Posts tagged: The Neurotic Tiger

THE NEUROTIC TIGER: HERE COMES THE PRINCE

January 26, 2012, by 1 comment

By now everyone who reads my baseball stuff knows that the Detroit Tigers, my Detroit Fucking Tigers, went crazy and signed the affable and corpulent Prince Fielder. As a Tiger fan, I have seen a couple weeks of emotional roller-coaster riding: a few weeks ago, catcher/DH (really DH) Victor Martinez wrecks his knee and is out for the season, so that means, naturally, that the season is over in January (this is how the neuroses work.) Then, suddenly, Detroit grabs Prince Fielder from Milwaukee to the tune of 214 million dollars for nine long years. Immediately, it appears that the Tigers have the World Series locked up. Congrats to us, we are the champions.

Of course, now that the dust has settled and we’ve all calmed down a bit, maybe we can take a look at this situation for what it really is, and maybe get a bit excited, but not too excited. After all, Prince is just one player.

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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: IT’S GONNA TAKE A LONG TIME…

October 26, 2011, by No comments yet

Tiger Stadium then (c. 1994)...

Eleven days ago, as I watched the Detroit Tigers throw away game six of the ALCS, and with it the American League pennant which once they flew, I couldn’t help but reflect on the strange irony of the Tigers’ success. So much had been made of the “return” of Detroit, of its startling comeback from desolation. From Chrysler 300 ads to NBC nightly news talking about how Detroiters are getting used to success (read: Lions and Tigers winning) the city, pundits claimed, was crawling up off the mat.

That should make me happy. But it doesn’t. It makes me confused and melancholy.

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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: REALITY BITES

October 17, 2011, by No comments yet

That’s it, the season’s over. The art of fiction is alive again. Invention has wrestled itself free from reality. And now the totally banal, the most obviously mundane, is all that is plausible. Imagination will be our only escape from crushing reality.

The Tigers lose. The Rangers win. The mojo is done.

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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: LIKE PEE WEE, TEXAS BOUND

October 14, 2011, by 1 comment

Honestly, I don’t have a God damn thing to add to yesterday’s incredible, kind-of come-from-behind victory (they were down 1-0 early on) the Detroit Tigers managed to pull off in their last game in Michigan in the ALCS.

Except this: oh, fuck yes!

Yesterday’s game was weird, and fortunately or unfortunately, it confirmed something in my mind: the Texas Rangers are a better team. At least right now.

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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: SPIRIT OF THE DOUGHNUT MAN

October 13, 2011, by No comments yet

Today I invoke the awesome power of one Mickey Lolich, the Detroit Tigers’ 1968 World Series MVP. The “hero to the fat man” (as he thought of himself), won three games in that series, which was a nail biter to the extreme. The Bengals of ’68 were down three games to one, and came from behind to win.

Like this ALCS against the Rangers, the Tigers had their backs to the wall and had to win three straight–only one at home, the next two on the road. The game five ball went to Lolich; game six to our ace, 30-game winner and Hammond organ maestro, Denny McLain; game seven again to Lolich.

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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: TIGER MY RIDE!

October 12, 2011, by No comments yet

Today I invoke the spirit of the crazy 1970s, the decade when I was weaned on baseball, and when I first met the man who would be my stepdad, James Younger. And I celebrate my new favorite Tiger, southern California son-of-a-fireman, jogger, zen-master, Doug Wildes Fister, who saved the season for the mighty men of Detroit last evening.

Furthermore, though I have absolutely no evidence of this, I like to think that the man from Merced drives to work right down the center of Woodward Avenue, toward the mighty fist of Joe Louis, screeching left at the Fox Theater and into Harwell Stadium, blasting his tunes from behind the wheel of the sexy Tigermobile you see to your left. He smacks the horn and Tom Jones’ “What’s New Pussycat?” roars. If we’re lucky that motherfucker does the hydraulic thing in that beast, disrupting the Rangers’ BP before peeling away, leaving angry batting coaches eating his exhaust.

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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: THE MOJO REFOCUSED

October 8, 2011, by No comments yet

Jim (left) and my Mom at their home in rurual Mt. Pleasant, Michigan.

Today I invoke the the energy and spirit of one of the biggest Tigers fans I know, my stepdad, Jim Younger, who is currently in the throes of battling a failing liver at a hospital in Midland, Michigan. Not for that energy to move the team from Detroit to victory, but so that this selfsame fan gets a needed home run of his own. So I fly now, home, to Tigers country, in the hopes that the doctors and nurses can figure out what the hell needs to be done to save his life.

And here I find myself hoping that he’s coherent enough to watch tonight’s game, no doubt another nailbiter, as the Bengals’ ace, Justin Verlander, tries to stop the offensive combine known as the Texas Rangers.

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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: A FISTER FULL OF DOLLARS*

October 7, 2011, by No comments yet

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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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

October 6, 2011, by No comments yet

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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THE NEUROTIC TIGER: BETRAYED!

October 5, 2011, by No comments yet

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. Read more →