No Music, No Chicken, Just Guts

Just got through watching Kenny Rogers’ PHENOMENAL pitching job for the Tigers against the Yankees. I’ve never seen someone so in control of his curveball. He could be with Tom Cruise and the Impossible Mission squad, and throw round things with great accuracy, like into melting nuclear cores past a bad guy with a smacker of some kind. And eventually he’d snap Cruise into little pieces, so it would be entertaining AND a public service.

And he got to do it against the Yankees. Christmas in October. It’s so nice to see Joe Torre give his best Frankenstein face in the dugout, and watch Jeter and Damon and the rest of them just give up. After every strike toward the end, Rogers shouted at Rodriguez, “Come on! Gimme the Ball!” I expected him to take a bite out of it like a big Granny Smith. He’s never had any luck against the Yankees, and maybe they got lax, but he was so fired up I thought he’d have an aneurysm. It’s just so cool to see a man set a goal and rise to the occasion against all the stats. Dare I say it, I live for this.

I didn’t want to sit and watch a ballgame all night, have other important things to take care of. But that game was one for the ages, and if the Tigers are going to advance in the playoffs (a big if–I expect the Yankees to score about 15 runs tomorrow, just out of blue-ball frustration), I needed to see this one. Hoo Dog. I’m going to go strap some ice on my thumb, cuz I kept rewinding the Tivo to replay the pitches.