A Bizarre Tattoo, and the Worst NBA Player of All Time

DeShawn Stevenson has never been the most normal guy in the NBA. Before entering the league, he originally planned on attending Kansas to play for Roy Williams. But then his SAT score jumped curiously from 450 to 1,150, setting off a storm of red flags. He re-took it, got a 650, and hightailed it for the Association. As a rookie, he was charged with the statutory rape of a 14 year-old girl, though he somehow wound up with only probation and community service. He once had an infamous "who can grow a longer beard" contest with Drew Gooden. I think we can all agree nobody won that bet. So it's safe to say nobody was too surprised when Stevenson showed up at Wizards' training camp with a new tattoo covering his Adam's apple. And ol' DeShawn didn't just go the traditional 'skull and crossbones' or 'barbed wire' route. Nope. He decided to be more original than you could possibly imagine, getting a perfect likeness of our 16th president, Abraham Lincoln, tatted all over his neck. Huhhh???? What is the point of this? To confuse the guy checking him on D? Does it have something to do with him playing in our nation's capital and trying to pay tribute to a past legend in the politic game? Or does he just respect the hell out of Honest Abe's beard and this is his way of showing it? I got a lot of questions, and not many answers. And to be totally frank, with this guy's extremely shady and partially insane track record, I think that's for the best.


My Dad was in Boston a few years back on business and decided to take in a Nuggets-Celtics game as that night's entertainment. He came back with a couple of astute observations. One, the Fleet Center was built in the same fashion as the Palace and turned out to be a pretty enjoyable place to watch a game. And secondly, Nuggets reserve forward Ryan Bowen is hands-down the single worst player in the entire NBA. My Dad is among the most knowledgeable basketball fans out there, so when he makes such a bold statement and actually declares a player as the worst, you listen. And ya know what?? He was right. After monitoring the guy for the last decade, and analyzing his every move whenever he enters a game, I've still yet to identify a real basketball skill emanating from this 6'7'' forward with a 2.6 career scoring average.

Bowen has been a New Orleans Hornet for the last few years, but now he's heading to Oklahoma City to try and earn a spot with the Thunder for the upcoming season. That statement in and of itself tells you everything you need to know about Bowen's ability. Only a real lush has to try and "earn" a spot with the 23-59 Thunder. The best part about the whole story is the quote coming from Guy Zucker, Bowen's agent. Zucker waxes poetic about all of his man's desirable qualities without mentioning even one talent related to the game of basketball. "They tell us they have a spot. So we think we have a good chance. Ryan is incredibly professional, he's unbelievably smart, he's experienced, and he has no ego." I love the fact that each characteristic he attributes to Bowen is straight out of the "How to Describe a Gawky White Guy in the NBA" handbook. 'Professional...Smart...Experienced.' Couldn't he have at least thrown in something like "deceptively strong" or even a token "able to defend multiple positions"?? But to me, the best part about the agent's quote is his claim that Bowen possesses no ego. None? Like whatsoever?? Does he even consider himself a human being? I understand you're trying to push the guy's unselfish nature, but White Bread has been in the league nine years now...shouldn't he at least have a little ego?? Regardless, while many eyes will be focused on Cleveland (with Shaq) and LA (with Artest) this pre-season, my attention will be squarely on Oklahoma City to see if Ryan Bowen can continue his improbable NBA dream for one more season. He might make it, he might not. But we can be sure of one thing...his ego won't be getting in the way.


It's safe to say that the High Socks Legend is excited about the upcoming NBA campaign. Coming next week..."Chucky Atkins a Piston again. What does this do to their NBA title chances??" Reach the Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

And It All Comes Down to This...

If there is anything to be sure of in the game of baseball, it is this...be sure of nothing. The Tigers entered last year as the heavy favorite to dominate the American League Central. Perennial All-Star Miguel Cabrera had been added to the mix in the prime of his career, Justin Verlander was coming off a spectacular sophomore campaign, and things looked to be setting up perfectly for a return trip to the World Series. Then the season started, and the world came crashing down. Seven straight losses out of the gate. The failed Edgar Renteria experiment. The tragic Jacque Jones experiment. An astounding 17 losses and near-five ERA for Verlander. Too many AB's for guys like Jeff Larish and Matt Joyce. Too much Dane Sardinha...in general. Journeymen hurlers like Aquilino Lopez and Casey Fossum were counted on for big late-inning outs. The decaying Kenny Rogers and the crumbling Nate Robertson combined to give up approximately 900 miles in home runs. After opening day, the Tigers didn't see the .500 mark again until the 88th game of the year. They finished the 2008 schedule with 14 losses in 18 games and wound up in dead last. Behind the Royals. The freakin' Royals. It was an unequivocal disaster.

Which brought us to 2009. A fresh start. Practically zero expectations. The pundits told us this time that the Tigers might improve from their '08 collapse, but not to the point where we should take them seriously as playoff contenders. After all, their off-season moves were about as vanilla as it got. A chunky catcher with a solid arm in Gerald Laird. An aging, defensive shortstop with no stick in Adam Everett. A historically Jekyll & Hyde right hander in Edwin Jackson. And a lanky young bonus baby being counted on for 170 quality innings in Frederick Alfred Porcello (real name, no joke). Fans weren't exactly readying themselves for a memorable summer of baseball. April came and went without much of a whimper. But then the Tigers invaded Cleveland and swept a three-game set to assume first place in the division. That was May 10th. It's been 156 days since. They're still on top.

It hasn't been a classic pennant-winning type season. There have been surprises, both good and bad. You have Miguel Cabrera, a guy that has surprised nobody by maintaining his Hall-of-Fame quality numbers and anchoring the middle of the lineup all season. There's Curtis Granderson, who has morphed into Willie Mays Hayes from Major League II, bashing a career high in homers while seeing his average dip uncharacteristically to the dreaded .250 territory. Ryan Raburn has been a pleasant surprise, showing a frisky power stroke while still trying to fight off the ever-present and potentially lethal comparisons to former Tiger Shane Halter. Placido Polanco and Magglio Ordonez struggled mightily for half the year before turning it into overdrive. The middle of the lineup still doesn't scare anybody, but at least it's starting to resemble something that might. From the dark side, Armando Galarraga's slider was exposed as a one-year phenomenon, joining the likes of the Steve Sparks knuckleball and anything Bill Gullickson threw in 1991. Brandon Inge has dazzled with the leather, and fizzled with the lumber. His eight K's in three games over the weekend was frightening, to say the least. Verlander has been near perfect, this time winning 17 games, many of them coming when the Tigers needed it most (see, final game in Fenway last month). Brandon Lyon made an important switch after the first month of the year, deciding to throw baseballs toward the opposing hitters instead of the tropical grapefruits and industrial-sized beach balls he'd been tossing prior. It might have even been life-saving, as many doctors felt that Lyon was risking spontaneous combustion out on the mound if he continued his fire-setting ways. Fernando Rodney has caused many a worrisome 9th inning for Tigers fans, but this year, every time but one, things have turned out just fine. It practically mirrors this season.

The Tigers have been leading almost the whole way. In the last few weeks, they've walked leadoff hitters, missed easy grounders, and been shut down by no-name pitchers (I don't even think Daniel Hudson knows who Daniel Hudson is). The race has gotten tighter and tighter as the season draws to a close, but the Tigers refuse to budge from the catbird seat. One final test remains. The second place Twins, trailing by a minuscule two games, come to town for a season-deciding four-game series beginning tonight. They arrive without the services of their MVP first baseman, Justin Morneau. But in his stead has been the suddenly terrifying Michael Cuddyer, who seems to have hit all 30 of his homers in the last ten days. Joe Mauer, the Twins do-it-all rock behind the plate, could wind up with the rarely seen stat collection of 30 round trippers, 100 ribbies, and a .375 batting clip. Kinda reminds you of Gerald Laird...ya know, if Mauer put on about 50 lb's and dropped about 150 decimals from that average.

These Twins are by no means a collection of superstars, but that's the way they like it. They fly under the radar, and that suits them just fine. But this week, they have no choice. The entire baseball world will have their eyes focused on Comerica Park. The other races are virtually all decided, and the AL Central is the only drama that remains. In 2008, we wanted everything, and got nothing. This year, we expected nothing, and have gotten much more. As a great philosopher once said, "Nothing is perfect because life isn't perfect, and that's what makes it beautiful." This season hasn't been perfect...but if things fall the Tigers' way, it might wind up being the most beautiful sight two eyes have ever seen.


Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

It's Thursday...Let's Have a Little Fun!!

Boy, do those Florida Marlins have some fun. Caught the end of their thrilling comeback win over Philly last night and the on-field celebration following the final run was something typically reserved for a World Series-clinching victory. No joke. When Brett Carroll laced Brad Lidge's meatball right back up the middle for the walk-off W, almost the whole Marlins squad was charging the field before he even reached first base. Hanley Ramirez, who was on 3rd representing the winning run, actually made a banana turn to round home plate as he scored so he could then make the quickest path possible out to the gathering mob towards first base. They all came spilling out onto the field in record time, and were doing it with such vigor and enthusiasm that two of the guys got tangled up and wound up tumbling to the ground. But nobody cared. Everybody was screaming and laughing, and I'm pretty sure at one point I saw one guy giving the Marlins mascot a piggy-back ride. You would have thought they just secured a playoff spot, or won their 50th straight game. In reality, they had simply moved to within 4.5 games of Colorado for the wild card, a somewhat lofty number at this point in the season. But they just kept jumping on each other and running all over the field. You could tell Phillies first sacker Ryan Howard was none too pleased having to avoid the celebrating Marlins on his trek to the dugout after the final hit. And I venture to say things could have gotten very ugly if anybody even made the slightest contact with the big fella at that moment.

To top the whole thing off, we see Carroll now being interviewed by the TV people near the Florida dugout. And away from the action, we also see a couple of still-giddy Marlins emerging from the other end of the dugout holding a giant Gatorade jug. I thought to myself, "No way are they about to give this guy a Gatorade shower after a regular season win that brought them to within 4.5 games of a playoff spot. They usually only do that after the Super Bowl." Well that's what this game seemed to be to these guys. Sure enough, the two Fish converged on Carroll with the Gatorade in tow, and let loose with the entire 500-oz container of Lemon Lime heaven. No joke. I'm pretty sure it was the first time I had ever seen such a thing for a regular season baseball game. It really was one of the more underrated moments from this baseball season. It's a team that probably knows they have pretty little chance of making the playoffs. It's a team that routinely plays in front of maybe two or three dozen fans (including family members) when they are at home. But none of that mattered Wednesday night.

It was just pure jubilation following one of the most exciting wins in all of baseball this year (the whole 9th inning was absolute chaos). I normally reserve a pretty serious hatred for all things Marlin following their 2003 NLCS with the Cubbies, but after watching this current school of Fish have the time of their life Wednesday night, I'll be rooting for them to shock the world over these final two weeks and somehow find a spot in the dance.


The Pittsburgh Pirates got some unwanted recognition recently for setting the all-time record for consecutive losing seasons by a team in the four major sports (17). But they aren't totally alone. The Baltimore Orioles kinda slide under the "Inept Franchise" radar, but let it be known that these guys have been nothing short of awful. Aside from the perpetually putrid Buccos, the O's are the only other MLB squad to fail to record even one .500 season this century. The Orange-Birds have managed to be less than average every single season since Y2K, yet they never seem to catch any real flak for it. This was once a proud franchise that competed for championships most every year from the mid-60's on through to the mid-80's. They had Hall-of-Famers like Jim Palmer, Frank Robinson, and Cal Ripken, Jr. My, how things have changed. The '09 edition is a whopping 35 games out of first, and contains a pitching staff made up entirely of rice pilaf.

And if you think these guys are planning a big season-ending run to provide some momentum for 2010, think again. They dropped their season-high 7th straight game last night, and to make things just a litttttle bit sicker, the pitcher they lost to (Scott Richmond of TOR) was 0-6 in his last nine starts with an ERA close to infinity. But on the bright side, (ummmmmm), (still thinking)...nope, I got nothin'. That's one sad franchise.


I don't understand why the one-armed man in The Fugitive decided to murder Harrison Ford's wife with what looked to be a Magic 8-Ball. Was that the popular weapon of choice back in the early 90's?? Did the guy stop at one of those 'Gag Gift' shops on the way to the house? Why didn't he pick up a Whoopee Cushion and some Silly Putty while he was at it? And another thing. The bad guys in this movie obviously went to great lengths to hatch this whole scheme and frame the completely innocent Richard Kimble (Ford), but what was the logic behind having a guy with a prosthetic arm actually do the wet work? On the list of things that one-armed men specialize in, I wouldn't think that "cold-blooded murder" would be at the top of the list. Not to mention, if the henchmen did think there was a chance Ford would encounter this mook at some point during the chaos, wouldn't discovering that the man only had one wing narrow the possibilities immensely? Like, if Doc Kimble had to go to the cops and tell them, "Umm, yeah, he was a white guy, kinda tall...that's pretty much all I got," I can't imagine they would have been on the fast track to hunting him down. But if he reports to the Five-O that the killer in question was only working with uno brazo, I'd think they would have the guy in cuffs within the hour.

However, despite these few very minor criticisms, The Fugitive remains one of the best movies of all-time, and stands out as one of those flicks that you seem to enjoy every time you settle in like it's your first time viewing the picture. There's much more to discuss regarding this film (like why was that one female doctor so bitter at Ford when she realized he saved a kid's life...and why wasn't Ford's beard nominated for a 'Best Supporting Actor' Oscar), but we'll save those gems for another time. And if you haven't seen The Fugitive yet, well, let's just say that one of us is a complete lush...and it's not me.


What's with Placido Polanco wearing that Breathe Right nasal strip lately? Doesn't he already look enough like Mr. Potato Head? What's next, a goofy pair of sunglasses and a fake moustache?? Feel free to drop a comment on any of the aforementioned topics, or reach me by E-mail at
highsockslegend@gmail.com

Yet Unnamed Monday Weekend Sports Re-Kap

Entering this road series with the never-say-die Minnesota Twins, most Tigers fans were just looking for one thing: a single win. Just one little W to keep the AL Central lead at a comfortable margin and slow down that oncoming Twinkie Train that kept appearing closer in the rear-view mirror. Well, things weren't looking very good heading into the finale yesterday. The Tigers fell Friday night when their bats went silent. They dropped a Metrodome special on Saturday afternoon when Nervous Don Kelly was inserted late in the game as a defensive replacement in a move that could best be described as "curious, shocking, and well, just very, very curious." So it all came down to Sunday. Maybe the most important ballgame of the year. So who else would you want toeing the rubber on such an occasion than Nate Robertson?? Wait, what?? You mean the same Nate Robertson that achieved an almost unimaginable 6.35 ERA last year while pitching basically the whole season as a starter? Couldn't be! The same Nate Robertson who allowed more earned runs than anybody else in the entire American League last season?? That guy?? You're telling me he is being trusted to take the ball for a reeling Tigers team, go out, and win a game to possibly save the entire season? It seems improbable, but then again, this team's drive for a spot in October has been anything but conventional all season long. So Nate when out and decided to make the season even crazier...and won the biggest game of the year.

Of course, Nate's performance isn't going to conjure up any memories of Steve Carlton or Warren Spahn, Hall-of-Fame left handers from yesteryear. He allowed his fair share of baserunners, threw a million pitches in a shot period of time, and only wound up lasting five innings. But he got the job done. He stayed away from the big inning, kept the ball down, and somehow kept the suddenly Ruthian slugger, Michael Cuddyer, from making his customary trot around the bases. It was far from a heroic or memorable performance, but on this day, it didn't need to be. It just needed to be enough. It was.

And now, the picture becomes a little more clear. The finish line that looked miles away after the Don Kelly Experience on Saturday now looks like to be well within reach once again. The Tigers, a team that has maintained a firm grip on first place since May 10th, find themselves ahead by three games with 13 to play. A day off tomorrow and then a mad dash to the finish (13 games in 13 days). You get the feeling now that the worst is finally over. The pesky Royals did their best in the last 10 days to make some waves and rock the boat from side to side. The Metrodome did its part on Saturday to recall the ghosts one more time for a final send-off. And Sunday could have been the finishing touch. A loss, a sweep, and for all intents and purposes, a season that would not be recovered. But the Tigers, behind Nate Robertson circa 2006, and the sizzzzzling Placido Polanco, weren't ready to throw in the towel just yet. They got the one win they came to Minnesota for at the time they needed it most. Tiger Nation can finally exhale for a minute. After all, Nate's next start won't be for another five days...


-Just try and keep me away from that Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs movie...ain't gonna happen. That was one helluva book when I was growing up, and needless to say, I was pretty jacked up when I found out it was being made into a movie. I know most great books don't translate as well to the big screen, but I'm still holding out hope that turns out to be the exception, and not the rule. The only unfortunate part is that the HSL's longtime movie buddy, B-Shoke, has jumped ship from the D and is now living in Atlanta, making a Meatballs outing a virtual impossibility. Maybe it's for the best, though. There were in fact, some very sick double features back in the day, including a "Nobody else will ever find out about this" night that included back-to-back viewings of The Chronicles of Riddick (not one of Vin Diesel's finest) and Garfield: The Movie (we might have been the only ones in the place over the age of 9). Throw in the not-so-memorable evening when I practically had a nervous breakdown walking in to see the dark and ominous flick The Crow when I preferred the much more kid-friendly 3 Ninjas Kick Back, and I might just have to wait until the DVD comes out to see if these meatballs really do come down from the sky.

-Bizarre finish to the Michigan State game in South Bend on Saturday. Kirk Cousins misses a wide open Larry Caper in the back of the end zone for the go-ahead score, then flings a mindless game-ending pick on the very next play when a field goal still would have sent the contest into overtime. I wasn't aware that Cousins was in fact the "cousin" of Gus Ornstein.
Yamma-hamma.

-Prediction of the week came Thursday afternoon during another Tigers shellacking at the hands of the Kansas City Royals. KC was at bat with men on the corners when former Tiger Josh Anderson came strolling to the dish with his punchless piece of lumber. Sitting in the Copa's upper deck, I commented, "At least they can't do any more damage now." After all, when Anderson was with Detroit, it was a miracle if he hit the ball out of the infield twice in the same week. He hadn't hit a homer all year. Hearing this, die-hard Tigers fan and part-time psychic Ricky Lee offered up this straight-out-of-left field prediction. "I guarantee he's going to hit his first home run right here. Just watch." Again, a couple pitches into the at-bat, he repeated his claim. Not many people are out there calling home runs for players that haven't hit one in their last 267 trips to the plate, so nobody took it too seriously. But then it happened. The count went 2-0, Anderson got the green light, and Armando Galarraga went into his special bag of tricks and decided to literally throw a fully inflated beach ball in the direction of home plate. Anderson turned on the pitch with every muscle in his 195-pound frame and sent it flying on a dead line towards the right field bleachers. An absolute laser beam, the ball cleared the fence by a good 25 feet and Anderson had his first round tripper of the year. But more importantly, the bizarre words of Ricky Lee had come true. It ranks near the top of the list of live in-game baseball predictions. But one must take into account that it was, in fact, the lifeless right arm of Armando Galarraga that served up the pitch, and by rule, 25% credit is automatically taken away on any home run call. A final prediction: Anderson will never hit a home run in the big leagues again and will be a professional calf-roper within the next 3-5 years.

-Why do baby clothes need pockets? You see these little infants all the time walking around in their miniature cargo pants and you can't help but wonder, "What exactly is lil' fella carrying around in there?"

-You ever hear someone say, "Ewww, I hate frosting" when birthday cake slices are being doled out? Yeah, I've heard it...and let me just say this. Anyone who says such a thing is not your friend. Seriously. Stay away from them. They are scary people, and they are up to no good. It's OK to prefer the cake portion over the frosting side, but it is not OK to simply dismiss the frosting as "gross" or "icky." Saying these things makes you a Communist, and more importantly, the world's biggest lush.


Drop a thought below or reach the High Socks Legend by E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Flashback Friday with the HSL

The Tigers invade the Metrodome this weekend for the season's most critical series, a three-gamer with the second place Twins that could end up deciding the AL Central race. In this "High Socks Legend Flashback," we turn the clock back to a column written in mid-May immediately following a particularly gut-wrenching Twins sweep over Jim Leyland's crew. As this article brings to light, the Homerdome has never been the most friendly venue to the Tigers or any visiting club, for that matter. So grab a bottle of TUMS and enjoy this terrifying journey through the hallowed halls of the flukiest baseball stadium on the planet, the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome.

Note: This article originally appeared on May 15th.

The Tigers entered the state of Minnesota feeling pretty darn good. They had just completed a brilliantly pitched three-game sweep over the Indians. The starters were dominant, the relievers were solid, and all seemed to be right in Tiger Town. But there's one thing that Minnesota has that Cleveland does not: the Metrodome. Or more aptly titled, the Detroit Tigers Very Own Personal House of Horrors. More than any other park in the American League, you just never feel like a lead is 100% safe in that giant bubble. The grass is fake, the fans are noisy, and the opposing hitters are downright frisky. And when the dust finally settled on this 3-game set, the Tigers found themselves trudging home empty handed. And dreading the next trip back to Minneapolis.

The opener on Tuesday night was just a flat performance that will happen more than a few times during a 162-game season. Armando Galarraga was shaky and the Tiger bats were quiet. No reason to panic. Still two opportunities to grab a game in this godforsaken building.

The second contest had it all. Dontrelle Willis made his 2009 debut and proceeded to get hit harder than a Lawrence Phillips ex-girlfriend. The sooner he realizes that he is the present-day Rick Ankiel and that his only future lies in being a position player, the better off all of us will be. Somehow, the Tigers battled back with long bombs courtesy of Miguel Cabrera, Brandon Inge, and Glenallen Hill-impersonator, Jeff Larish. But like all games in the Metrodome, you can't be sure of anything until the final out is recorded. Sure enough, a 2-run lead in the 8th went up in smoke when Jason Kubel took a Joel Zumaya fireball and promptly blasted it somewhere in the general direction of Mars. It seems that Kubel was raised on the Matt Stairs' school of hitting where you try to hit every single pitch as far as humanly possible. Give that guy 7 to 8 years and he'll be checking in at the same 300 bills that Stairs has been for the last decade.

Somewhere in the neighborhood of 12:30 AM, Curtis Granderson laced a signature triple with just one out. Perfect. But after a short pop fly by Potato Head Polanco failed to get him in, Granderson took matters into his own hands. Or more appropriately, his feet. Grandy stutter-stepped a bluff towards the dish. Twinkie reliever Jesse Crain panicked and went through with a halted delivery so awkward that a balk was called even though nobody seemed to really know where the infraction occurred. Normally, when you score a run in such bizarre fashion in the 13th inning of a marathon game, the home team is so demoralized that they are content to take their three quick outs in the bottom half and get to sleep. But not in the Metrodome.

Kubel (or Ruth, whichever you prefer) led off with a single. Trouble. A sacrifice moved him over. Then a Bermuda Triangle single by Twins 2nd sacker Matt Tolbert tied things up again. The Twins have mastered the "we might not hit it hard, but you can be sure we're hitting it in the exact perfect place" technique. Tolbert is another example of the perennial Twins' annoyance. They always have that same no-stick, good-gloved, 2nd baseman that hangs around for a few years before a new scrub comes along. Luis Rivas held the title for a while, Alexi Casilla carried the torch after that, and now Matt Tolbert is continuing the tradition proudly. Somewhere, Steve Lombardozzi is smiling. So with the game now tied and Tolbert aboard, it was simply a matter of how the Twins would pull it out. The bases were ultimately loaded with two outs, and longtime Tigers assassin Joe Crede was stepping into the box. On the mound, Brandon Lyon was in his third inning of work and looking malnourished. The matchup was so uneven that Crede could have been forced to use one of those plastic light-sabres you used to get at the circus and he still would have hit the ball 450 feet. Sure enough, Lyon tried to coax one more breaking ball out of his dying arm, and Crede deposited it for a walk-off slam.

Metrodome 2, Tigers 0

But they had one more shot. Justin Verlander was on the hill. There's been no hotter pitcher over the last month. Jim Leyland even pegged Magglio back into the 3-slot in the order to try and get his bat going. The Tigers were determined to come home with at least one W in their back pocket. Through six innings, Verlander was masterful. Practically untouchable. Of the 19 outs he recorded, 13 were marked with a 'K' in the scorebook. And finally, the Tigers busted out with an inning of their own and hung a crooked 5-spot in the 6th. So now they had a five run lead in the 7th inning with their ace pitcher cruising along, and the players all dead tired after an excruciatingly long game the night before. Even this was not something the Twins and the Metrodome could overcome. Think again. Verlander was pulled after two men reached with one out. Bobby Seay entered to face the Twins' parade of lefties, where he excels. Unfortunately, there's good Bobby Seay, there's bad Bobby Seay, and then on a day like this one, there's "I'm literally going to throw a beach ball towards the plate" Bobby Seay. Finally, Zach Miner was summoned from what is now looking like a pretty shaky scene down in the Tigers' pen. As if the series couldn't end any other way, Joe Crede broke his bat on another perfectly placed Metrodome single and the home team had the final lead, 6-5.

Having difficulty in a certain stadium or venue is not unique to just the Tigers and their Metrodome struggles. In the NBA, the Pistons have gone to Utah for the last 25 years and all they have to show for it are some gut-wrenching losses and one very painful Mailman-to-Isiah elbow. The Lions have trekked up to frigid Lambeau every year since '92 and have come up short every single time. Kevin Bacon's Winabi tribe emerged victorious in The Air Up There, but I don't think anybody believes in their heart of hearts that they win that game if it is played in Mingori territory. Sometimes a home field just means that much. And this week was one of those times. There's just something unfriendly to the visiting team about the Metrodome. Maybe it's the vastly under-reported story that their workers were manipulating the air conditioning system during the '87 and '91 title runs to aid the Twins' cause. Or it could be the "Am I a football field or a baseball diamond?" dilemma that makes for odd dimensions and poor sight lines. Or maybe it's the fact that every single ball hit in the gap by a Tiger over the last five years has wound up one-hopping over the fence for a ground-rule double, always with a man on first that would have easily scored otherwise. In the past, unknown baseball vagabonds like Jason Tyner and Lew Ford immediately have turned into the second coming of Mantle and Maris when dropped into the ultra-friendly home confines of the Metrodome. The Tigers return to Comerica Park tonight, and you can imagine that coming home never felt so good.

There's a small silver lining in this frustrating series sweep. Target Field, the new home to the Twins, is scheduled to be ready for play Opening Day next season. It will be outdoors with real grass. Which means that the Big Bubble in Minnesota will no longer be able to torment the Tigers with its high bounces, garbage bag homers, and unorthodox rallies. But like any big change in life, you wonder if the Tigers might wind up missing the old guy once he's gone and replaced with a newer, shinier, version. After the last 72 hours of misery...I think they'll handle it just fine.


One can only hope that this scene will not be recreated in some capacity this weekend. However, if a 3-game Twins sweep does occur, the High Socks Legend will not be held responsible for bringing about any type of jinx or curse with the re-posting of this column. Reach the HSL at - highsockslegend@gmail.com -