Sweeeeeeeeeeep.

Detroit at Twins. Twins 10, Tigers 4.

Poor Nate Robertson. Before the game the pitcher was given just two instructions by Alan Trammell: The first—"Don't eat anybody this time. Perhaps Trammell noticed the soy sauce Robertson was holding behind his back, or perhaps he just knew Robertson too well by this point, but he wanted to be sure to avoid an incident. Trammell's a good guy, and a good citizen of the game, and he doesn’t want to see anyone get eaten.

Perhaps, though, Trammell should have given his second instruction, which was "Oh, and dude, don't suck," first tonight. It can be hard to remember two whole instructions, and if you asked Alan Trammell to choose between Robertson having a quality start but eating a little utility infielder along the way or sucking all over the place but leaving Little Nicky Punto in peace, well, I think if you really looked into his soul you know what the answer would be. Pass the soy sauce.

For poor Alan Trammell had already used most of his pitching staff in the previous two losses with the Twins, and once you get past Percival and Farnsworth, that bullpen stops being very pretty. It would have been extra nice for them all if Nate Robinson Robertson could manage to go, oh, seven or eight or maybe nine innings. And maybe he could even pitch well. And maybe the Tigers could even win…

Well, let's just say Alan Trammell has wished upon many a star in the last couple of years, and none of them have come through very well for him. Dude needs to find a new constellation, I think. While he must have been very happy when Robertson got through the first inning on seven pitches, that proved to be just a big karmic tease for the beleaguered manager, who then watched his pitcher have some sort of very large and very public meltdown on the mound. Apparently, Robertson only had seven pitches in him for the night, which is fine if you're Juan Rincon (though Boo normally requires nine pitches to complete an inning) but it's pretty hard if you're a starter going into the second inning.

Maybe it was the low blood sugar, or just the delicious sight of Little Nicky Punto sitting there in the dugout looking all luscious, but in the second inning, Robertson walked two, hit one, and gave up two singles to give the Twins two runs. (And to let them tie the game up again after Brad Radke—yawn—gave up two runs in the first inning. Only two, Brad? How blasé.) The next inning Robertson gave up three more runs, giving up a double, a single, a walk, and hitting another batter. That makes two hit batters and three walks in two innings, in case you weren't counting.

That third inning would have been even more of a disaster, had DJ Cuddles not decided to try to steal 3rd on Pudge Rodriguez. You could just see Cuddy thinking, "Hey, I think I'll try to steal on Pudge. He's so skinny now, he can’t throw me out!" At which point Pudge—or should I say Ivan--screamed,"STOP CALLING ME SKINNY!" and hurled the ball to 3rd so fast it broke the sound barrier, and Cuddy was out by about six miles. Rodriguez's eyes finally popped back in his head about inning number eight or so, but by then it was way too late.

Through sheer strength of will Trammell was able to keep from stalking out to the mound and dragging Robertson out by his hair for five innings, because really, he didn't have any choice, but by that point the large-necked pitcher had given up six runs with five walks, and it was time to take him out back and shoot him.

Was there anything more heart-wrenching than Alan Trammell's face this series? The cameras kept cutting to him and every time he looked like either his head was going to explode or he was going to shoot himself in the gut with TC Bear's t-shirt gun. I mean, he was led to believe it was going to get better. They told him things were going to get better! They had all these fancy off-season pick-ups, they had Magglio and Troy Percival and Kyle Farnsworth, and Dmitri was healthy again and they were going to get out there. Get it done. Show their stuff. Do their thing. Shake their collective boo-tay. Get in there and SLAY it! Go TEAM!

It is important to have dreams, of course. Batgirl's all for dreams. She's all for tucking yourself in at night and snuggling your bobbleheads into your bosom and saying, yes, world, yes, I will embrace the bright new tomorrow, I will be all I can be, I will create my own destiny, I am the greatest love of all…

What I'm saying, though, is that there are dreams, and there are nightmares, and Alan Trammell lived a nightmare this series, and if things don't get better, will have himself another long year. Not to mention Dmitri Young, who might have to borrow Nate Robertson's soy sauce in order to eat his words.

Trammell wasn't the only manager with steam coming out of his nostrils tonight. Because after Nate Robertson beaned two Twins—and we know that wasn't on purpose. If he'd tried to bean someone, the pitch probably would gone over the plate—Brad Radke hit Marcus Thames. Now, at the time, the Twins were ahead 5-2 and Radke had put the lead-off batter on. With Marcus Thames now on, the tying run would come to the plate. Not really a time for bean ball, but that didn't stop the ump from warning both benches, and you know how Gardy gets when the umpire warns both benches. There's the kicking things and the gesticulating wildly and the head turning all adorably red and the ears flaming and sometimes there's even throwing hats, though not this time. Really, for Gardy tonight's was a more subdued performance, done mostly in sign language—which Batgirl assumes means the umpire was hearing impaired. It was sweet of Gardy to adapt his communication skills so the ump could understand. But that's just the kind of guy Gardy is.

The Twins responded to their manager's noble stand by knocking out four more runs in the 6th. The whole offensive juggernaut of the game was fairly dizzying and after Lew Ford popped the ball into the "Home Run Porch" (otherwise knows as "The Place Batgirl Used To Sit") Batgirl had to lie down for a while, just to gather herself. Meanwhile, Naked Batting Practice went 2-4 with two RBIs, Juan Castro flashed some nice leather out there, and Jacque Jones continued to hit the holy bejesus out of the ball. Little Sweetcheeks is hitting .407 with two homers, two doubles, and today he added a triple to the mix. Oh, and this has all been against mostly left-handed opponents and he has three walks on the year, which is one more walk than strikeout. It's like Batgirl doesn't even know him anymore. But she does know him. And she likes him.

Well, this sweep of the Tigers felt pretty good--unless of course you're Alan Trammell--and you don't hear so much teeth gnashing in Twins Territory anymore. With 23 runs in 3 games, it's hard to complain too loudly about ass-bats; and at least this week, for once Brad Radke can even say he got run support. Life is good.


Notes: Okay, Batgirl's been typing this entry while watching SportsCenter and yes, a fan tried to bitch slap Sheff at the Red Sox Yankees game, and yes, Sheff slapped the fan back and it was all very backstage-at-Desperate Housewives, and all very disgraceful and everyone should be very, very ashamed of themselves, except the security guard who is like some kind of HERO and should be given a medal and maybe a STATUE and like the KEY to the CITY and his own TV SHOW, but don't you think, Mr. SportsCenter Producer, don't you really think that I might have gotten the point the FIRST FIVE TIMES YOU COVERED THE STORY?

Thank you.

Posted by Batgirl at April 14, 2005 11:14 PM
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