason, whether the first round ends tonight or they suffer defeat in Gotham tomorrow, I figure I will be a ripe 63 years old. Unwise, but stooped, gray, grizzled, streaked with wrinkles, and with a bad ticker.

That’s what the Tigers are doing to me. I imagine that’s what the Tigers are doing to everyone. Even though this is great baseball, I have to ask: would it kill ya to trounce the Yankees just once?!?

Last night’s epic contest was a rematch of the rained out duel of aces, in which the League MVP Justin Verlander (and yes, he should be MVP, you can fuck yourself if you think otherwise) took on the big man, C. C. Sabathia, who looks pinched and worried even when things are going well. The man who looks like the Man With No Name vs. the man who looks as if he needs Alka Seltzer. And probably does.

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by Peter Schilling Jr. Posted on October 4, 2011
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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: THE PERILS OF TECHNOLOGY

Let’s be honest here, shall we? Major League Baseball doesn’t give a flying handshake for the people who don’t have cable television.

If you have failed in this most American endeavor, as I have, then you’re screwed in the postseason. I don’t have TBS, and would prefer it if I could somehow avoid having to give Ted Turner any more of my money. TBS has all of the first round games. Continue reading →

by Peter Schilling Jr. Posted on October 3, 2011
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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: THE OCTOBER COUNTRY: ALDS GAME TWO

I invoke the power of Michigan’s greatest poet, Philip Levine, whose “A Walk With Tom Jefferson” alludes to the Detroit Tigers and Tiger Stadium.  I have just now lit the candle at the Shrine of the Tiger. It’s heavenly light shines upon Mark Fidrych, Alan Trammell, Sparky Anderson, Al Kaline, Norm Cash and current Tigers Justin Verlander, Max Scherzer, Brandon Inge, Austin Jackson and our man in cigarettes, Jim Leyland. Continue reading →

by Peter Schilling Jr. Posted on October 2, 2011
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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: FAREWELL TO TARGET FIELD…

…at least for this dismal, miserable season.

Call it what you will–a collective collapse on the part of suddenly mediocre players, a perfect storm of injury after injury after injury, a sickening revelation that the youth of tomorrow are totally inept, or one of various curses (the curse of the trees, of the Metrodome, of J.J. Hardy)–this has been the worst baseball season in Minnesota since my wife and I moved here in 1994. Nothing, virtually nothing, went right. Continue reading →

by Peter Schilling Jr. Posted on September 28, 2011
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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: LAND OF THE WIRELESS

When I think back over this tumultuous season for the Tigers, I can’t help but wonder why it is that this particular year has had such a grip on my attentions. It’s not simply because they’ve won their division and are heading for the playoffs for the first time in half a decade. Don’t forget, the Tigers were a roller coaster earlier this season, trading places with Cleveland (of all teams) and seeming to do their best to throw away a weak division as late as August. Surely they were going to fold in September.

Despite that, I followed the Tigers passionately this year. And I’d be following them today if they’d bottomed out. This is a good team, perhaps a great team, with certifiably great players at the very least. But that’s not just what has made them great in 2011. What has attracted me to this sterling club is this: radio.

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by Peter Schilling Jr. Posted on September 28, 2011
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THE NEUROTIC TIGER

The Detroit Tigers narrowly missed being no-hit by the lowly Oakland A’s today and, as of this writing, lead 1-0 on an Austin Jackson home run. Had they been mowed down without a single hit, it would have been proof positive of one thing, and one thing only: that I have not been diligent enough in warding off evil spirits and bad luck.

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by Peter Schilling Jr. Posted on September 18, 2011
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