Detroit at Twins. Twins 7, Detroit 1.

You can't blame Detroit for completely falling apart in the 7th inning of tonight's game. I mean, sure, for the previous six innings they played like the team that took a series from the Mighty Yankees—good pitching, fine defense, and a dinger from Pudge (to break the Twins 32-inning scoreless streak). All because the Twins were doing exactly what their scouting reports told them they would do. The Twins have a tendency to make Mike Maroth look like, well, Brad Radke or something, and for the first few innings tonight they were true to form. Maroth retired the first 14 Twins he faced (well, really nine Twins, five of them twice) until Jacque Jones solved the mystery and roped a single to center with two outs in the fifth.

Then Pudge broke poor Terry Mulholland's frail little heart with that homer, but the Twins answered back in the bottom of the 6th, thanks to Mssrs. Guzman and Rivas. All was still according to form. A close game, this would be, maybe a one run game, as long as everyone keeps their heads…

…Well, then Corey Koskie comes up in the bottom of the 7th and takes a typically long at bat, giving his heavy-lidded "If I weren't Canadian, I'd give you a piece of my mind, Mister!" stare to the ump on a couple close calls, and after about 15 minutes draws a walk. No surprise there. But then, during Jacque Jones' at-bat, Koskie does something really strange.

He steals a base.

Two years ago, even a year ago, the Tigers scouting report would have said, "Koskie: Threat to steal. Really. We're not kidding around here." But this year, nobody expects Corey to be able to run at all, or even trot, let alone steal. But there he went, pieces of his wracked body falling off behind him, while the entire Twins bench watched in mute horror. It threw Pudge so off guard that he threw the ball into center, letting Corey drag his artificial hips all the way to third.

If the lapses in the Twins-space continuum had stopped there, the Tigers may have been able to recover. They have, after all, faced adversity before and overcome it, stronger and better men. But then something happened which snapped the Tigers tenuous grasp on reality.

Jacque Jones took a pitch.

In fact, he took two pitches, working an 0-2 count into a 3-2, until he slapped the ball into center to score Corey.

Nothing was right anymore. Day was night, up was down, foul was fair (oh, wait, that was Montreal). Who are we, anyway? Why are we here? What is this thing called life? Am I real? Why is there a fat man at the plate? Isn't that TC Bear? And why did that fat man just slap the ball into the ground as if he were fast or something?

Nothing would ever be right again. Matt LeCroy hit a seeing-eye single that the infield just couldn't quite play, then Jose "Hey, Cool! I'm Still on the Team!" Offerman hit a potential double play ball that the third baseman—still trembling before G-d—kicked back home. Wheee! It's soccer! Then the ever-empathic Rivas, sensing the Tigers despair, tried desperately to end things by hitting into a double play—but to no avail. The throw to first was bad, Rivas was safe, and then our light-hitting shortstop came up and hit a three-run homer.

If the Tigers suddenly devolve back into the team they were last year, you cannot blame them. They've been shaken to their very core. Nothing can be right in a world where there is so much wrong; the catcher's 21 and there's daggers in men's smiles.

Tigers, our hearts are with you.

Posted by Batgirl at July 8, 2004 10:24 PM