Wallace Giving Pistons Great Minutes, But Maybe Too Many of Them?

Ben Wallace is a 35-year-old NBA big man who is playing like he’s 25. For now.

There’s been a lot of ballyhoo over Wallace, who the Pistons snatched from the jaws of retirement last summer and signed for a league pittance.

The signing was decried, but not by me. But that’s because I figured Wallace could come off the bench when some energy was needed, maybe block a couple of shots, grab a few rebounds, and then sit back down, his night done after 10, 15 minutes.

I had no delusions of grandeur about him. No idea that he’d even be considered for a starting position, let alone be granted one.

But my blessing of the signing came with a caveat.

When a guy is publicly talking about retirement, when he’s already in that “mode,” be careful, because you have no idea when those feelings might suddenly reappear.

Wallace spoke openly after last season, which ended with him as a non-factor with the Cleveland Cavaliers, about hanging up the sneakers. Injuries had frustrated him, as did his time in Chicago, which never met anyone’s expectations—Wallace’s or the Bulls’—after he signed his big free agent contract in July 2006.

But he wanted to give it one more shot, and the idea of doing that in Detroit intrigued him, as it did the Pistons. So I figured, why not?

Now, after seven games, Wallace is being heralded as “the old” Ben Wallace. Not “an old” Ben Wallace. There’s a difference.

I think it’s terrific that Wallace is giving the team far more than it had ever dreamed when training camp began. He’s back to being Windex personified. He’s disrupting shots, and blocking some of them. He’s providing sage defensive advice to the team’s kids. He’s almost, dare I say, a coach on the floor that way.

But he’s playing way too many minutes for my comfort. Not that anyone bothered to ask me.

The NBA season is an 82-game marathon. And Wallace has sprinted from the start, racing out to a big lead.

But refer back to the opening paragraph, please. Ben Wallace is 35 years old.

Pistons president Joe Dumars subscribes to a theory which has merit, but still makes me shudder at the number of minutes Wallace is logging so far—well over 30 per night, and sometimes close to 40.

The theory says that big men can last longer in the NBA, can play well into their 30s, because they don’t run up and down the court, as a rule, at the same speed as the smaller guys, i.e. the guards. OK.

But 35 is 35. And Wallace is more active than most big men.

Not to be Chicken Little, but let’s see where Wallace’s production’s at come February, if he’s still playing 30+ minutes per game. Then let’s see if he has anything left for a playoff run a couple months after that.

The Pistons’ frontcourt rotation, however, is probably not the same now as it will be down the line. New coach John Kuester still has to see what he truly has. And, in his defense, it’s hard to yank Wallace off the floor when he’s playing the way he is.

“Ben sets the tone for us defensively,” Kuester told reporters recently.

Yes, he does. For now.

And about that retirement thing. Wallace says basketball is fun again, because he’s healthy. Point taken. But what if something becomes the matter with him again this winter? He’s already been in retirement mode once this year.

Food for thought, but it’s unseemly to chew on it now, isn’t it?

Last Night on “The Knee Jerks”: The Lions’ Report Cards are in: “SEE ME!”

Believe it or not, half of the Lions’ 16-game NFL schedule has been played, so after a suggestion from Big Al Beaton, my co-host on the weekly gabfest “The Knee Jerks”, we gathered around the campfire and had ourselves a mid-season review.

Our guests were Michael Schottey and Dean Holden, two of the premier Lions writers for Bleacher Report. Those two guys chimed in with analysis, mid-season letter grades, and a look ahead at the season’s second half. It’s not “feel good” radio, but these are the Lions, after all!

After burying the Lions for about an hour, Al and I delved into some juicy topics around Detroit sports.

We segued into the mess in Ann Arbor as it relates to the football program. Once again, we openly wondered how much time U-M officials will give coach Rich Rodriguez after yet another second half collapse, this time to Purdue at home. I went off a little bit (understatement) on the type of football being played at Michigan, and it was Al, believe it or not, who was the voice of reason!!

Next, it was time to, as Al put it, talk about something more uplifting: the Tigers’ hiring of former third baseman Tom Brookens as the team’s new first base coach. Al wondered if this was a set up to replace Jim Leyland down the line. Interesting thought. So we talked about Brookens and whether he’d make a good big league manager.

Then, more happy stuff: the induction of Steve Yzerman into the Hockey Hall of Fame on Monday. Yzerman went in with 2002 teammates Brett Hull and Luc Robitaille, which caused Al to ask where that ‘02 Red Wings Stanley Cup-winning squad ranks among the all-time best NHL teams. Then I rained on the parade and lamented the hiring of Dave Lewis as coach of that team after Scotty Bowman retired.

By that time, we were running out of clock and with no timeouts remaining, we had to go to our “Jerks of the Week.”

Don’t forget to follow us on Twitter, for updates on scheduled guests, time changes, etc.

Upcoming guests/topics:

Nov. 16 Ansar Khan, Red Wings beat writer for MLive.com and Booth Newspapers
Nov. 23 U-M/MSU football post-mortem
Nov. 30 TBD (likely Pistons-related)
Dec. 7: NHL Central roundtable with Bleacher Report writers from Columbus, Chicago, Nashville, and St. Louis

Some highlights from Monday’s show:

Big Al

On Michigan football: “If anything is going to happen with Rodriguez, it probably won’t happen until after NEXT season. I wonder if AD Bill Martin timed his September retirement so that they can’t shove Rodriguez and him out the door at the same time.”

On Tom Brookens: “He was a blue collar player. That’s why the fans in Detroit liked him so much. Maybe he was born to be a big league manager.”

On Yzerman: “Words fail me as to how classy this guy was. The ovation they gave him in Toronto was deafening.”

Eno

On Rich Rodriguez: “Something about this guy isn’t right. It never felt right to me, from the moment of his first press conference when he admitted that he never had set foot in the state before.”

On Tom Brookens: “Tommy’s a smart guy. And he’s a Tiger. I think he would make a terrific big league manager.”

On the 2002 Red Wings: “If you were to corner GM Kenny Holland over a couple of beers, I bet he’d tell you that he should never have hired Dave Lewis to coach after Scotty Bowman retired. They could have won two more Stanley Cups with a more experienced coach.”

You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE.

Losing Cultured Lions Have No Idea How to Handle Lead, Wither Against Seahawks

The Lions blew a game on Sunday, but you can hardly blame them. It wasn’t exactly a familiar situation for them.

The Lions lost and those betting that the Seahawks would cover their 10-point donation won, as Seattle beat Detroit 32-20—the last seven points coming with less than 30 seconds to play on a “pick six” interception. Until then, the Lions had covered the spread—and the Lions don’t cover things so well, normally.

Certainly not receivers. But that’s another story.

The Lions found themselves with a cool 17-0 lead before the first quarter was finished. The 2-5 Seahawks came out like a 2-5 team—or the Lions—and coughed up the football on their first two plays from scrimmage. And the Lions made them pay with 14 points.

But one of the bi-products of losing so many football games in such a short period of time—the run is now 24 of the last 25 in the loss column—is not knowing what the hell to do with early success. So when the Lions zoomed out to that 17-0 lead, it had the feel of finding a lost dog that you knew, deep down, would be claimed by its rightful owner just when you start to get attached to it.

Sure enough, the Lions began coming from ahead, and worse, they did it in drip-drip fashion. And everyone knows that you need to just yank a Band-Aid off—you don’t slowly peel it away.

A Seahawks touchdown made it 17-7. Then they started tacking on field goals, drawing nearer and nearer, when you knew that the Lions were powerless and would eventually surrender the lead.

17-10. 17-13. 17-16.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Peel. Peel. Peel.

The Lions don’t jump out to early leads. It’s not their style. They don’t jump out to relatively early leads, relatively late leads, or any lead of any sort, truth be told.

So you’ll excuse them for not having the slightest idea of how to handle what happened in Seattle on Sunday. They looked down, saw the Seahawks in a grave, stood above them with shovel in hand, and then lost the handle on the burial utensil. And while they scrambled to find it, the Seahawks were able to climb out of the hole.

Yes, funereal type metaphors are appropriate this morning, because the season is dead. Has been, probably, since the lie-down last week against the wretched Rams in Detroit.

The Seahawks went on a 32-3 run after the first quarter, which meant that the final 45 minutes were a far better indicator of what the Lions are than the first 15 were.

It’s not that the Lions went into a shell, like a hockey team would with a lead. It’s just that rookie QB Matthew Stafford got all Ty Detmer-ish and started chucking interceptions all over the field—usually on balls that were badly under thrown.

The Lions would move the ball a little bit—I love this Aaron Brown kid, by the way, who’s the quickest, fastest little running back the Lions have had in quite some time—then Stafford would torpedo them with a completion to the Seahawks.

Yes, rookie quarterbacks will do that to you. They’ll look wonderfully mature and together, as Stafford did in the first quarter, then they’ll look like a clueless 21-year-old kid, as Stafford pretty much looked the rest of the game.

Hey—here’s a suggestion that might help the kid out, and you can take it with a grain of salt if you’d like, as it’s coming from someone who never played or coached the game.

THROW THE BALL TO CALVIN JOHNSON!!

I don’t know, just a thought. But what the hell do I know?

Actually, what I know is that team’s best players touch the ball as much as possible. In the case of wide receivers, that means damning the double teams and the game planning done by the opposition and somehow, some way, getting the ball into that star player’s hands.

After three quarters, Johnson had one catch. And only a handful of footballs thrown in his direction.

It was wonderful that rookie tight end Brandon Pettigrew again showed why he’s the real deal, but no offense—CJ is the “go to” guy.

He was the “go to” guy alright—the Lions told him to “go to” a spot and wait. Patiently.

I don’t care how much attention Johnson is paid every Sunday by opposing secondaries. Stafford should be zinging the ball in his vicinity 12, 15 times a game. At least. You think Jerry Rice, Michael Irvin, et al played their entire careers facing single coverage?

A couple of the interceptions were the result of throwing to Johnson, but the ball never got to him. For a kid with a rocket, Stafford short-armed quite a few balls Sunday. Floated them, really.

But seriously—throw the ball to Johnson. A lot. If the Lions had a premier running back, you’d expect them to spoon feed him the ball to the tune of 20, 25 carries a game, wouldn’t you? Then why not do whatever you can to let CJ do his thing?

Speaking of Johnson, there were those looks on the bench—the kind the TV cameras catch—that showed frustration and disgust with the situation. He even gave the kid QB a cold shoulder at one point, looking away from him in a blatant act of disregard.

But that stuff happens every week in the NFL. No cause for concern.

Yet it doesn’t mean that the Lions shouldn’t do something about it. I’ve been a supporter of offensive coordinator Scott Linehan all season, but he’s irking me with this reluctance to throw to Johnson. It wasn’t just the one catch Johnson had after three quarters; it was the long gaps between throws to him that mesmerized me.

Would the Lions have won yesterday’s game had they gotten their best offensive weapon more involved?

Gosh, wouldn’t it be great if that question wasn’t rhetorical?

Local Boy LaFontaine Missed, but Red Wings Did OK with Yzerman

He played hockey in Waterford, growing up in the northern Oakland County burg in the 1970s—a decade of horrors when it came to his local team, the Detroit Red Wings.

As he honed his skills as an adolescent and started depositing pucks into opposing goals with eye-popping frequency, the Red Wings were stumbling through the National Hockey League, soiling what had once been a tradition-rich franchise history.

As the 1980s arrived, his name started to become known beyond Waterford. It didn’t hurt that it had a bit of royalty to its sound.

Pat LaFontaine, from Waterford, was off to play junior hockey in Quebec, in a town called Verdun. He was 17 years old.

In his lone season in the Quebec Junior League, LaFontaine made a mockery of it.

In 70 games, LaFontaine, a center, scored 104 goals. He added 130 assists for 234 points—over three points a game.

It was obvious that the QMJHL wasn’t big enough to hold his talent.

Down I-75 from where LaFontaine grew up, the Red Wings were playing to half-empty houses at Joe Louis Arena. The team had a new owner—a pizza pie guy named Mike Ilitch—but the only thing that seemed to change at JLA was that Little Caesars pizza was being served officially at the concession stands. The product on the ice was still miserably bad.

But the Red Wings held the fourth overall choice in the 1983 draft. They’d have a good shot at nabbing LaFontaine off the board.

It was GM Jimmy Devellano’s first draft with the Red Wings. He was Ilitch’s first-ever Wings hire in 1982, but Jimmy D. joined the team too late to participate in the draft that year.

Folks around town salivated at the thought of what local kid Pat LaFontaine could do in a Red Wings sweater.

The Red Wings wanted LaFontaine. The kid, by all accounts, was open to playing NHL hockey back home after his one year hiatus spent in Quebec.

Devellano didn’t make his mark as a hockey rink rat by targeting just one player, though. He knew that things didn’t always work out the way you’d like. He’d have to be ready to select another player, should LaFontaine already be gone.

Red Wings fans didn’t care about anyone else, though. Pat LaFontaine grew up in Waterford, and he should play for the Red Wings, dammit!

The New York Islanders, Devellano’s old team—the one he helped build into a dynasty in the late-1970s—held the third overall pick. It was by sheer luck, through trade, that they had a pick so high, because the Isles were defending Stanley Cup champs.

Sure enough, Jimmy D’s team stuck it to their old employee, nabbing LaFontaine with the pick just prior to Detroit’s.

PUCK!

No matter; with people back in Detroit slugged in the gut, Devellano picked himself up from the mat, deeply disappointed, and went with his Plan B.

No one knew how to pronounce Steve Yzerman’s name when the news came that he was the newest Red Wing.

Some thought it was Eezer-man. Others said no, it’s Why-zerman.

Jimmy D. not only knew how to say it, he knew all about the kid attached to it.

Yzerman’s numbers while playing for Peterborough in the Ontario Junior League weren’t as impressive as LaFontaine’s, but numbers never tell the whole story.

Devellano knew that Yzerman, the son of an Ottawa politician, quiet as a mouse, could be a big-time star in the NHL.

They played a video clip of Devellano, speaking in his squeaky Canadian-laced voice, at his induction into the Michigan Sports Hall of Fame in 2006. He was talking about this new kid Yzerman, shortly after drafting him in the summer of ’83.

“We feel he can contribute right away,” Jimmy D. said. “My only concern is that because of his age – he’s only 18 – his strength is a question mark.”

Then, one of the biggest understatements in hockey history, as it turned out.

“But I think he’s gonna make it,” Devellano added.

Drafts in any sport are a crapshoot. All the studying and scouting in the world can’t predict what a kid is going to do once he starts playing the sport for money.

Even Yzerman himself didn’t really know.

I cornered him at Cobo after Jimmy D’s induction that October night in 2006.

Doesn’t it seem silly now, I asked, to see Jimmy speak about you in such uncertain terms?

Yzerman gave that bashful smile.

“Well,” he said, “not many people knew for sure back then, eh?”

I suppose not.

Monday, Yzerman will go into the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto on Monday. He’ll be inducted with two former teammates: snipers Brett Hull and Luc Robitaille.

It’ll be 26 years, and some change, since he arrived in Detroit with that funny last name and the baggage of NOT being Pat LaFontaine.

LaFontaine, for his part, had a fine NHL career. He was no draft bust. A quick check on the Internet gives the numbers: 468 goals, 545 assists, 1,013 points. But no Stanley Cups—and a career cut short thanks to concussions. LaFontaine was only 33 when he played his last NHL game.

Yzerman played until he was about a week shy of his 41^st birthday. He scored 692 goals, had 1,755 points, and won three Stanley Cups and the hearts of Red Wings fans forever. His jersey hangs in the rafters of Joe Louis Arena, next to those of Howe and Abel and Lindsay and the rest.

All because the New York Islanders, Jimmy’s old employers, decided that they wanted the kid from Waterford, Pat LaFontaine, for themselves.

We cursed and grumbled in Detroit, then Steve Yzerman suited up and started playing some hockey for the Red Wings.

Jimmy Devellano’s hunch was right.

“I think he’s gonna make it.”

Yeah, just a bit.

Baseball in November? It MUST Not Happen Again

As I write this, we’ve managed to elect two new governors in this country, and scores of other officials locally—yet we haven’t crowned a baseball champion.

That’s right—-Election Day came and went and the World Series was still going on.

Now, it’s likely that by the time you read this, either the Phillies or the Yankees will have emerged triumphant. But there was no winner as November 4th dawned, and there just seems to be something inherently wrong with that.

Late isn’t so great.

If the Series goes the full seven games (the Yanks lead 3-2 as I write this), it will end on November 5, which will officially be the latest any MLB champion has been determined. If the Yankees wrap it up in six, it will tie the 2001 World Series (Arizona beat New York in Game 7 on 11/4/01) for lateness.

What if the Colorado Rockies had managed to emerge from the National League playoffs? Can you imagine WS games in Denver in November? You might have to wait until the following spring to find out how the thing turns out.

The World Baseball Classic helped push Opening Day back to the end of the first week of April, which has, in turn, put the World Series into November. And this is with most of the LDS and LCS series going nowhere near their maximum length. If those earlier series had gone longer, the World Series would be threatening to hit double digits—-as in November 10, 11, etc.

But you know what? Baseball’s Opening Day being April 6 or 7 was the norm, and not too long ago. But that was in the day of the traditional Sunday doubleheader, which has gone the way of the dinosaur, and flip phones.

You’d have a DH—-and I don’t mean designated hitter—-every Sunday afternoon in just about every ballpark in the big leagues. It was as American as the sport itself. So you could start a season as late as April 10-12, for example, and still fit the 162-game schedule in before too many days occurred in October.

Of course, there was no third tier of playoffs, like you have now thanks to Bud Selig’s Wild Card.

But knowing that the post-season, from LDS to WS, can now take about one full month to complete, I think it’s time to look at pushing back Opening Day into late March.

Look, I’m not crazy about that, either, but I’m willing to concede some games in March. It’s the lesser of two evils: early season games in March, or World Series games in November? I’ll take Option A, please. BUT—-and this is a biggie—-let’s be smart and schedule as many March games as possible in either domed stadiums or warm weather climates. Can’t we have a small modicum of common sense?

I’m not a meteorologist, nor an editor at The Farmer’s Almanac, so for all I know the temperatures in early November don’t vary all that much from late October. But two things: a) they MIGHT vary quite a bit; and b) who cares if they vary at all—-baseball simply wasn’t meant to be played in November!! Unless it’s in places like Venezuela.

I admit that I’m a traditionalist. Guilty as charged. But is it too much to ask to get baseball over with before trick-or-treating? Will we one day be flipping channels between the World Series and election coverage? (It could have happened this year; it was only by luck that this year’s Election Day fell on the World Series off day).

And what of post-season nicknames for playoff and World Series heroes of the 21st century?

What do we call Alex Rodriguez from now on? Mr. Octember? Or do we go the hyphenated route: Mr. October-November?

Seriously, this is nuts. Since MLB absolutely refuses to hold doubleheaders unless they’re forced to because of rainouts, then they MUST start the season earlier. Because one year Mother Nature is going to have herself a little fun and wreak all sorts of havoc on a November World Series.

Play Snowball!

 

Hockey Palaces Like Olympia Sadly Extinct Nowadays

They don’t make arenas like Olympia Stadium anymore. Hell, they don’t make buildings like it anymore.

I don’t know of any place where an escalator lifts you up at an 80 degree angle, which it did at Olympia—the Old Red Barn where the Red Wings played from the 1920s to December 15, 1979.

If you think I’m exaggerating about the 80 degree angle—you’re right; perhaps it was only about 77 degrees.

The Olympia—corner of Grand River and McGraw on Detroit’s west side—comes to mind because we’re inching closer and closer to the 30th anniversary of the last game played there. Oh, they played a charity alumni game there a couple months later, but 12/15/79 was when the Red Wings recovered from a 4-0 deficit to tie the Quebec Nordiques—Le Nordique—in a final score of 4-4. No overtime back then. Certainly no silly shootouts.

For a few moments that night, I thought they wouldn’t need the explosives used to implode buildings that have outlived their use, because when Greg Joly scored on an end-to-end rush with about three minutes to play to tie the game, you’d have thought the place would come down due to the thunder of cheers and foot-stomping.

I ought to know, because I was there.

It’s among the list of electrifying moments I’ve been lucky enough to witness in person in Detroit sports history—right up there with Kirk Gibson’s homer off Goose Gossage to seal the 1984 World Series, Isiah Thomas’s 16 points in 90 seconds against the Knicks in the 1984 playoffs, and the Lions’ 45-3 trouncing of the Pittsburgh Steelers on Thanksgiving Day, 1983.

Yep, my fanny was in the seats—and leaping out of them—for all of the above. Good stuff.

I cornered Red Wings owner Mike Ilitch a couple of years ago at the unveiling of the Gordie Howe sculpture inside Joe Louis Arena, and he confirmed that the organization was looking at parcels of land onto which they’d build a brand new arena for the Red Wings. One of them, I managed to get out of him, isn’t too far away from Comerica Park, near the Woodward Avenue corridor.

But despite the success the Red Wings have enjoyed over the past 15 years or so at JLA—four Stanley Cups and some near misses—I don’t know that the sentiment will hit me the same when they shutter The Joe for good, as it did when the medicine ball started ramming against Olympia’s bricks in the 1980s.

Olympia, with its famous marquee on the lower left; beyond it would be a drugstore where players often stopped for a post-practice milk shake

There was the balcony at Olympia, number one, which thanks to the architects made you feel as if you were looking down at the ice between your legs, if you were sitting in the lower rows.

There was no overhead scoreboard or clock; instead, those were located in the “end zones,” along the balcony facade, horizontally stretched from curved corner to curved corner. There were also smaller auxiliary scoreboards on the lower levels of the expensive seats, in the corners.

Olympia seated about 16,000 for hockey and was just about the most intimate indoor arena you’ll ever enjoy.

The place shook when the crowd reaction was explosive enough. But when the din was low, you could hear the players shout to one another, even if you sat in the upper rows of the balcony. It was like a theatre that way.

The skates etching the ice, the puck being smacked from tape to tape as it was being passed around, the crunch of the glass during a solid bodycheck—those are hockey sounds to be treasured. And you could hear them at Olympia as if you were wearing personal earphones.

The acoustics were tremendous—which made it a wonderful concert venue, too. All the big name acts played the Olympia: The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, you name it.

The Pistons called Olympia home for a few seasons before Cobo Arena opened on the riverfront in 1960.

Olympia’s front doors—it literally had a lobby—were just a sidewalk away from Grand River. Kind of like the old Maple Leaf Gardens on Yonge Street. The old-fashioned marquee with the hand-posted red letters would announce that evening’s festivities: “HOCKEY TONIGHT RED WINGS VS MONTREAL 8:00.”

Then the escalators, which were, frankly, a nightmare for anyone with either claustrophobia or a fear of heights. If you had both, you were in trouble. The steps were barely wide enough for two people. And that steep angle made you feel like you’d tumble backward on the people behind you if you leaned back a bit too much.

I feel sorry for those who never got a chance to take in a Red Wings game at Olympia Stadium.

I feel that way, because they’ll never make hockey palaces like that again. No one has it in them, I guess.

Lions Serve Notice to Rams: We’re Still No. 32!

All those Jim Zorn haters out there ought to rev up their engines again. They ought to bang down Redskins owner Dan Snyder’s door and demand that Zorn get the ziggy. In fact, the entire Redskins team ought to wear scarlet letters on their uniforms: “L,” both for Loser and for Lions.

How any team can lose to the garbage that is the Detroit Lions is beyond me.

Someday, one of the current Redskins will pen an autobiography and he’ll let us in on the secret. Surely it must have been an effort, willful and with malice, designed to get the coach fired.

No way could the Redskins have actually given it their all and still come up short against the Lions, as they did back on September 27 at Ford Field.

But they did, and for that the ‘Skins ought to change their names to the Washington Red-faces.

How can you even report to work every week, knowing you’ve lost to the Lions?

Once again, football wasn’t played by the Lions yesterday against the St. Louis Rams. It was committed. Poorly. Kind of like those guys they catch on videotape on those “World’s Dumbest Criminals” TV shows.

The Rams won it, 17-10, and that score wasn’t reached how you would think. It was 3-2, Rams, in the bottom of the seventh before it turned into a slugfest of sorts.

So two very long losing streaks have been snapped this year at FF: the Lions’ 19-gamer, and the Rams’ 17-game version, which had only begun to pick up some national media momentum before it all came crashing down on Sunday.

Now all we’re left with is the Tampa Bay Bucs and their measly little 0-7 start. Hmph.

Ah, but fear not, because by the time the curtain closes on this season, the Lions may be doing a revival of their wildly successful 2008 tour and finish 1-15 with a 13-game losing streak in their hip pockets.

It could happen. Don’t tell me that it can’t.

Don’t come at me with the Browns game at Detroit on November 22. And especially don’t you dare try to sing me the tired, “The Lions rise to the occasion on Thanksgiving Day” ditty, either.

Look at the schedule and tell me where you see another Lions victory after the ostrich egg they laid on the Ford Field fake grass against the Rams.

When the Rams, no less, talk about you afterward as if they had just taken candy from a baby, it’s time for some serious reflection.

The subject was the fake field goal the Rams pulled with about a minute to go in the second quarter, lining up for a 54-yard try.

This is the kicker, Josh Brown, talking:

“When they set up in that certain position with a two-man push (on their right side) they always come hard. Every single time,” Brown said. “We really knew what they were going to do and we capitalized. We called it on the sideline because we figured what they were going to do. We had watched tape and they came every single time when they were set up that way. It was ours for the taking.”

Wow. It’s not bad enough that the haven’t-won-for-over-a-year Rams beat the Lions, they have to talk like it was so easy?

The Lions couldn’t stop Rams RB Steven Jackson, who ran wild for 149 yards on just 22 carries. That’s a Jim Brown/Barry Sanders-like 6.8 yards per carry, if you’re scoring at home.

The Lions were without star receiver Calvin Johnson (knee), and so the rest of the receiving corps must have decided to not play, either, in protest.

Poor Matthew Stafford. The rookie QB worked like the dickens to get his sore knee ready after missing two games, and his pass catchers treat him like Isiah Thomas did Michael Jordan in the 1985 All-Star Game?

The Lions receivers spoiled more passes than a pretty girl in a room full of nerds.

Through 45 minutes of play, the Lions had exactly zero catches from their wide receivers. Not that Stafford didn’t try; they just kept dropping them.

By the end, Stafford gave up and didn’t bother to throw the ball anywhere near them. That’ll teach ‘em!

It reminds me of an old line by that cut-up coach of the early Bucs, John McKay, who said after another loss, “Well, we didn’t block. But we made up for it by not tackling.”

The Lions dropped passes, but Stafford made up for it by being inaccurate.

The final “drive” was tragically comical.

The Lions started on their own 20 and ended at their own 10, four incomplete passes later.

The cozy little crowd at FF did their best to rain boos down on Stafford and the Lions, but even that was mostly pathetic.

This was a “message” game and the Lions delivered, big time.

We’re STILL the worst, you St. Louis Rams—and don’t you forget it!

Lack of “Franchise” Defensive Lineman Detroit Lions’ Bane for Decades

Football has had a fascination with the morose when it comes to handing out monikers to the game’s greatest defensive platoons.

We’ve had Steel Curtains and Doomsday and Purple People Eaters. There were the Killer Bees down in Miami.

Detroit and Los Angeles—when the NFL actually had a franchise there—shared the alliterate name Fearsome Foursome.

Pro football games are won in the trenches, they say. Rare is the championship team that doesn’t possess a solid line, both on offense and defense.

Lions fans will tell you that the team has been looking for its franchise quarterback for some fifty years or so. That’s difficult to refute, but how about a franchise defensive lineman?

The Lions haven’t had one of those around in these parts since the Carter Administration.

His name was Al “Bubba” Baker and he came from Colorado State and at his best, he appeared in the backfield frequently, as well as in quarterbacks’ nightmares.

Bubba Baker (pictured above) was, at times, simply unblockable. He played defensive end but he had the body of an NBA power forward: long and strong. Bubba would line up so far away from his tackle mate that you’d have thought the other guy had a liverwurst and garlic sandwich just before the game.

But all Bubba was doing was getting a running start.

Baker had, in 1978, 23 sacks. As a rookie. And a whole bunch of near misses.

Bubba Baker, with three straight Pro Bowl appearances (1978-80), anchored a defensive line in Detroit that was pretty damn good.

It was the early-1980s when they started to call the Lions’ front four “The Silver Rush.” Not a cataclysmic football nickname, but a nickname nonetheless.

You had Baker and William Gay on the ends, and Dave Pureifory and Doug English inside. Pureifory, from Eastern Michigan University, was so mean and nasty that his sadistic behavior in 1979’s training camp almost caused the Lions’ No. 1 draft pick, offensive tackle Keith Dorney, to quit. Dorney said so in his book.

Gay was a converted tight end who made a Pro Bowl as a D-lineman and who teamed with Baker to form two towering bookends. Pureifory was short, stubby, and ferocious—and English was just plain good, and a consummate professional.

English, a Texan, retired after the 1979 season to go into the oil business, but returned to the NFL in 1981.

The Lions traded Baker to the St. Louis Cardinals after the 1982 season, after Bubba grew tired of the Lions, and they him.

And not since have the Lions truly had a stud on the line of scrimmage, on the defensive side of the ball.

The Lions have been a bad football team for a long time with a lot of warts, but if they could ever plug someone into their defensive line who was top grade, you watch how much better their defense plays.

Sadly, the Lions haven’t even really tried to address this gaping hole, this empty chamber in their popgun.

Only twice since 1992 have the Lions selected a defensive lineman in the first round of the NFL Draft.

I’m sorry, but that’s shocking and perplexing.

Here’s a deficiency the Lions have had for decades, and it routinely gets the short shrift when it comes to the draft.

The Lions’ lack of a playmaker—a bona fide game changer—on their front four has contributed more than anything to the pathetic overall defensive play in this town.

The Lions have no true pass rusher. No run-stopping behemoth. No freak of nature with the strength of Atlas and the speed of a gazelle who can seem to be out of a play, then traverse 15-20 yards in a heartbeat and run a ball carrier down.

And they haven’t, for too long to be respectable.

I’ve said it before—if there’s a team in pro sports today who needs help at any position more than the Lions need help on their defensive line, that team is merely a figment of a vivid imagination.

Oh, how the Lions should be combing the college campuses at this very moment, seeking the biggest, baddest, fastest, meanest, quickest, strongest down lineman college football has to offer. They’re likely to qualify for, once again, a top-five pick in next year’s draft. They should absolutely use it on someone whose uniform number is in the 90s.

There’ve been some impostors passing through Detroit, who we’ve elevated beyond their actual abilities, mainly because we’ve wanted them to be successful so badly.

Shaun Rogers and Jerry Ball leap to mind.

Rogers had potential. He was a man child who could have owned Detroit, if he would have kept himself in shape and his mouth shut—both to keep from talking and eating. His moments of dominance were absolute but terribly fleeting.

Ball, from the early-1990s era, was a solid nose tackle who we thought was an elite lineman as a Lion. But he went to Oakland and from afar we could see what we could not because of the trees in Detroit: that he was good but not great.

But beyond those two players, the Lions haven’t had anyone remotely close to being dominant or a star in the league, playing defensive line, since Bubba Baker’s day.

This has got to kill the old-timers who remember when the Lions routinely fielded tenacious, impenetrable d-lines.

The Fearsome Foursome of Sam Williams, Roger Brown, Alex Karras and Darris McCord—they swallowed up ball carriers and quarterbacks and were often the only thing that could slow down the vaunted Green Bay Packers’ running game.

Hell, that was only almost 50 years ago. What’s the hurry to repeat history?

New-look Pistons Have Lowest Expectations In Nine Years

When the Pistons open the home portion of their season on Friday against Oklahoma City, the pre-game fanfare won’t be all that.

No banners to raise. No pre-game speeches. No glow from any division title or from yet another appearance in the conference final. No pride, really, taken from anything that happened last season.

Check that—maybe they could raise a “2008-09: Glad THAT’S Over!” banner.

It’ll be one of those fresh starts with several new faces. So many key players from last season’s drama are gone: coach Michael Curry, whose tenure becomes more soiled by the day thanks to player retrospectives; Allen Iverson, the petulant superstar; Rasheed Wallace, the ticking time bomb; even nice guy Antonio McDyess wears another uniform this year.

The proceedings get underway tonight in Memphis—Iverson’s new haunts—and only Rip Hamilton remains from the sordid love/hate triangle he formed with Curry and Iverson.

Not since 2000-01 have we gone into a Pistons campaign with so little to expect.

That was the George Irvine year, which was followed by Rick Carlisle and instant success in 2001-02.

Not since 2000 have we looked at the Pistons, shrugged, and said, “The playoffs would be nice—but don’t count on it!”

Marty Mornhinweg’s bar isn’t very high.

Or is it?

MLive.com’s A. Sherrod Blakely, guesting on “The Knee Jerks” podcast I have with Big Al, a couple of weeks ago said he sees maybe 50 wins and a sure fire playoff spot for these 2009-10 Pistons.

Blakely likes the Pistons’ blend of veterans and young talent, plus the comfort level of new coach John Kuester, who Blakely said has been looking very head coach-like in training camp—in control, confident, relaxed.

The further Curry’s stint as coach gets in the rearview mirror, the uglier it looks. Kind of the opposite of when you approach the scene of an accident.

Curry had precious little control or respect last year, and that was highlighted once again when Hamilton, of all people, sided with Iverson in blasting the rookie coach for his lack of honesty with players.

“M.C. lied to us a million times,” Hamilton was quoted the other day, talking about discussions Curry had with Iverson and him about playing time and coming off the bench.

Wow—a million times? That’s a lot of talking!

Point received, Rip.

So only Hamilton remains, and he’s impressed me—so far—with his attitude, willingness to lead, and overall excitement over what he feels will be a high-powered (potentially) Pistons offense—what with the additions of free agents Ben Gordon and Charlie Villanueva, plus the maturation of last year’s holdovers and the NBA debuts of rookies like Austin Daye and Jonas Jerebko.

Kuester’s team has to defend, though, to have any real chance of attaining Blakely’s projection of 50 wins and playoffs. Trouble is, Kuester and his teams have never been attached to the word “defense,” at least not with a pin. Maybe with worn out Velcro.

New set of Pistons: Gordon (left) and Villanueva

Yet they talked about it a lot in camp, did Kuester and his players, and now there’s even some scuttlebutt that oldtimer Ben Wallace, signed from near-retirement this summer, might be a starter once again. Big Ben’s presence in the paint has, once again, been producing rebounds, blocked shots, and batted away passes. In the exhibition season.

Kuester told us several months ago that he believed Wallace to still have something left in the tank. And Ben’s play during the pretend games hasn’t belied that.

But there are 82 “real” games to play, and Wallace isn’t a spring chicken.

As you probably know, I really don’t do predictions here. But if you gave me one of those “do it or the girl gets it” threats, I’ll tell you that 42-44 wins seems realistic. Whether that’s good enough to make the playoffs, I don’t know.

“I don’t know.” That might as well be the Pistons’ slogan for this season.

Don’t the Phillies Know That Philadelphia Is City of Chumps, Not Champs?

They don’t win championships in Philadelphia. If they do, it’s a fluke—something that someone pulled over on God.

Every three decades or so, one of the teams will screw up the ecosystem and snatch a title out from under fate’s nose.

What’s happening now is a travesty. The Phillies are in the World Series for the second year in a row. What’s worse, they actually won it last year.

This is all wrong. Philadelphia is a city full of miscreants and crabapples, with a fan base so jaded and tormented that it makes John McEnroe look like Dale Carnegie.

Philadelphia—City of Chumps, not Champs.

The biggest winner in Philly is Rocky, and he’s not even real.

The football Eagles annually tease and flirt with their fans, batting their eyelashes and giving the “come hither” look, only to turn into Margaret Thatcher once in the bedroom.

The Eagles last won the NFL Championship in 1960. Before that, 1940 something. It took them 20 years after the ’60 title to get to the Super Bowl. Then it took over a dozen years to get there again.

The Flyers won their last Stanley Cup in 1975. They’ve made it to the Finals five times since then, but not since 1997.

The last time the 76ers were world champs of the NBA was in 1983.

It took the Phillies about a hundred years to win their first World Series, in 1980. Took them another 28 years before they’d win their second, which is about the schedule they run on in Philadelphia—an accidental title every generation or so.

This is the City of Brotherly Love—as defined by fourth graders.

The late, great sportswriter Jim Murray professed his love for Philly’s acerbic personality this way: “When a plane lands in Philadelphia, everyone gets on; no one gets off.”

They booed Mike Schmidt in Philadelphia, which is only like Detroit booing Al Kaline, for cripe’s sakes.

Philly is also the home of Temple University, which last had a good football team before they came out with electricity, just about.

The Phillies are messing everything up now.

Needless to say, the Phillies have never won back-to-back World Series—unless you want to strike every Series from 1981 to 2007 from the record books. Then in that case, yeah, they have.

But here they are, two-time National League champions, awaiting either the New York Yankees or the Los Angeles Angels.

This can’t be happening. The Phillies are going against nature, or at the very least, the baseball gods. It’s like that episode of The Brady Bunch in Hawaii when Peter finds the tiki, disturbing something all-powerful.

If the Phillies take leave of their senses and win the World Series again this year, then we’re officially closer to the Apocalypse. One of the Horsemen will have been slain.

Philadelphia can’t possibly handle two championships in a row, anyway. Back-to-back is what they do in New York (Yankees), what they do in Detroit (Pistons, Red Wings), what they do in Chicago (Bulls). Heck, they’ve even done it in San Antonio, which is famous for the Alamo, of all things.

But Philadelphia is as equipped for two straight Phillies World Series titles as a toddler is for his first solid food being a bowl of chili.

They don’t win championships in Philadelphia because the fans there don’t deserve them. It’s further proof that there are deities among us.

Sports fans in Philadelphia are petulant, unreasonable, paranoid, and mean-spirited. Unless you catch them on a good day and they’re just being jealous and unappreciative.

Philadelphia—which gave us the 1964 Phillies, who couldn’t find the handle on a six-game lead with 12 games to play and blew the pennant to St. Louis, which as a baseball city is to Philadelphia what, in fine cuisine, lobster is to beef jerky.

St. Louis wouldn’t dream of booing Stan Musial, either.

Philadelphia is the city that gave us Terrell Owens, and for that alone it deserves locusts descending on it.

The teams in Philadelphia have lost so much, have failed in such grand scale so often, that when their epic, abysmal championship droughts are actually broken with Halley’s Comet-like frequency, as was done by last year’s Phillies, it’s only natural to start looking for pestilence.

But if the Phillies of 2009 are going to put us all in mortal danger by winning their second straight World Series, then it may as well be with the team they have—which is pretty darn exciting, and good.

There’s first baseman Ryan Howard, a slugger of Herculean strength, who doesn’t hit home runs, he makes them with his bare hands. There’s center fielder Shane Victorino, who covers so much real estate in the outfield that you should call him Century 22.

There’s right fielder Jayson Werth, the feast or famine kid who can blow you away with his power or with the wind from his frequent whiffs. But guaranteed that you stick around for his at-bat, regardless.

There’s the pesky double play combo of 2B Chase Utley and SS Jimmy Rollins, two guys who can flash leather and then knock in the game-winning run on any given day.

There’s veteran LF Raul Ibanez, who turned 37 this summer but it’s all in your mind. Ibanez stroked 34 homers.

The top three starting pitchers are Cliff Lee, Pedro Martinez, and Cole Hamels. You can do worse.

The closer is Brad Lidge, who actually “gets” what being an athlete playing in Philadelphia is all about. For Lidge went from being 41-for-41 in save opportunities with a 1.95 ERA in 2008, to being 31-for-42 in 2009, despite an ERA in the thin high air of 7.21 in 2009.

Attaboy, Brad! You knew better than to put together two fabulous seasons in a row. You’re a Phillie, after all.

Batten down the hatches. The Phillies are in the World Series again, and it only took them a year to get back there this time instead of a generation. As Neil Diamond once sang, pack up the babies and grab the old ladies!

Cuz everyone knows it’s the City of Brotherly Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.

Tigers Caught in the Middle for 2010?

Strength in the middle.

It’s been bantied about in all the major team sports.

NBA championships, folks used to say by rote, can’t be won without a dominant big man clogging up the middle. It’s not required nowadays, but it certainly doesn’t hurt.

Strong interior blocking, in the middle of the offensive line, is indispensable when it comes to establishing a ground game in the NFL. Conversely, superior middle linebackers have been the hallmark of countless championship platoons, too.

Hockey’s glamour guys are the flashy centers—the fancy playmakers who can also score.

And in baseball?

You’ve heard it countless times: “One of the reasons why (insert team) are so successful is because they’re strong up the middle!”

The middle being, of course, catcher/shortstop/second base/center field.

The 1968 Tigers were 3/4 strong up the middle, with Bill Freehan behind the plate, Dick McAuliffe at second base, and Mickey Stanley in center field. It was only light-hitting shortstop Ray Oyler who was the exception.

The ‘84 Tigers were exemplary up the middle: Lance Parrish/Lou Whitaker/Alan Trammell/Chet Lemon.

The 2010 Tigers might look like this in those four positions: Gerald Laird/Scott Sizemore/Adam Everett/Curtis Granderson.

Doesn’t exactly send chills down the spines of opponents.

There’s Laird with his gifted cannon for an arm, and that’s nice. But there’s nothing in his bat other than rally-killing outs.

Everett and fellow SS Ramon Santiago, together, make up an average player at best.

Sizemore, if he replaces free agent Placido Polanco, has never played an inning in the big leagues.

Granderson is coming off an awful 2009 campaign.

If the 2010 Tigers are going to remain in the mix in the Central Division—forget anything beyond that for now—they’ll have to be better in these key “up the middle” positions.

Getting more production out of LF, RF, and DH won’t hurt, either.

But they say you have to be good down the pike, so let’s put our focus there.

Laird is likely to remain the starting catcher, because even though rookie Alex Avila seems to have the bigger stick, the Tigers are enamored with Laird’s gunning down of opposing base runners. I think they’re scared to death to NOT have Laird in there, for fear that they’ll lose a ton of games due to base thefts.

Not sold on that premise, but I do realize how good Laird is at what he does when it comes to throwing a baseball.

Sizemore seems set to take Polanco’s place. It’s unlikely that Jarhead will return in 2010, because the Tigers don’t want to tie up any more dough than they have to in players. Sizemore comes a whole lot cheaper, mainly because he’s a green horn. But you never know how it’s going to go with rookies as starters.

Everett is a free agent as well. His glove is good, but he’s another who gives you virtually nothing offensively. Santiago brings more to the table with the bat, and holds his own defensively. But he’s never really been a full-time player in the big leagues.

The Tigers need to address shortstop, for sure.

We can only hope that Granderson’s 2009 season was an anomaly. If so, then center field shouldn’t be an issue.

So, to review: a good field, no hit catcher; a good field, no hit shortstop; a rookie second baseman; a (we hope) rebounding center fielder.

The Tigers, at least, have what they feel is a capable replacement at 2B in Sizemore, already in the organization.

If I had my druthers, I’d like to see Avila get more playing time, with Laird brought in for defensive purposes late in tight games. I’m fine with Sizemore, because you have to see what you got with him. I want a different shortstop. And I want Granderson to work hard at his game, which I’m sure he will.

The Tigers, right now, are less-than-average “up the middle.” I have a sneaking suspicion that such a deficiency contributed greatly to their house of cards collapsing in September.

Osgood’s No. 30 Ought to be in Rafters Post-Retirement

So this much we know.

One evening, in the not-too-distant future, fans will look to the rafters at Joe Louis Arena—or wherever the Red Wings will be playing by then—and see a large red “jersey” with a white No. 5 and the name “LIDSTROM” adorning it, the years played for the Red Wings listed below it, in red on a white band.

That much we know.

But, and I know my timing isn’t great here, I submit that those same fans should also be able to crane their necks and see a big red swatch of fabric with a white No. 30 and the name “OSGOOD” sewn onto it.

You heard me.

It’s a few weeks into the NHL regular season, and that may turn some people on, but this is the perfect time to be an argument starter, if you ask me. Let these October games drone on in the background while we muck it up in the corner, figuratively speaking.

Chris Osgood’s number retired? You betcha.

By the time he hangs them up for good, Osgood will have likely passed the great Terry Sawchuk for most wins by a Red Wings goaltender. For starters.

He has three Stanley Cups, two earned as the starter throughout the playoffs—and ten years apart, which must be some sort of record, somewhere.

Your honor, the defense rests.

Oh, I know I’ll have to do some cross-examining here. I can practically hear the keyboards being pounded on furiously by those opposed to me. That’s OK. Nothing is ever a slam dunk when it comes to Chris Osgood’s virtues in Detroit.

I don’t know why some are so resistant to back off and just accept that Osgood has had a fine career. The arguments against him have turned almost spiteful and personal, and I have no idea why.

The naysayers talk like this: The Red Wings win in spite of him, especially in 1998. He has great teams in front of him, so that’s why his numbers look so good. Blah-blah-blah.

As if Sawchuk played with a bunch of chopped liver back in the day.

I promise you, it’s OK to give Osgood his due. It really is. I promise the sun will rise tomorrow, and in the east. No children or pets will be harmed. Promise.

And it’s also OK to not only give him his due, but to also raise his number among the team’s all-time greats because—and here’s where it really gets fun—Chris Osgood is, in fact, one of the team’s all-time greats.

Let’s play a little game.

Name me three goalies in team history better than Osgood. Just three, other than Sawchuck.

I’ll even play along with you.

There was the kewpie doll-faced Harry Lumley, who was between the pipes during the Red Wings’ successful 1950 Stanley Cup run. Lumley won 163 games for the Red Wings in six seasons (1944-50). I might give you that one out of benevolence.

There was Mike Vernon, with his 1997 Cup. But Mike didn’t play in Detroit very long, and I’m not sure he was all that much better, if at all, than Ozzie.

Here’s one: Dominik Hasek. It’s hard not to give you Dom, although he wasn’t a Red Wing all that long. But you almost have to include him because of his overall career.

So you have Lumley, Vernon, and Hasek. I’d scratch Vernon. And Hasek gets the nod mostly for his time in Buffalo.

Any others?

The question begs: Why wouldn’t you so honor the second-best goalie in franchise history?

Because that’s what Chris Osgood is, like it or not.

I’m putting Ozzie ahead of Lumley because of longevity, and I’m even slotting him in front of Hasek for the same reason, though I wouldn’t squawk if you put Dom ahead of Osgood.

But you’re not going to raise Hasek’s No. 39 to the rafters because he wasn’t a Red Wing long enough.

The Osgood haters spew the same tired arguments, already listed above. And it’s not a very long list anyhow.

How exactly do the Red Wings win in spite of Chris Osgood?

The team surrendered nearly three goals a game during the regular season last year, an unheard of number in Detroit. Osgood was largely to blame for that, and he wouldn’t argue. But the Red Wings came within a whisker of winning another Cup.

Why? Because Osgood raised his game several notches, and was a genuine Conn Smythe candidate until the Penguins captured Game Seven.

This is going to draw more venom, but I’m telling you that Chris Osgood is the greatest money goalie I’ve ever seen in Detroit. Bar none, even Hasek.

No one bounced back from bad games like Osgood. No one came up bigger in more pressure situations than Osgood. And no one was as unflappable as Osgood is between the pipes, because no one was better between the ears.

Give me Chris Osgood if I need a game to be won, over anyone who’s ever worn a Red Wings jersey, save for Sawchuk, who was the best ever, regardless of decade or era or generation.

Retiring his No. 30 and raising it to sway above the ice along with Yzerman and Lindsay and Howe and Abel and Delvecchio and Sawchuk and (eventually) Lidstrom is a no-brainer, as far as I’m concerned.

Go ahead. Make your case.

Schwartz Era Not Immune to Sunday Stinkers

Things are apparently so bad with the Lions that they don’t even show up for their games anymore.

The Lions yesterday set football back in Detroit all the way to…2008.

If this is them turning the corner, then they just ran smack dab into a bus, like that girl in that scene from “Final Destination.”

WHAM!!

The Green Bay Packers, if this was dinner time, would have been scolded by their mother for playing with their food, as they skipped out to a 14-0 lead before adding a slew of field goals when touchdowns would have made things butt ugly.

The 26-0 whitewashing was about as much of an indication of how much the Packers dominated the Lions as a scoop of white rice tells you how much of the stuff they have in the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant.

The Packers committed penalties by the boatload. Their offense mysteriously stalled in the “red zone” when it was a hot knife to the Lions’ butter between the 20s. Yet the Pack was never not in control.

It’s amazing the number of transgressions you can commit in a football game and still never be in danger of losing it, when you’re playing the Lions.

This wasn’t a football game—it was serio-comic performance art, played out in front of 50,000-plus bloodthirsty zealots.

The Lions lost control of this one as soon as Jason Hanson’s toe met the football for the opening kickoff, which was taken all the way back for an apparent touchdown. But the Packers were flagged, as usual, and it appeared as if the Lions dodged a bullet.

Yeah, they dodged a bullet alright—just like Bonnie and Clyde did in their car before being eventually aerated by lead.

It was painfully similar to so many of the Lions games last season, when the folks who were late to the game might as well have been ordered back at the gate by the ushers and the police.

“Nothing to see here, folks. Just move back to your cars and exit quietly.”

It was 14-0 before all the first beers and hot dogs were in the Packers’ fans tummies.

Then the Pack got sloppy and acquired a field goal fetish, making the final score marginally respectable.

Packers QB Aaron Rodgers was the latest passer to need a drool cup for all the salivating he did while looking over the Lions’ secondary. The Lions’ pass defending corps—which I had foolishly declared on “The Knee Jerks” podcast a few weeks ago was improving steadily—is the “easy” setting in the NFL for opposing QBs, while the rest of the league is categorized as either “moderate,” “tough,” or “expert.”

There weren’t seams in the Lions’ defensive backfield—there were canyons. Watching the other team pass against the Lions is like watching no-contact drills in practice. The Packers’ receivers might as well have been wearing just helmets and shorts.

As bad as it was, you figured that there might be Sundays like this, even in the Jim Schwartz Era. This made the Saints game in Week 1 look good. But what Schwartz and defensive coordinator Gunther Cunningham inherited could not possibly be fixed in one year. So a stinker like Sunday’s in Green Bay shouldn’t be too terribly shocking.

The idea, of course, is to have far fewer of them in 2009, and even fewer in 2010, and so on.

The Lions were a little banged up—especially on offense with QB Matthew Stafford and WR Calvin Johnson out with injuries, and on the d-line—and that didn’t help. At all. But this is the NFL, and others must step up, not step back.

Lions QB Daunte Culpepper was frightfully ineffective, and the game plan is so much more conservative with him in the game than when Stafford plays. It’s like o-coordinator Scott Linehan doesn’t believe that Culpepper can zing the ball further than 20 yards at a time.

Maybe he can’t.

So take this one and pitch it. Burn the tape, as they say. The Lions will now go into their bye week with the after taste of castor oil in their mouths. For almost two weeks.

The Lions didn’t play football on Sunday—they committed it.

I wonder if they wrapped Lambeau Field in crime scene tape after the game.

Baseball Needs Yankees Back Under Bright Lights of World Series

It was the vaudevillian comedian Joe E. Brown who went on the record about it most famously. It was he who put it into words with so much brevity yet pith.

“Rooting for the Yankees,” Brown was jotted down as having said, “is like rooting for U.S. Steel.”

Those Damn Yankees—welcome back to the playoff spotlight.

The Yankees are in a tussle for the right to represent the American League in the World Series, facing off against the very formidable Los Angeles Angels—right coast versus left coast. It’s the Yankees’ first appearance in the ALCS—alphabet soup for American League Championship Series—since way back in 2004.

Remember 2004?

Of course you do—but in baseball years in New York, that may as well be in the days of Alexander Cartwright and the marking off of the very first base path in the 1870s.

Yankees fans aren’t used to there being five years between series of this magnitude—and this isn’t even the big Kahuna.

The one they want, of course, is the World Series, and the Yankees haven’t been in one of those since 2003.

Yikes!

The Yankees, when last seen in an ALCS, were coughing up a three games to none lead to the arch rival Boston Red Sox. Four straight times the Red Sox beat the Yankees to appear in, and eventually win, the ’04 World Series—the Red Sox’ first championship since Babe Ruth pitched for them (1918).

The Yankees are back playing for the figurative pennant, and that’s terrific. If they make it to the World Series, it’d be even better.

Yeah, they may be U.S. Steel—or, to update Brown’s quote, Microsoft. But that’s what makes their presence in baseball’s Final Four even more mandatory.

You don’t have Dudley Do-Right, after all, without there being a Black Bart over whom to conquer.

Professional sports needs its black hats in the spotlight.

The hypocrites in the NBA may have cried foul about the tactics of our very own “Bad Boys”, the Detroit Pistons of the late-1980s, early-1990s, but without the Pistons donning those black hats, Michael Jordan’s Chicago Bulls couldn’t have existed.

The Bulls would have been champions, but missing a certain je ne sais quoi.

The Bulls, in many people’s eyes, returned championship basketball to its rightful place, where the fouls were soft and the personality was vanilla.

Yet with no Detroit Pistons against whom to root, Jordan’s Bulls would not have been nearly as compelling. They would have been just another superstar-led team who beat back a bunch of faceless inferior opponents—like they were in the middle of the 1990s, when the Pistons were in rebuilding mode.

You remember the Bulls hacking away at the Pistons’ tree trunk until it fell, beating them in the playoffs after three straight years of being schooled—leading to a three-year reign as world champions. But the second three-peat—achieved from 1996-98—wasn’t nearly as juicy, because there was no Black Bart over whom to triumph.

The NFL needs the Dallas Cowboys to be good and of championship caliber. It’s fun to root against an organization ostentatiously dubbed “America’s Team” without the rest of our permission. The Red Wings—sorry to break this to the “Hockeytown” faithful—aren’t the darlings that you think they are, across North America, outside of Detroit.

Far from it, in fact. The Red Wings’ loss to the Pittsburgh Penguins in the 2009 Stanley Cup Finals was triumph over tragedy, as far as the majority of hockey fans were concerned.

The NBA needs the Boston Celtics circling over the rest of the league. Or the Los Angeles Lakers; they’ll do, too.

And baseball needs the Yankees.

Is the ALCS as interesting if the Yankees aren’t in it?

The World Series certainly isn’t, so how can the ALCS even hope to be?

I’m not a Yankees fan. Not even close. I’ve reveled in their recent playoff foibles, and have chuckled derisively at the abject failure of their superstar Alex Rodriguez as he’s struggled mightily in the first round.

But Rodriguez awoke from his post-season slumber this year, almost single-handedly demolishing the poor Minnesota Twins. And the Yankees are back where they belong.

I’m not a Yankees fan but I admit to being glad that they’re back in the ALCS. Because while I had some fun at their first round expense, that kind of fun isn’t as grand as watching them possibly go down against the Angels, or better yet, against the Phillies or the Dodgers in the Fall Classic.

The Yankees are the greatest of all our franchises, in any sport, playing in the greatest of our cities. You’re damn right they were U.S. Steel in Joe E. Brown’s day, and they’re damn well Microsoft—or Comcast—in these modern times.

Pick a decade and the Yankees were likely in a World Series, or several, during it.

It all started with the iconic Ruth in the 1920s, and continued with the Yankees teams of Dickey and Gomez of the 1930s, those of DiMaggio in the 1940s, and with the 1950s squads of Berra and Mantle and Ford. It lapped into the first half of the 1960s as well, with names like Richardson and Maris and Howard joining the fray.

Who can forget what Reggie Jackson did to the Dodgers in 1977, with his three homers on three straight pitches off three different pitchers in the decisive Game 6?

Finally, in the 1980s, the streak of at least one Yankees World Series victory in every decade ended, although they did make it to the 1981 series.

It started back up again in the 1990s with three world titles, and the 2000s were also soiled by a Yankees triumph, over the cross town Mets in 2000.

Now, the Yankees have the chance to bookend the decade of the 2000s with World Series wins, before we get into the 2010s next year.

The Yankees are Notre Dame football, Comcast, the Boston Celtics, the Republicans, and the Detroit Red Wings all wrapped into one.

Welcome back to late-October, old, hateful friend.

Dombrowski Culpable for Tigers’ Sticky Wicket

David Dombrowski has been President/G.M. of the Tigers for eight baseball seasons, and just what has the team accomplished?

One playoff appearance.

DD is 1-for-8, and that’s a .125 BA—something that even Gerald Laird would scoff at.

It’s time to take a serious look at how Dombrowski has been minding the store.

It’s one thing to miss the playoffs; it’s quite another to do so consistently in a notoriously weak division. It’s yet another to do it whilst frittering away the owner’s money like it grows on trees.

The Tigers, thanks to Dombrowski’s questionable generosity of the past, are on the hook for a whole lot of Mike Ilitch’s pizza dough spent on just a handful of players.

Nate Robertson. Jeremy Bonderman. Dontrelle Willis. On just those three mostly ineffective pitchers alone, the Tigers must cough up millions of bucks annually.

We laughed at DD’s predecessor, Randy Smith, for ham-handed contract negotiations with the likes of Bobby Higginson, who was over-rewarded after his 2000 season, and for the pathetic courting of Juan Gonzalez—a contract that Ilitch ought to drop to his knees every night to thank God that it never materialized.

But Smith, in retrospect, just appears to be Dave Dombrowski Lite.

That’s not a compliment to either man, by the way.

The Tigers are in a trick box this off-season, and for as much as you’d like to blame the field manager, Jim Leyland—and he’s very culpable, too—-the core of their troubles can be traced to Dombrowski.

In fairness, you can pretty much wipe away the first two of his seasons in Detroit, coming off Smith’s disastrous run, which culminated in the horrific 43-119 season of 2003.

And you can give Dombrowski props for luring Pudge Rodriguez to the Tigers, even though Pudge wasn’t exactly being flooded with offers at the time.

There was the Ugueth Urbina-for-Placido Polanco trade of 2005, which was among the very best and most lopsided in franchise history.

Beyond that?

This is a “what have you done for me lately?” business, and lately hasn’t been filled with Dombrowski’s finest hours.

The trades have been spotty in their success. The free agent signings have been similarly pocked. Contract extensions have been doled out with frightening recklessness.

The Central Division has never been a powerhouse grouping. Any division with the Kansas City Royals served up 18 times for consumption to each of the other teams can’t be taken too seriously. Not to mention the Tigers.

If you’re the White Sox or the Twins or the (until this season) Indians, and you got to play the Tigers and the Royals 36 times every season, that meant a guaranteed 20-25 wins (at least) per season until 2006, when the Tigers finally woke up.

The Tigers had no assemblance of an offense in 2009, albeit partly due to some players underachieving (yes, I’m looking at you, Curtis Granderson). Yet Dombrowski’s efforts to bring bats in from outside the organization were laughable.

Aubrey Huff will go down as a poster child for Dombrowski’s bungling.

When it was clear that Huff was gagging under the sheer force of pennant race pressure, being swallowed whole by it, DD still had time to pick someone off the scrap heap. That player wouldn’t have been playoff eligible—he would have joined the team after September 1—but so what?

The Tigers added Matt Stairs in mid-September in 2006, and Matt hit a key home run in the final weekend series against the Royals to send a game into extra innings.

The Baltimore Orioles, in 1974, added ex-Tiger Jim Northrup in the final two weeks and Fox went 4-for-7, helping the O’s cross the finish line ahead of the Yankees.

So it can be done.

But Dombrowski treated the September 1 date as if it was some sort of force field beyond which he couldn’t make any more moves.

Dombrowski ought to thank his lucky stars that he works for a generous owner who is loathe to fire anyone. In lots of other towns, DD would have been long gone.

Dombrowski, in eight years, has fired a GM (Smith) and two managers (Luis Pujols and Alan Trammell), and all the franchise has to show for that and all the personnel moves is one post-season appearance—and the 2006 Tigers tried mightily to cough that one up, too.

Now the Tigers may not be able to add to their burgeoning payroll thanks to Dombrowski’s painting them into a corner financially.

This is, like all the other ones, a crucial off-season. The 2010 Tigers are likely not going to look all that much like the 2009 version. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing will pretty much be up to what Dave Dombrowski does from between now and February.

How confident are YOU?

Spanking in Buffalo Not All Bad for Red Wings

The Red Wings got a good, old-fashioned facewash Tuesday night in Buffalo. A regular butt kicking. The Sabres booted the Red Wings halfway back to Detroit, using a second period, four-goal barrage to beat them, 6-2.

It was utter, total annihilation, dropping the team to 2-3 on the season.

And that’s a good thing.

Don’t look at me that way. Send back the men in the white jackets. Put the thermometer away. I’m fine, I swear.

When a team has had as much success as the Red Wings have had since, oh, 1991, it’s not a bad thing to get your nose rubbed into the ice surface on occasion—to remind you that laurels are great for reminiscing about but not something on which you rest.

The Red Wings are going to have to earn it this season. For real this time.

This is still a 100+ point hockey team, and is still a Stanley Cup contender. Legitimately, as they say. Any unit that can trot out the forwards the Red Wings can, not to mention the top four defensemen that they have, is a threat to hoist the chalice in June. Period, no matter what the haters out there might have you believe.

They lost a lot of players to free agency and injury, but the Red Wings also happened to have been the deepest team in the league, so now it’s time to prove it. And they will.

But that imaginary gap, the one that has long separated the Red Wings from the rest of the league, is shrinking, and fast. Again, not a bad thing.

The Sabres dominated the Red Wings in just about every area, even faceoffs, and you wonder which is the stronger emotion for the Wings today—anger or surprise.

If it’s a mixture of both, then the Sabres’ win might just be what the Red Wings needed.

The season opened with a couple of unseemly losses overseas, in Sweden. Then some home cooking corrected things for two games. Now, in the first “real” road game of the season, the Red Wings got spanked.

Hard work is going to have to trump talent this season. A champion’s will to show everyone that it’s far too early to declare them also-rans is going to have to bob to the surface.

And yes, some anger is fine. Hurt pride can be a springboard to righting the ship.

The Red Wings got waylaid in Buffalo, and they’re smart enough to know that it will happen more and more, if they don;t correct their play.

“They were better than us,” coach Mike Babcock said of the Sabres. “In all areas. They were just better.”

But the Red Wings are still better than the Sabres, and are better than just about all the teams in the league, on most nights.

They’re just going to have to work harder to prove it, is all.

And that’s not a bad thing.

Last Night on “The Knee Jerks”: Hoopin’ It Up, with A. Sherrod Blakely

The Detroit Pistons and the NBA took center court, if you will, last night on “The Knee Jerks”, my weekly sports gabfest with Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience.

That’s because our guest was A. Sherrod Blakely, who is the Pistons beat writer for MLive.com.

Sherrod gave us his insights on the Pistons and the league, from his vantage point as a training camp observer and beat writer. We covered the gamut, from new acquisitions like Ben Gordon, Charlie Villanueva and draft pick Austin Daye, to returning veterans like Rip Hamilton, Tayshaun Prince, and oldie but goodie Ben Wallace.

So does Sherrod think this year’s Pistons squad is in the midst of rebuilding, or is his beer mug half full? I guess you’ll have to listen to the show to find out!

After Sherrod’s segment, Al and I dove right into yet another busy slate of talking points.

We started by giving our final thoughts on the Tigers’ epic (?) one-game playoff in Minnesota, and what we would have done differently if we were in the dugout pushing the buttons. Hint: we both agree that a certain left-handed swinging rookie should have been called upon to pinch-hit!

From there, I, once again, had to be “The Voice of Reason” and talk Al down a little bit when it came to the Red Wings and the loss of Johan Franzen.

We wrapped things up by dissecting the Lions’ 28-20 loss to the Steelers on Sunday, and Al went on a mini-rant, panning Daunte Culpepper’s performance.

The piece de resistance, of course, was the show-ending Jerks of the Week!

Don’t forget to follow us on Twitter, for updates on scheduled guests, time changes, etc.

Next week’s guest: the always colorful Bob Page, retired (in theory) broadcaster of Detroit and New York.

Upcoming guests:

Oct. 19 Bob Page
Oct. 26 Former Lions great Alex Karras (tentative, but we’re guardedly optimistic!)
Nov. 2 Jose Canseco (yes, THE Jose Canseco!!)

Some highlights from last night:

Big Al

On the Tigers’ offense: “Adam Everett is a good player, but he doesn’t hit and the Tigers had four batting slots full of Adam Everetts this season. The Tigers need to find a good blend of offense and defense; no more of this one or the other stuff.”

On Franzen: “Who knows if he’ll be 100 percent when he returns, because this is a torn ACL injury. But I’ll take a 75 percent Johan Franzen over a lot of guys in the league.”

On Culpepper: “He made some mistakes that Matthew Stafford, as a rookie, wouldn’t have made. I think it’s time to sit him down and see what you have in Drew Stanton.”

Eno

On the one-game playoff: “It was like the whole month of September in a microcosm. The Tigers get off to a lead and the Twins peck away at it. In the end, the Tigers couldn’t execute fundamentals and the Twins did, and that was the difference.”

On the Red Wings losing Franzen: “They don’t ever have the mentality of, ‘If one guy goes down, the whole thing collapses,’ like some other teams in town. They just kind of hunker down and say, ‘We have enough talent to overcome this.’ They still have Cleary and Zetterberg and Datsyuk, and others. I’m more concerned about the penalty kill.”

On the Lions-Steelers game: “Isn’t it funny how the good teams like the Steelers, who are defending champions, can dial up three sacks like that when they need it? The Lions wouldn’t have been able to do that against Ben Roethlisberger. But that’s why the Steelers are the champs.”

You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE.

Just Like That, Steel Curtain Closes On Lions’ Chances

They say more NFL games than you know come down to a handful of plays. The talent level, supposedly, is so close from team to team that in any given game, wins and losses are often decided by maybe no more than three or four percent of the total number of plays run.

Usually, though, those three or four plays are scattered throughout the game’s sixty minutes. They’re rarely bunched together, rat-a-tat-tat, at the end of the match.

But that’s exactly what happened at Ford Field—a.k.a. Heinz Field North—on Sunday as the Pittsburgh Steelers fended off the Lions, 28-20.

The Steelers sacked Lions QB Daunte Culpepper three straight times within the final 90 seconds of regulation, turning a 1st-and-10 from the Steelers’ 21 into 4th-and-34 from their 45, thus sealing the victory.

Only the Lions could turn such a golden opportunity for a tying score into a desperate, Hail Mary situation in a matter of seconds.

Well, the Lions—and the Steelers themselves.

This is no ordinary defense, the one they have in Pittsburgh. Pro Bowler James Harrison spent almost as much time in the Lions backfield as running back Kevin Smith. The Steelers pressured Culpepper more than what the Hoover Dam deals with every day.

And the Lions have no ordinary offensive line. In fact, they’d kill for ordinary, because they’re still not quite at mediocre yet.

And you hoped that Matthew Stafford would play on Sunday? Heck, we might be eulogizing him this morning.

Culpepper, though, didn’t exactly show much elusiveness in that final drive, which was surprisingly punctuated by a couple of nice catches by rookie Derrick Williams. Daunte may have lost a lot of weight, but he went down sometimes if he was breathed on funny.

Sadly, he picked a couple of those times during that fateful three-play stretch. Steelers DB William Gay blitzed on the third sack, and clipped Culpepper with his arms, and the Lions QB plopped to the turf, his attempt at avoiding Gay about the most pathetic you’ll ever see.

Would Stafford had done better? Even if he had—on that play—let’s just say that the kid picked a good game to miss.

And the Steelers fans picked a good game not to miss.

They came in droves to Detroit, and if there was a home field advantage for the Lions, it was a trickle—the Steelers fans filtering it capably.

But it was because of those Steelers zealots that the game was sold out in time for the NFL to lift the blackout.

Which meant, of course, that we were lucky enough to see those three rat-a-tat-tat sacks that effectively squashed the Lions’ hopes of tying the game.

Steelers defensive coordinator Dick LeBeau, the former Lion, is up for Hall of Fame consideration. It’s debatable whether it’s more for his exploits on the field or on the sidelines. But in about 30 seconds on Sunday, LeBeau sealed his induction, as far as I’m concerned.

Those three sacks should go down in Steelers lore, albeit them coming against the—no pun intended—sad-sack Lions. Seriously, when was the last time you saw a team change a game so definitively and so dramatically, so quickly and so late?

That’s a lot of “sos,” I know, but goodness gracious—LeBeau dialed up the pressure and his players responded, big time.

Ahh, players. The Steelers, like most NFL teams save a handful, have more good ones than the Lions have. But the Lions showed some moxie, making big plays on both sides of the ball and converting 11-of-18 third downs, which is their new thing this year.

DB William James had a “pick six” for the Lions, and I think the last one of those might be Shaun Rogers’ long gallop against the Denver Broncos at Ford Field, two years ago.

But Steelers QB Ben Roethlisberger completed 13 passes in a row after James’ interception, proving why he’s one of the game’s greats. The elite guys bounce back like super balls following such duress.

As for the Lions, despite the new cast of characters, you still don’t get the feeling that any late-game drives are going to end up positively, such as Sunday’s. And you won’t, until they actually start to occur. But here’s the rub: I think they might, sooner rather than later.

The o-line is bad, but the Lions put a scare into the Steelers without Calvin Johnson, injured earlier. The playcalling is the main reason; o-coordinator Scott Linehan calls a good game, for the most part. Until the Lions get reinforcements on the line, they’ll struggle, but the talent level and Linehan’s mind will just have to combine for at least one heroic, late-game drive this year.

The Steelers fans who piled into their vehicles and made the trek to Detroit went home happy.

You can only wonder when you can start saying that with any consistency about the hometown folks, whose twenty, thirty minute jaunts have seemed longer than the one from Detroit to Pittsburgh in recent years.

Red Wings Enforcer Polonich Never Same After Brutal Attack

Red Wings coach Mike Babcock, as he is wont to do, succinctly summarized why his team had signed Brad May to a contract.

“We had him for a few exhibition games and no one bothered our guys,” Babcock said. “Then we didn’t have him and people started taking some liberties.

“I don’t mind it when tough guys are tough guys. But when guys who aren’t tough start playing tough, that drives me crazy. And we’d seen enough of that.”

So the Red Wings found May, a 37-year-old notorious tough guy, on the scrap heap a couple weeks ago, gave him a tryout in the preseason, and signed him to a one-year deal the afternoon of the team’s home opener Thursday.

“May provides something that no one else on the team does,” Babcock continued, ever the pragmatist. “So he’ll always have a role.”

Tough guy. Enforcer. They used to call them policemen, back when I first started following hockey in the late-1960s, early-1970s.

Babcock has often said that players like May “keep the flies off” the more skilled, star guys.

Once upon a time, the skilled, star guys functioned as their own bodyguards.

You think Gordie Howe needed someone to keep the flies off him? Ted Lindsay was another who could score as well as fight.

Bobby Hull could take care of himself. So could Johnny Bucyk and Rocket Richard. And many others.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, we lost that triple threat hockey player—one who could check, score, and fight.

The Red Wings employed one such pugnacious, tenacious little guy in the 1970s named Dennis Polonich.

Polo, they called him. No one said hockey nicknames were overly creative.

Polonich was a homegrown Red Wing, drafted by the team in the eighth round in 1973 and nurtured through the minor league system. He must have had that Napoleonic Complex, because Polo was all of 5′6″ and that measurement was surely taken while he was on skates.

Polonich was a Red Wing in the thick of the worst stretch the franchise ever had, in terms of success on the ice. He played on teams that were cringe-inducing in their ineptitude.

But Dennis Polonich could play hockey a little bit, in addition to being the team’s resident tough guy. He was a triple threat, indeed. No Henrik Zetterberg, but not an unskilled hack, either.

A quick check of hockey-reference.com confirms my suspicions.

In 1976-77, Polonich scored 19 goals. The following season, 16. And that was despite being whistled for 528 minutes in penalties in those two seasons combined.

Then Polonich’s career changed.

It was in October, 1978—the Red Wings entertaining a team called the Colorado Rockies, the hockey version, pre-baseball.

Another triple threat player named Wilf Paiement tangled with Polonich and words were exchanged. Your typical heat-of-the-moment hockey stuff. Shortly thereafter, Paiement and Polonich met again on the ice. Things escalated, as they tend to do.

It all happened so quickly.

Paiement took his stick—by all accounts with two hands near the top, and swung. His aim was for Polonich’s face, and he connected.

Polonich went down in a heap, in a flash, and it was so fast that many at Olympia Stadium didn’t even see what had happened.

The result of Paiement’s stick swinging was not only a league reprimand of 15 games worth of suspension, but also a lawsuit filed by Polonich against his attacker.

The violent thwack of Paiement’s stick against Polonich’s head only caused Polo to miss 18 games in the 1978-79 season, which was amazing considering the magnitude of the attack, which had left him with a concussion, severe facial lacerations, and a broken nose that required reconstructive surgery—resulting in lifelong breathing problems.

He was never the same.

Polonich scored 10 goals that season, played just 109 NHL games after that, and scored a grand total of four more goals in those 109 matches, after scoring 55 goals in his previous 277 contests.

Before Wilf Paiement rearranged his face, Polonich was a tough guy who could score on occasion and who “kept the flies off” the Red Wings’ more skilled players—and they had precious few in those days.

But after, Polonich was a shell of his former self. He still accumulated some penalty minutes, but not as many and his fights were less frequent. He just wasn’t the same, period—physically or mentally. He was out of the NHL by 1982—the same year in which Polonich finally collected some money from Paiement—an $850,000 settlement.

Some who would know say that Paiement’s attack on Polonich was the most violent act ever committed in an NHL game.

But because of Polo’s reputation as an instigator and pest, he wasn’t exactly portrayed as the traditional victim, despite the horrific nature of the attack. There was a lot of “he got what he deserved” from those around the NHL.

In Detroit, the fans loved Dennis Polonich. He was a shrimp but he didn’t hesitate to take on the biggest and baddest that the NHL had to offer. Go to YouTube and type his name in the search box and have some fun.

The Broad Street Bullies themselves, the Philadelphia Flyers, would invade Olympia and those were some fantastic wars—despite the distance between the two teams in the standings. When the Flyers came to Detroit, blood was shed and the Red Wings often won the game.

And Polonich often led the charge, engaging Dave Schultz or Moose Dupont or Bob Kelly in some rock ‘em, sock ‘em fisticuffs.

All that went away after Paiement used his stick as a golf club and Polonich’s head as the teed up ball.

Brad May, today’s Red Wings enforcer, is to make certain that no nonsense goes on involving the Zetterbergs and Datsyuks and Lidstroms. Not on his watch, anyway.

May is still in the NHL at age 37 because his kind is a coveted asset.

Dennis Polonich only played in the NHL until he was 29, but would have played longer, likely, if it wasn’t for Wilf Paiement.

Polo probably would have given the 850 grand back in exchange for remaining an impact player.

Few things are sadder in hockey than an enforcer who doesn’t scare anybody anymore.

Will (gasp!) Backup Goalie Be Red Wings’ Bugaboo?

Can a backup goaltender, of all things, decide whether a hockey team reaches the promised land or not?

We’re about to find out.

The Detroit Red Wings pull the curtain back tonight for the first time in front of their home crowd in the 2009-10 campaign. And their fans will see something that they haven’t seen in 20 years: an 0-2 Red Wings team.

But the Wings are 0-0 in North America!

The much ballyhooed trip to Sweden proved to be more distraction than it was worth, the Red Wings blowing two-goal leads in both games to the inferior (but improving) St. Louis Blues.

Let’s look at that word, inferior.

First there’s the inferior backup goaltender, Jimmy Howard—in comparison to last year’s No. 2 man, Ty Conklin. But the concern in Detroit is that Howard is not only inferior to Ty Conklin, but also to Ty Cobb, when it comes to being a goalie.

Chris Osgood, the No. 1 netminder, wasn’t very good in Sweden. Howard, though, was downright awful.

But it was just one game, right?

Yes and no.

It was one game this season, yes, but for a guy who’s been taking his sweet time developing, Howard was expected—check that, required—to play a lot better coming out of the gate.

There’s worry in Detroit about the goaltending—surprise, surprise—but for the first time that I can recall (and if you know me, that’s a lot of recalling), the worry isn’t so much about the starter, but about the guy sitting on the bench most nights.

Jimmy Howard might be the only backup goalie in the NHL who’s on the hot seat. And the guy doesn’t even have anyone playing behind him!

It’s the opposite of the old NFL adage about quarterback controversies: the best quarterback is the one not playing.

In Detroit, not only is the best goalie the one who is playing, the second-best goalie is the one not even on the team right now.

Coach Mike Babcock said in training camp that he expects 25 victories from his backup goalie this season. Good luck with that, Michael.

Do you see 25 wins somewhere in and around Jimmy Howard’s body? Heck, do you even see 25 games?

These are the Red Wings. They don’t put up with some of the nonsense that teams in other NHL cities are forced to put up with. And one of those things is putting a backup goalie in net and watching the game with one eye open and the other one closed.

If Howard doesn’t right himself, and quick, he won’t be on the team. It’s as simple as that. The Red Wings don’t owe him anything. He’s not some bonus baby in which the team has a lot of Mike Ilitch’s pizza dough invested. They’ve been patient with Howard. It’s all on him now.

Howard has the additional misfortune of following Conklin’s act, which was superb last season, pulling the Red Wings through the Chris Osgood Ordeal—during that 82-game thing that we call, in Detroit, “preparing for the playoffs.”

I have some good news for the Howard Haters today. Don’t worry so much. Babcock, GM Ken Holland et al aren’t going to be very patient anymore. Prediction: Howard isn’t the backup come Christmas. Just a hunch. Could be time for young Daniel Larsson, or someone from outside the organization.

Now back to that word inferior once more.

I called the Blues inferior, but the other biggie is wondering how many other teams we can say that about, in comparison to the mighty Red Wings.

It’s trendy and chic to say that the list of teams you can pencil in beneath the Red Wings in terms of overall strength is dwindling. Perhaps it is. Not so sure, though.

John Buccigross of ESPN.com, in his Western Conference preview, has the Red Wings fourth, behind Calgary, Chicago, and San Jose. He’s another who’s fallen prey to the trend-setters.

The Blackhawks, of course, are a legitimate threat to the Red Wings’ supremacy in the Central (I wish they called it the Norris again) Division. But Buccigross makes a fantastic leap of faith in picking them second in the conference.

Here’s Buccigross on the Blackhawks’ Achilles heel—starting goalie Cristobal Huet:

“So far, not good. Last season, he was outplayed and lost his starting job. His career had a nice, steady arc before last season’s expectations. So it is reasonable to believe he can return to form. But can you picture him as a Stanley Cup-winning goalie? If you can, then this team has as good a chance as any.”

Wow. That’s a big supposition to make, in calling a team the second best in its conference.

The good news: no backup goalie worries in Chicago. The bad news: that’s because they’re all focused on the starter.

More about the Blackhawks: Buccigross also likes the Marian Hossa signing—as well he should. But Hossa is out until Lord knows when thanks to off-season surgery. Will it take him time to get revved up? Then again, he might be in peak condition come playoff time. It’s not like he couldn’t use a (ahem) strong playoff, you know?

About the Flames, supposedly No. 1 in the West in Buccigross’s four eyes, the offensive power dazzles him, as does the acquisition of free agent defenseman Jay Bouwmeester from Florida.

Ahh, but there’s this about the Flames and their goaltending situation, i.e. Mikka Kiprusoff:

“Kiprusoff’s goals-against average has gone up every year he has been in Calgary. The past four seasons, his games played looks like this: 74-74-76-76. That is insane. He turns 33 later this month. He can’t sniff that amount of games and expect to finish the season with a kick. Kiprusoff is obviously a grinder. He takes every goal to heart. Having him play that amount of games wears down his brain, and anyone who believes otherwise doesn’t understand goalies or people like Kiprusoff. He is not a John Deere tractor on the Sutter farm. He is a man, he’s 33 and he needs to be handled better this season or he will have another .884 playoff save percentage like this past spring.”

Does that sound like an argument for why the Flames are the best in the West? Sounds more like the opposite, to me.

So Buccigross—and I’m sorry to pick on just him—is making two huge leaps of faith about other teams’ goaltending situations in placing them ahead of the Red Wings in the so-called “power rankings.”

But that’s OK. It’ll be refreshing to watch the Red Wings play a regular season in which they’re not on the tips of everyone’s tongues in the “who’s winning the Stanley Cup?” discussions.

By the way, the Red Wings should still be in those discussions, heavily. They’re still pretty damn good, despite their losses in free agency. They still have Pavel Datsyuk and Henrik Zetterberg and Johan Franzen and Daniel Cleary and Nick Lidstrom and Brian Rafalski and Brad Stuart and Niklas Kronwall. And more.

I think you’re sniffing the goalpost paint if you pick the Red Wings anything less than best in the Central and second in the conference, but what do I know? I picked the Red Wings to win the Stanley Cup in 2008, and I picked them again in 2009. Boy, did I miss that one by a mile, eh?

Tigers Make All the Wrong Kind of History

The Tigers played a baseball game Tuesday that we won’t forget, to end a season we certainly will never forget. For all the wrong reasons.

For nearly the entire summer, fans of the Tigers wrung their hands and squirmed in their seats, looking at their first-place team and just not seeing, well, a first-place team.

This morning, they’re seeing a second-place team. At the worst possible time of the season—the end of it.

The Detroit Tigers, leaders of the Central Division since May 10, played hare to the Minnesota Twins’ tortoise and came from ahead in a gut-wrenching, drip-drip water torture manner, finally overtaken by the Twins two days after the regular season finale, in a baseball game that they’ll be talking about for decades, all around the country.

In a way, you could see this one coming for miles. It was like watching one of those horror movies where the heroine “kills” the monster and drops her weapon in relief, her back to the play as we see him rise again behind her.

“LOOK OUT!! BEHIND YOU!” we want to scream. And do.

The Twins were seven games behind on Labor Day. They weren’t even above .500. And the Tigers, who wobbled and swayed all summer long thanks to a boat that was unevenly loaded with decent pitching and defense on one side and a popgun offense on the other, sank to their knees in relief, the Twins’ carcass behind them.

A seven-game lead with 26 games to play. The Twins then lost slugger Justin Morneau due to injury. The Morneau injury was to be the stake in the Twins’ heart. And the Tigers dropped that stake, their backs to the Twins’ carcass.

“LOOK OUT!!”

We screamed. Boy, did we scream.

“THE TWINS!! They’re getting up!! Look!! Behind you!!”

The Morneau-less Twins did one of those chilling climbs out of the grave, and started approaching the Tigers, steadily and surely.

The seven-game lead was five, then it was four. The Tigers went into the Metrodome the weekend of September 18 and lost two of three. The lead was three games with 13 to play.

The Tigers won two of the first three games with the Twins in Detroit last week. The lead was three games with four to play.

Yet still the Twins approached them, zombies now, unable to be killed.

It’s official. The Tigers have now been added to the list of MLB teams who will live in infamy.

Move over, 1951 Dodgers. 1964 Phillies, could you scoot over a bit? Thank you.

Yo, 1978 Red Sox—can you move down a tad? Same with you, 2007 Mets. Thanks.

2009 Tigers—take a seat.

You can’t erase this. Time doesn’t heal this one. There haven’t been a lot of monumental collapses in Detroit sports history; usually our teams are feast or famine: they either close the deal or aren’t even in the room.

But this—this won’t be forgotten. Nor should it.

A three game lead with four to play—and all four of those at home, where the Tigers finished 51-30. They needed at first to just beat the Twins last Thursday and the division would be theirs. They failed, but then only needed to win two of three from the White Sox, or else get some help from the Royals in Minnesota.

The Royals, who played Twins’ hero in 2006, sweeping the Tigers on the final weekend in Detroit, rode into Minnesota and helped the Tigers like the guy who shaves your legs before you get put into the electric chair.

The Tigers would have to earn it, like Smith-Barney.

The one-game playoff on Tuesday in the Metrodome was one of the greatest baseball games I’ve ever seen. And ever will see.

At least there’s that. At least the Tigers can say they participated in a classic. Yes, it was more thrilling to the Detroiters, but any baseball fan, anywhere, had to like that game. I don’t even think you had to like baseball to like that game.

So there’s that.

But the game, in a microcosm, was just like the divisional race itself in September. The Tigers sprint off to a 3-0 lead, only to see the Twins slowly whittle it away, giving the Tigers some more of that water torture.

Drip, drip. Twins scratch out a run to make it 3-1. Drip, drip. The Tigers’ bats go cold. Drip, drip. The Twins make it 3-2. Drip, drip.

The Twins go ahead, 4-3. Water gushes down over the Tigers’ faces.

But then Magglio Ordonez, who tried like mad in September to almost single-handedly shove his team over the finish line first, smacked a laser into the left field seats in the 8^th inning to tie the game.

But the Twins are the better baseball team, because they play baseball better.

The Twins don’t put runners on first and third with no outs and come away empty thanks to a base running blunder, as the Tigers did in the ninth inning. The Twins don’t try for shoe string catches and turn singles into triples, as Ryan Raburn did in the 10^th inning. The Twins don’t load the bases with one out and come away empty, as the Tigers did in the 12^th inning.

It took 163 games, but the better team finally won the Central Division. The Tigers’ season-long inability to drive runners in from third base with less than two outs—that bellwether of baseball efficiency—finally got them in the you-know-what.

Don’t blame this one on the Metrodome. The dome didn’t cause Curtis Granderson to commit one of the most egregious base running mistakes you can make—as a Little Leaguer.

I remember being told by the first base coach when I was 11 years old: make sure line drives get through!

Grandy didn’t, and got doubled off first base, killing the Tigers’ rally in the ninth.

While it’s true that Raburn made up for his faux pas by gunning down the potential winning run at the plate in the 10^th, he never should have had to do that.

This loss in Game 163 doesn’t have the Metrodome’s fingerprints all over it, unless you’re going to get all Boston Garden/leprechauns on me and speak of little Twin ghosts occupying the place, causing bad things to happen to the Tigers.

Yes, bad things DID happen to the Tigers on Tuesday. But, just as their September Swoon—and why can’t the Tigers be like most teams and have their swoons in June?—the Tigers were their own enemies, thank you very much.

The 2009 Tigers are now in some very select company. And it stinks in there.

Last Night on “The Knee Jerks”: We Put the Gloves On, Then Took ‘Em Off!

We turned extra combative last night on “The Knee Jerks”, my weekly sports gabfest with Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience.

That’s because our guest was none other than Marvin Hagler, Jr., son of the multiple world champion boxer.

Junior was on to discuss his upcoming professional boxing debut, set to take place on Saturday near Philadelphia. It’s the headliner of a Celebrity Boxing card, but Marvin is no typical celebrity boxer. He’s got that famous pedigree, and, at age 33, he’s considering making this more than just a passing fling.

One bombshell was laid on us. It involves Marvin and his dad, and I guess you’ll have to listen to the show to find out what it is!

Oh, and BTW, Big Al asked Marvin which of his father’s fights was his favorite, and he selected the “Eight Minutes of Fury” bout against Thomas Hearns in 1985, which Hagler Sr. won by TKO in the third round.

“Sorry, Detroit,” Junior said.

After Marvin, there was, as usual, a boatload of things to rant about.

We started with the ever-developing Miguel Cabrera saga. Al and I spent about 30 minutes dissecting it, along with offering our opinions on how the Tigers as an organization handled things. (Hint: not very well).

Then it was on to today’s one-game playoff in Minnesota.

We offered up who we thought needed to have a big game (care to take a guess), and why the Tigers got to this point to begin with.

There was some time left for the Lions and their 30-minute performance in Chicago on Sunday. This gave Al another glorious opportunity to utter his two favorite words, “FIRE KWAN!!,” as in special teams coach Stan Kwan, whose unit was torched for one big kick return after the other, surrendering field position all afternoon.

By the time we got through all that, Michigan-Michigan State got left out in the cold! They were the guest on “The Tonight Show” that Johnny didn’t have time for.

Don’t forget to follow us on Twitter, for updates on scheduled guests, time changes, etc.

Next week’s guest: A. Sherrod Blakely, Pistons’ beat writer for MLive.com.

Upcoming guests:

Oct. 12 A. Sherrod Blakely
Oct. 19 Bob Page
Oct. 26 TBA
Nov. 2 Jose Canseco (yes, THE Jose Canseco!!)

Some highlights from last night:

Big Al

On Cabrera: “The Tigers were put in a tough situation but they exacerbated it. They were foolish to think they could keep something like this quiet.”

On Cabrera II: “I was 26 years old once, and I did my share of drinking. But I wasn’t being paid $120 million and asked to carry a team to the playoffs. The only good thing was that he wasn’t driving. But if that’s the only good thing you can say…”

On the Lions: “I’ve been calling for them to fire Kwan, but in all fairness he’s coaching with one hand tied behind his back. He just doesn’t have the talent.”

On Matthew Stafford: “He missed some plays, but in a couple years he’s not going to miss them and this offense is going to start to hum.”

Eno

On Cabrera: “I hope the Tigers get him some help. This wasn’t a case of a guy going out once, getting drunk once, and getting belligerent, once. These were the actions of someone with a problem. He needs to go into rehab between now and spring training and get cleaned up.”

On Cabrera II: “His numbers were good but not great. He had 33 HR and 101 RBI, but he’s capable of 40 and 120, easily. I don’t care that he doesn’t have much support in the lineup. Tough. That’s what he’s getting paid to do.”

On the Lions: “They need to address the defensive line in next year’s draft, big time. That’s the crux of their problems on defense. No contain, no pressure on the quarterback, no plays for negative yardage.”

On Matthew Stafford: “Yes, he missed some open receivers, but at least they were open. I like that the tight ends got involved, too. Stafford’s mistakes are coachable, so that’s a good thing.”

You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE!

Lions Once Again Kings of 30-Minute Football

The Lions turned in another of those 30-minute jobs yesterday in Chicago, and it cost them, big time.

A 21-21 halftime tie turned into a 48-24 laugher for the Bears, but here’s what’s NOT funny.

Matthew Stafford dislocated his knee cap, according to ESPN.

The thing popped back into place on the sidelines, following a sack in the fourth quarter, when Stafford was clearly seen grimacing in pain and grabbing his right leg.

No, no laughing about that.

Early reports say QB Stafford could miss a game, maybe two.

But today there will be those dreaded tests, and how many Black Mondays have their been in the NFL for teams over the years?

What is sometimes considered a minor injury has too often turned into something more, and of the season-ending variety, to boot.

Sorry to be Chicken Little here, but you never know what an MRI might reveal when it comes to a football player’s knee.

Stafford took some more baby steps Sunday, in his quest to be a bona fide NFL signal caller.

He threw for nearly 300 yards, plus a touchdown. He again exhibited his arm strength. There were some missed receivers, but that now seems to be part of his M.O. At least the receivers are getting open.

See? No Chicken Little talk there.

Fox analyst Brian Billick, himself once considered one of those NFL offensive “geniuses,” correctly pointed out that Stafford needs to get a little more air under some of his passes. Stafford did so on the game’s first play, a 50+ yarder to Calvin Johnson, but then went back into laser mode on other throws when he should have lofted.

But like offensive coordinator Scott Linehan said last week, “We can pull back on that (overthrowing). I’d be more concerned if he couldn’t get it there.”

Amen, because we sure have seen enough of the latter in Detroit.

So it wasn’t Stafford who cost the Lions on Sunday—not even his injury, which came when the game was pretty much decided.

The two culprits were the (sadly) usual suspects: the overall defense and the special teams’ kick coverage.

The Lions covered kicks yesterday as if the return man was carrying around Swine Flu all over his jersey. It was an abysmal display, and constantly gave the Bears field position at or around midfield.

The defense was sieve-like, once again, and it’s truly a wonder that the Washington Redskins could manage but 14 points against the Lions last week.

Tackling was poor. Little to no pressure on the QB—again.

Bears RB Matt Forte came into the game with a yards-per-carry average of 2.5, yet traversed the entire length of the field, almost, in just two carries, on his way to 121 yards on 11 tries.

But that’s nothing new; the Lions make pedestrian runners look like Jim Brown all the time. They’re like the Tigers that way, who turn nondescript pitchers into Cy Young on a regular basis.

Some positives, though, were gleaned from Soldier Field.

Don’t look now, but the offense is piling up long touchdown drives with some consistency.

They did it against the Redskins and did it some more against the Bears. They’re converting third downs a lot better than any Lions team in recent memory. And they did it yesterday without any real contribution from the running game, which had been productive in Weeks Two and Three.

But it’s hard to win when the defense doesn’t pick up the offense one iota.

The tone was set in the second half when rookie Johnny Knox—it’s tempting to keep going with his name, thanks to the star of the “Jackass” franchise—took the half-opening kickoff 102 yards to paydirt. Maybe someday we’ll find out why they call it “paydirt,” by the way.

Anyhow, that was the harbinger of bad things to come for the Lions, which often does following intermission.

A quick word or two about the Lions’ running game.

Kevin Smith is a real nice guy and means well. He’s a competitor and all that.

He’s just not very good.

A runner of greater ability, awareness, and vision than Smith would have turned some of the negative and short yardage plays Sunday into something positive.

Yeah, I know—I’m still blinded by what Barry Sanders did routinely for ten years.

But a runner doesn’t have to be Barry to have made something of what Smith was given by his offensive line on Sunday in Chicago.

I know Smith wasn’t 100%. I get that.

But he just doesn’t seem to have that intangible—the ability to turn something from nothing, even just a little bit. Perhaps he’ll get better in that area, but I kind of think that you either have that or you don’t. It seems innate to me.

We’ll see.

So it was another half of a performance from the Lions. Another reminder that the NFL means being competitive for 60 minutes, and the Lions simply don’t have the horses to hang with most teams for that long.

That’s not an indictment of coach Jim Schwartz. He just needs more talent, is all.

Oh, and it would be nice to hear OLB Julian Peterson’s name called every now and again. That would be splendid.

Meanwhile, we await news on what is now suddenly the most famous knee in Michigan.

Twins Deserve Division More, But Almost Blew It

One more.

One more trek up to that damn Metrodome for the Tigers.

One more jab in the side by its pincers.

One more hellish night spent in the freakish loudness of that sorry excuse of a ballpark–big league, minor league, Pony League, or Little League. I wouldn’t even let my kid play tee ball there, if you want to know the truth.

One more notch the Minnesota Twins can add to their belt when it comes to playing the Tigers in their own stadium. Hell, they must be on their third belt by now, the Twins.

Or will it be?

The Tigers have a glorious chance before them.

They can, in one game—one fell swoop, if you will—wash away just about every horrific thing that has ever happened to them in the Metrodome, if they can manage to beat the Twins Tuesday night in the one-game playoff for the AL Central title.

Think of it.

Think of how forgiving you’d be to the Dome if you see the Tigers celebrating on its carpet, the Twins’ crowd collectively muzzled.

It’s enough to make even a crabby, approaching middle-aged guy like me shed a small tear, or two.

Yes, that would be very nice. And who knows? No one is giving the Tigers much of a chance—why should they—so here’s a chance to play underdog and shock the world.

But I submit to you that if the Tigers somehow manage to swipe this divisional flag out from under the noses of the Twins and their rollicking fans Tuesday, then the Tigers will have stolen something that is not rightfully theirs.

The Twins deserve this division. They’re the better team, and they, collectively, played like it in these past few, frantic weeks.

They lost slugger Justin Morneau and instead of sinking further into their funk—the Twins were below .500 when Morneau went down—the Twins turned it on, fueled by contributions from, well, everyone.

It was Morneau-by-committee, and it worked.

The Twins’ offense has been damn near unstoppable, which is mostly why they’ve gone 16-4 since losing Morneau, and thus erasing a six-game deficit.

And there’s this.

The Twins beat the tar out of the Kansas City Royals, Cleveland Indians, and the Chicago White Sox down the stretch. Three of the Twins’ four losses in the last 20 games have come against the Tigers. They are 12-1 against those other teams.

The Tigers, meanwhile, were swept in Kansas City and lost two of three to the Royals in Detroit. The White Sox went 4-2 against the Tigers down the stretch.

All that tomfoolery has put the Tigers in this position—having to go, one more time, to the Metrodome.

Well, good for them. They brought this on themselves. I don’t want to hear any crabbing from them about the Dome.

The Twins’ lineup, from top to bottom, is better. They play better fundamental baseball.

It would be a shame, yes, if the Tigers were to be in first place since May 10—nearly five months—and end the season in second.

But it’s their own doing and they don’t deserve it, anyway.

The fans, now that’s another story. The beleaguered people of Detroit and, by extension, the entire state of Michigan deserve playoff baseball more than the good folks in Minnesota. Sorry, Minnesotans, but that’s true, too. Hasn’t this area taken enough of a beating?

If the Tigers blow this, if they aren’t able to finish this heist—and that’s what it would be—then they ought to issue a public apology for doing such a heinous thing to their financially-decrepit fan base.

Shame on the Tigers, if they raise all those people’s hopes up for five months, teasing them, only to collapse in the season’s final days.

It would be almost too much for these people in this God-forsaken state to bear.

But if the Tigers do win it, they’d be, at the same time, thieves. Took the Twins’ division and away they ran, into the night.

The Twins rightfully own the Central Division. They’re the best team, clearly. So some shame on them, too, for fooling around for 142 games and waking up barely in time for a late, 20-game run.

How fitting it is, both ways, that this playoff is being played in the Dome.

Fitting if the Twins win, because it would be one last “GOTCHA!” for the Tigers under that plastic roof, housing all those trash bags.

And incredible irony if the Tigers win, closing the Dome for good with such a monumental win.

If the Tigers lose, and I’m supposing that they will, they’ll be sad and angry and frustrated, no doubt. They had this bank job on their fingertips and will have let it slip through their sticky fingers.

But they must also realize that if they had won the division, it would have been criminal. You can’t play 163 games without any offense from catcher, shortstop, left field, and DH and have it not be considered a heist if you win it.

If the Twins win then the correct and deserving team will be AL Central champs. If they lose, then they ought to be the team that’s sad, angry, and frustrated. Nothing worse than being the better team and losing.

Stafford Has QB Presence Like No Other Lion in Years

It was Super Bowl week, and Thomas Henderson wanted to try out some new material.

What better opportunity than Media Day—held on Tuesday before The Big Game—to show how brilliant you are, and how much the other guy isn’t?

Henderson, the bombastic Dallas Cowboys’ linebacker who encouraged the use of the nickname “Hollywood” for himself, wanted to tell reporters just what he thought of the opposing quarterback, Terry Bradshaw of the Pittsburgh Steelers.

This was before Super Bowl XIII in January 1979, with Bradshaw’s Steelers already having won two championships, after the 1974 and ’75 seasons.

Henderson made sure the eyes were on him and the pens were put to notepads and the tape recorders were whirring.

“Terry Bradshaw,” Henderson said, “couldn’t spell ‘cat’ if you spotted him the ‘c’ and the ‘a’.”

Laugh, chortle, guffaw!

In a game whose strategic tactics are often compared to that of chess and military theaters, Bradshaw, playing what should then be the most cerebral of all of football’s positions—quarterback, for goodness sakes—somehow garnered a reputation of being a little shy in the smarts department.

It’s a reputation that still follows him, to this day.

The country bumpkin from Louisiana proceeded to go out, in the wake of Hollywood Henderson’s biting comedy, and victimize the Cowboys with one big play after the other.

Bradshaw carved up Hollywood and his Cowboys for his third Super Bowl victory. He’d win another, the following season.

Country bumpkin Terry retired undefeated in The Big Game, 4-0.

Not bad for someone who was allegedly absent the day they handed out brains.

Bradshaw, today pulling down way more dough as a Fox Sports studio analyst than he ever did being a Hall of Fame quarterback, last week harkened back to his then-fledgling football-playing career.

The subject was our own Matthew Stafford, the Lions’ rookie quarterback, who had just earned his first NFL victory.

Jimmy Johnson, a Super Bowl-winning coach before being lured into the bosom of TV, reminded everyone that he had Troy Aikman as a rookie in 1989, and Troy went 1-15 in his debut season.

“Sometimes you gotta throw these kids to the wolves!,” Jimmy said with emphasis.

Then Bradshaw offered a truism.

“That’s what happened to me; I got thrown to the wolves,” Terry said.

Did he ever.

Bradshaw joined the Steelers in 1970 from Louisiana Tech as the NFL’s first overall pick, when the Steelers were coming off a 1-13 season.

It didn’t start off smoothly for him.

What else do you call it, when they hang the quarterback in effigy at his home stadium?

They did with Terry in Pittsburgh—his “likeness” purposely portrayed with a goofy, idiotic, cross-eyed look on his face.

The more Bradshaw struggled in his rookie season, the louder the whispers became.

Terry Bradshaw, those so wise in such things said, is too dumb to be a pro quarterback.

So they said—in so many words.

Sometimes in those exact words, actually.

Hollywood Henderson, before that XIIIth Super Bowl, tried to revive the “Bradshaw is dumb” thing, despite Terry being twice a champion at the time.

He can’t spell “cat” even if you spot him the “c” and the “a.”

But Bradshaw could spell “win” very nicely, thank you.

Stafford is, indeed, being thrown to the wolves in Detroit. When your new team went 0-16 the year before your arrival, you’re also being smeared with raw meat before being chucked.

It’s a monumental task, to lead the Lions from historic depths to the look and feel of a winning unit.

But the kid is going to be OK.

It’s hard to make my case, I understand that, because it’s rooted in gut feel and held together with intangibles, but I’m telling you that Stafford has “it.”

Matthew Stafford carries himself more like a pro quarterback, after just three regular season games, better than so many of the other bozos the Lions have thrust under center.

He also fits this town very well, despite coming from the University of Georgia.

Ty Cobb was a Georgia Peach, too, and look how he fit in, in Detroit. So it has been done before.

Stafford has embraced Detroit—its people, its financial hardships and its grit. He did so almost immediately after being drafted No. 1 overall by the Lions in April. He’s a good-looking kid but there’s no “pretty boy” about him. He has already spoken of getting involved with the community, helping in any way that he can.

So many things went wrong with the last highly-drafted quarterback the Lions had, but if Joey Harrington had one flaw that stood out above the rest, it was this.

Joey wasn’t a Detroiter. He was wine and cheese, being drafted into a shot-and-beer town. He was an “aw, shucks” guy coming into a “you got a problem with that?” city.

Joey was “pretty boy,” absolutely.

He arrived in town playing the piano—literally—and no one in Detroit even owns a piano, much less plays one.

We play electric guitar here; this is Detroit Rock City, after all!

But we were willing to overlook Joey and from where he came, because he was new and exciting and maybe he could play quarterback a little bit—and in that case, who cares what his pedigree is?

Big oaf Tony Siragusa, several years back, made some snide remarks about Harrington, in Tony’s role as another of those Fox Sports blabbermouths.

Joey was soft; he was all about champagne and strawberries, or something like that, Siragusa said, when you need your QB to be piss and vinegar. Tony then questioned Harrington’s manhood, in an indirect way, not too subtly.

We were aghast in Detroit. Or, at least we pretended to be.

I bet you that a lot of the people who purported to be offended, on Joey Harrington’s behalf, by Siragusa’s comments, secretly made an admission at the same time.

Tony Siragusa, in our heart of hearts, was right. Only, we didn’t want to believe it.

In retrospect, Siragusa was spot on about Joey.

Stafford shows fearlessness on the football field. There’s some mad bomber in him. He’s always eager to show off his rocket arm. He’s not afraid to fail.

There’s no panic. No happy feet in the pocket; Harrington danced the cha-cha back there as a Lion.

Stafford always believed, from Day One, that he was going to start for the Lions—and right now. Not next year; not in Week Six. Now.

He carries himself like a pro quarterback. He has a good head on his shoulders. He’s already ingratiating himself with his teammates—offense and defense included—fabulously. They believe in him, to a man.

I’ll even go out on a limb and say that Stafford can spell “win”, without being spotted the “w” and the “i.”

Just a hunch.

Twins Better Than Tigers, But Got Going Too Late

Ronald Reagan was in the midst of his second term as president. The Pistons were still having ghoulish nightmares about Isiah Thomas’s pass to Larry Bird in the Eastern Conference Finals.

Steve Yzerman has just completed his first season as a boy captain. Darryl Rogers hadn’t started wondering about what it took to get fired around here.

That was the political and sports landscape, nationally and around Detroit, when the Blue Jays’ Garth Iorg tapped one back to Frank Tanana, who underhanded the ball to first baseman Darrell Evans, clinching the Tigers’ last divisional title.

It was October 4, 1987—22 years ago this Sunday.

The Gregorian calendar is the exact same in 2009 as it was in ‘87, the last time the Tigers were division champs. So maybe that’s a good omen.

It would have been nice to write this today in the past tense, talking about how the Tigers clinched the division yesterday, at home, against the Minnesota Twins, their only pursuer.

But it still feels inevitable, here on Friday, so time to reflect.

Time to soak in what a 22-year drought means in baseball terms.

Yeah, yeah—the Tigers went to the World Series in 2006, thanks to Bud Selig’s Wild Card. The Tigers were that year’s “Kings of Second Place”, and thus squeezed into the post-season, despite gagging the Central Division away to the Twins—culminating in the Tigers’ inability to beat the woeful Kansas City Royals even one time, at home, during the season’s final weekend.

The World Series appearance was nice. No question. And had the Tigers not had to wait a full week to start the darn thing, they might have fared better in it. Oh well.

But the Tigers don’t have Selig’s Wild Card to fall back on this time. If they want to play some truly meaningful October baseball, they’re going to have to be first place participants, not Kings of “Second Place.”

Twenty-two years without a division. That’s seven years longer than the wait between Billy Martin’s Hitless Wonders of 1972 and Sparky Anderson’s Comeback Kids of ‘87.

The 1968 crew’s pennant—the last time the league could be won sans playing an LCS series—came 23 years after the 1945 World Series winner’s.

Don’t tell me that it doesn’t matter if you lose the division, as long as you make the playoffs. Remember the utter disappointment when the Tigers couldn’t close the deal in ‘06, despite the Wild Card already having been clinched?

OK, so what will it be like around here if the Tigers cough this one up, too?

No ALDS against the Yankees. “The Kings of Second Place” this year are the Boston Red Sox. So it’ll be Boston who’ll be in the playoffs as second place crashers.

The Tigers had a seven-game lead on Labor Day. That’s usually a good thing.

The Twins lost Justin Morneau around the same time. That’s usually a bad thing.

Yet a division that should have been salted away a week or so ago is still hanging in the balance.

The reason is pretty clear, or at least should be.

The Minnesota Twins play a better brand of baseball than the Tigers. The truth hurts, I know.

It should be the Twins, by rights, who represent the AL Central in the playoffs, except that they underachieved most of the year—and they were missing MVP candidate Joe Mauer for the first month of the season.

The Twins team that you’re seeing in September is more representative of what they truly are.

The Twins do many things better than the Tigers. They move runners along the basepaths better. They walk fewer hitters. They drive in runs from third base with less than two outs far better than the Tigers do.

They have a better lineup, hitting-wise.

They have Ron Gardenhire as manager, who nullifies Jim Leyland, and then some.

They had the Metrodome for 81 games.

Yet they—the Twins—are still likely to fall short, despite their late run, because they muddled along at or just below .500 most of the season. That’s their fault, of course.

That the Tigers couldn’t put the Twins away is an indictment against the Bengals.

If the Tigers win the division, Leyland should be considered highly for Manager of the Year. For he will have piloted a team to first place—no matter what you think of the division, which is lousy—without the benefit of an offense.

Martin did the same thing, too, in 1972. His team’s batting average was, get this, .237. The Tigers scored 558 runs in 156 games (the season was shortened by a strike)—an average of just 3.6 runs per game.

Sparky’s ‘87 team was the opposite—it could mash the ball but didn’t pitch so well a lot of the time.

Different teams, different eras. That happens.

Leyland’s Hitless Wonders might win this thing after all, which is truly amazing.

A team with Clete Thomas hitting third. A team that got virtually nothing offensively from catcher, shortstop, left field, right field, and DH.

A team with an underachieving Curtis Granderson. A one-legged Brandon Inge. An invisible late-season acquisition in Aubrey Huff. A team without a typical Magglio Ordonez until September. Or Placido Polanco, for that matter.

The Tigers’ offense has been Miguel Cabrera and a bunch of no-names such as Ryan Raburn and Alex Avila. For 159 games.

Yet they’re in first place.

The best team with the best manager won’t win the Central Division. But that’s baseball.

And that’s why Jim Leyland should be Manager of the Year.

//

Time For Hamilton To Lead Pistons, Like It Or Not

Rip Hamilton appears to be done grieving, and that’s a step in the right direction, anyway.

Hamilton chatted up the team during Media Day on Monday, and he spoke with a twinkle in his eyes and often times barely able to suppress a grin.

“We have to teach the newer guys, the younger guys, how to win,” Hamilton said as the press people cornered him in his creamy white Pistons home uniform.

I know who “we” is, in Rip’s mind, but he’d be best off placing himself at the top of the list of “we.”

The Pistons are Hamilton’s team, for better or for worse. And he’d better start acting like it.

Monday was a good start, albeit in a venue and situation where everyone tends to say all the right things.

But it’s still progress for Rip, because last season he didn’t come close to saying any of the right things. At all.

Hamilton went into mourning and soaked himself in grief after the Pistons traded longtime teammate and friend Chauncey Billups to Denver for one Allen Iverson. Then Rip got hurt. Then he didn’t want to be the sixth man. Then he openly and brazenly challenged rookie head coach Mike Curry.

Rip Hamilton fussed and kicked and screamed and it was hardly what a new coach like Curry needed—heaped on top of the Iverson debacle and the degradation in skills and attitude of Rasheed Wallace.

But Hamilton didn’t care, clearly. It was all about him and how things affected…him.

I’m willing to give Rip a pass and call last season a fluke—something we’d all like to forget in Pistons Land—if he’s willing to step up and be a leader.

The Pistons could use one, you know.

In the Billups days, the Pistons liked to portray themselves as a team bereft of superstars but who get the job done because of their work ethic and commitment to team. The sum was always greater than their parts.

They won a championship doing that, and came close to another one.

Not having a superstar was fine, because Billups was more of a leader than we knew, until it was too late.

The Pistons still don’t have a megastar, but now they don’t even have anyone in the captain’s chair.

Hamilton better get used to that seat and the controls before him in the cockpit.

This is Rip’s team, make no mistake. Whether he chooses to act like it, we’ll see.

I don’t want to hear this talk about “we’re all in this together” and “we don’t need a leader because we can all lead.” And I especially don’t want to hear it from Hamilton, who should know better. That’s a bunch of doo-doo.

So newcomer Ben Gordon plays the same position? Tough. Deal with it.

The Pistons need a solitary leader, and there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that.

Who better than Hamilton, despite his gagging on the opportunity last season?

Hamilton (left) and newcomer Ben Gordon pose at Media Day

You’re not going to get it from Tayshaun Prince, the Marcel Marceau of the Pistons. Gordon and Charlie Villanueva, the new free agents, are, well, new. Rodney Stuckey is still too wet behind the ears. Ben Wallace, back from sabbatical, has never wanted any part of leadership.

Who else?

Kwame Brown? Chris Wilcox?

It’s Rip, by default.

But on Monday, at least, Hamilton seemed ready to take a step toward becoming the captain.

“Offensively, we can hold our own with anybody,” Hamilton said, again trying to suppress the grin of a cat about to swallow a canary. “But we have to make a statement on defense, by stopping people. We have to get back to that.”

So true, so obvious.

It’s a start—because Hamilton didn’t do or say the obvious things last year.

Maybe Rip finally has the Billups trade out of his system. For him, it’s the “Billups trade.” For the rest of us, it will be known as the “Iverson trade,” because AI’s last name is now synonymous in this town with “debacle.”

Rip seems to be done pouting and grieving.

“I was told by one of my first coaches in the league that the more positions you know how to play, the better chance you have of staying on the floor,” Hamilton said on Monday, smiling. “I look at it as a challenge, if I have to play the (small forward) position,” he added, referring to the logjam at shooting guard, thanks to the addition of the flash scoring Gordon.

Those are some nice words, almost cleansing, after last season.

It’s a start.

Last Night on “The Knee Jerks”: Pistons Talk Put On Hold, But Some Good Rants

Our NBA talk got put on hold for a couple weeks last night on “The Knee Jerks”, my weekly sports gabfest with Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience.

Our guest, A. Sherrod Blakely—Pistons beat writer for MLive.com—got caught up in some work-related stuff and couldn’t be with us, after all. But he WILL be joining us on October 12, so we’re pleased about that!

So given all that extra time to kill, Al and I started flapping our gums, as is our wont! And, as usual, a couple of good rants resulted.

We kicked things off by talking Tigers and their chances to wrap this division up (finally) this week.

Al, as usual, is a Nervous Nellie and I had to “talk him down,” as he put it. Because, after all, I AM the “Voice of Reason”!!

I reminded Al that the Tigers just need to win two of four against the Twins and that they certainly can do that.

Next, we moved on to U-M and their win over Indiana. The health of QB Tate Forcier is an issue, and again I “reasoned” Al down from the ledge, assuring him that the Wolverines CAN win without Forcier.

A good rant developed in this segment as we veered off into the college basketball programs in this area, especially the sad state of affairs at University of Detroit-Mercy.

We wrapped things up with the Lions and their historic win on Sunday over Washington. Another good rant formed here when the subject turned to Joey Harrington and how he never really fit in with this town’s fans.

Don’t forget to follow us on Twitter, for updates on scheduled guests, time changes, etc.

Next week’s guest: Marvin Hagler, Jr., who is launching a boxing career on October 10. Marvin will then fight Sugar Ray Leonard Jr. (I’m not making this up) in February.

Upcoming guests:

Oct. 5 Marvin Hagler Jr.
Oct. 12 A. Sherrod Blakely
Oct. 19 Bob Page
Oct. 26 TBA
Nov. 2 Jose Canseco (yes, THE Jose Canseco!!)

Some highlights from last night:

Big Al

On U-M football: “(QB) Denard Robinson…if he’s in there, the other team knows it’s going to be a running play. But the defense can’t stop a high school team right now.”

On the Tigers: “I’m concerned about the Twins! Are they in the Tigers’ heads? Carl Pavano’s been unhittable against the Tigers this year.”

On the UDM basketball program: “Perry Watson was a good coach and had a lot of ties to the PSL, but as far as selling the program and getting people excited about it, there wasn’t much there.”

On the Lions: “You have to say the 2009 draft was a home run. Look at all the guys who are starting. And they’re getting some contributions from the players in the lower rounds, too. But they’re still not a very good team yet.”

Eno

On the Tigers: “I think they can get the two wins they need against the Twins. As far as Pavano, no one can explain it. Pavano probably couldn’t, and the Tigers probably couldn’t. It’s just one of those things. That’s why baseball is such a great game.”

On U-M football: “If Michigan can’t win without Tate Forcier, then they have issues. The kid’s been good, but let’s not get carried away. I’m more concerned about their defense than the QB situation. Michigan is supposed to be deep at QB. So let’s see it.”

On UDM basketball: “One of the biggest recruiting obstacles is Calihan Hall. It’s old, decrepit, and is just a glorified high school gym. Plus the campus is old and not very attractive. And it’s in a bad part of town. You don’t even want to park your car there. They won’t even play Oakland University, because OU’s program is way better.”

On Matthew Stafford: “There’s something about this kid that tells me that everything’s going to be OK. He has that presence about him. We wanted to believe that about Joey Harrington, but he was from Oregon and he was a pretty boy who played the piano. It wasn’t a good fit.”

You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE.

Streaking Lions Win First Straight Game

Every dog really does have his day.

Every blind squirrel really does find a nut.

The longshot came in. The House lost.

It was “any given Sunday,” finally. The dice came up snake eyes.

Someone had to be the victims of the Lions’ losing streak ending, and it happened to be the team with some of the most ravenous, venomous fans in the NFL.

The Washington Redskins are today’s NFL patsies. They will now officially spend the longest week of their football lives.

The Redskins have lost to the Detroit Lions. No team in the league has been able to lay claim to such a distinction since December 23, 2007.

Oh, what a week they’ll have in Washington, with all their radio shows and TV shows and chat rooms.

These aren’t the Houston Texans the Lions beat. Not the Jacksonville Jaguars. Not some team that plays in a city where you can hear a pin drop.

These are the Redskins, and their followers were scared to death of this matchup with the Lions.

Worst fears, realized.

Like my friend Big Al wrote over at The Wayne Fontes Experience, let another team’s fan base pull its hair out this week. Let another city’s radio airwaves be filled with hate and frustration.

The Lions walked off the field winners Sunday, a homely 19-14 win over Washington, but it was the Lions’ homely win and they’ll take it.

Linebacker Larry Foote, the Detroit native and U-M grad, was caught by the candid cameras in the locker room after the game, pouring champagne over head coach Jim Schwartz’s head. Not sure where Larry got the bubbly from, but someone obviously was holding it for just such an occasion.

The Lions won a football game. The Tampa Bay Buccaneers will have to hold their 26-game losing streak longer in purgatory. But here come the St. Louis Rams, who are halfway there with 13 straight losses.

Let the Rams’ fans wring their hands now.

It’s off now, that King Kong the Lions were lugging on their backs for 19 games. But ole King wasn’t easy to pry off.

You just knew it couldn’t end with QB Matthew Stafford taking a knee as the time ticked away. You knew the Lions wouldn’t be able to be streak busters that easily.

No, it had to come down to a heart-stopping final drive by the Redskins, who managed to get to the Lions’ 35 in the waning seconds.

But this wasn’t Brett Favre, it was Jason Campbell. And this wasn’t 31 of the 32 coaches in the NFL, it was Jim Zorn.

Zorn ought to know better. He was a gunslinging QB when he played for the Seattle Seahawks, bombing away to Steve Largent et al.

But he stared down the barrel of a franchise-shaking loss and shook like a leaf.

Instead of chucking the ball into the end zone—for who knows what can happen when you do that, especially when the other team wears Honolulu Blue and Silver—Zorn had Campbell try one of those goofy hook-and-lateral plays after a measly 12-yard toss. The ‘Skins didn’t even sniff the 20 yard line, much less the end zone.

Ever since Cal beat Stanford in 1982, football teams have been trying to recapture that miracle. Hardly any have been successful.

Zorn would have been better off with a Hail Mary, but that’s the other guys’ deal to worry about today.

Zorn also made a questionable move to accept a penalty against the Lions, turning a 4th-and-four and a long FGA into a 3rd-and-14, which the Lions converted, enabling them to score a TD later in the drive.

They say you should never take points off the scoreboard, if you’re on offense. And you should probably not take fourth downs off the board, either, if you’re on defense. But Zorn did—more fuel for the fire that will engulf Washington and Redskin Nation this week.

They’ll be talking about this one for years in D.C. The Lions—a team the Redskins have dominated (never having lost to them at home in over 75 years)—mustered their first win in 20 games against Dan Snyder’s bunch.

The fun thing is, you don’t have to be relegated to wishing you were the proverbial fly on the wall in order to see what they’re saying in Washington. Thanks to Internet chat rooms, you can get a very nice picture indeed.

The Redskins fans want Zorn fired. Immediately. Some wanted him canned somewhere between Ford Field and Metro Airport. No joke.

The Lions are on the outside looking in again, but this time the view is just fine. This time the Lions can peer through the glass and watch debauchery and barroom brawls take place. The subject is still them, but in an entirely different way.

The Lions can watch as Redskins fans hurl empty beer mugs at Snyder and Zorn and Campbell and the like. They can press their noses against the glass and see a football team’s entire fan base bust up the joint, beside themselves.

All over the little Lions.

The 1-2 Lions—same record as the Redskins.

Stafford was pretty good—21-for-36, 241 yards, a TD and NO interceptions. He played smart. He “left some plays on the field”—his words—but he made a veteran move by slinging the ball downfield when he saw Bryant Johnson in single coverage at the goal line in the fourth quarter, drawing a pass interference penalty.

There’s the smattering of a connection developing now between the kid QB and the star receiver, Calvin Johnson. Stafford was also allowed to pass the ball on first down, when offensive coordinator Scott Linehan sensed a momentum shift.

The Lions will still likely only win two or three games this season. The Redskins are hardly a barometer against which to judge your team’s development. But a win is a win as they say, and though it was no Mona Lisa, it’s the Lions’ and they’ll take it.

The million-to-one shot came in. The tortoise won a race. William Hung came away with “Best Singer.” The Italian Army won a war.

The Lions are 1-0 in their last one game.

But keep the champagne chilled. No more bubbly in September. Never again, right?

Monday Morning Manager

My weekly take on the Tigers, also known simply and affectionately as “MMM.”

Week of 9/21-27: 4-2

This week: 9/28-10/1: MIN; 10/2-4: CWS

Goat of the Week

Curtis Granderson.

MMM has been riding Grandy all year long, and with good reason. This is easily his worst season, statistically, of his four full big league campaigns. Ironically, it was also the first season in which he became an All-Star.

It was hoped that MMM’s venomous words would light a fire under him, as it has with so many other players who’ve been filleted in this space.

But Granderson, heading into the season’s final week, is still muddling along around .250 with a distinct inability to hit left-handers—whether they’re of Cy Young quality or just up from AAA.

There are flashes—like what he did to the White Sox on Saturday—but nothing that’s sustained for any length of time. In that way, Grandy is like a microcosm of the Tigers’ offense as a whole.

Speaking of time, it’s running out. The Tigers need a big week from Granderson, if they want to clinch the division without it going down to the last day.

Dishonorable mention: The offense in general—again—which wasted Eddie Bonine’s no-hit bid on Friday night in Chicago.

Hero of the Week

OK, so Miguel Cabrera listened to MMM and its alter ego, Greg Eno, who waxed Miggy in a column last week about not carrying the team, like great players do.

Cabrera lit up the Indians and, to an extent, the White Sox last week, edging over 100 RBI for the sixth straight season—or, for his entire career, so far.

Cabrera took the scolding personally, apparently. That’s OK; we’re glad to help!

Honorable mention: Righthander Rick Porcello, who’s quieting any talk about hitting a rookie wall and/or wearing down, with a strong September.

Quick scouting reports: Twins and White Sox

This week marks the biggest regular season series in the ten-year history of Comerica Park.

The Twins are in town, for four huge games—games that will either keep the Twins in the AL Central race, or catapult the Tigers to their first divisional title in 22 years.

That’s all.

It’ll be fun at the “new corner”—Montcalm and Woodward—as every inning, every at-bat, every pitch will weigh significantly. This is what it’s all about.

The Twins, sans Justin Morneau, are on an 11-2 run, pulling from six games back to two.

Others are contributing, big time. Mike Cuddyer is the biggest bat right now. He has six homers and 18 RBI in his last 13 games, filling in for Morneau at 1B. Denard Span has been swinging a hot bat, too.

And there’s always Joe Mauer to worry about, too.

Beware Carl Pavano, too—who’s been able to vex the Tigers as both an Indian and as a Twin. He pitches on Wednesday.

The White Sox, who’ve had a miserable September, nonetheless took two of three from the Tigers in Chicago over the weekend, but the Chisox always play the Tigers tough—home or away.

The Tigers would be best served to have the division mostly sewn up by the time the White Sox arrive in Detroit. You know manager Ozzie Guillen will pull out all the stops to try to deny the Tigers an on-field celebration in front of his team.

Under the microscope

Granderson, as mentioned above, must come up big this week—especially in spacious CoPa, site of so many of his past doubles and triples. If he does, and Placido Polanco keeps up his strong September, then the Tigers’ offense will take on a whole new dynamic down the stretch.

If Curtis “does his thing,” it will go a long way toward clinching the division.

There’s just something about the Tigers’ offense, a certain je ne sais quoi, when the Nos. 1 and 2 guys are getting on base and wreaking havoc. That has been missing for alarmingly long stretches of time this season. If it returns this week, get ready to celebrate.

Bottom line: MMM wanted to see the Tigers enter these four games with Minnesota with no less than a two-game lead, and that’s exactly what they have.

Why is that so important?

The Twins now almost have to win three of the four games in Detroit to have a fighting chance. A split is great for the Tigers; it would keep their lead at two with three games to play. The magic number would be down to two.

If the Tigers, who’ve played so very well at home all year, can just hold serve and nullify the Twins with a 2-2 record in “the series,” then they’re almost assured of winning the division.

Of course, it would be even better to get greedy and win three, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Tigers’ magic number to clinch the division: 6

That’s all for this week’s MMM. Join me every Monday!

P.S. Also join me and Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience every Monday night as we co-host “The Knee Jerks” on Blog Talk Radio. The Tigers are a weekly topic. We go live at 11 p.m. ET, and every episode can be downloaded for your listening convenience!

Red Wings’ Run of Excellence Taken for Granted in Detroit

I was in New York, one of my favorite towns, and I started walking. It was a June day, some 18 years ago, and if you haven’t been to New York in June, then your life officially has a missing ingredient.

I set out around Times Square and headed north, up Sixth Avenue, from around 42nd Street. Maybe a half hour or so had passed when I decided to stop and look behind me, to see how much concrete I had covered.

The blocks and blocks of midtown Manhattan that I had engulfed boggled my mind.

Wow, I thought—did I really do all that?

It’s time now that certain people stop in their tracks and take a look back—at the Detroit Red Wings and what they’ve accomplished since 1991.

There are still old-timers among us—I’m not quite in that fraternity—who remember the 1950s, and how the Red Wings, along with the hated Montreal Canadiens, dominated the six-team NHL.

Back and forth the Red Wings and Canadiens went, seemingly handing the Stanley Cup off to each other every spring. It was like the Lions and Cleveland Browns in the same decade, only more so.

The Red Wings—they of Howe and Lindsay and Wilson and Kelly and Sawchuk, meeting the Canadiens of Richard and Moore and Geoffrion and Beliveau and Worsley—every late April for a showdown for the Cup.

The old-timers will tell you that this was the heyday of Detroit hockey. The Red Wings did win four Stanley Cups in six seasons, from 1949-50 thru 1954-55. And when they weren’t winning them, they were coming damn close.

But those Red Wings teams, as mighty as they were, filled with as many legends of the game as they were, did not do what today’s late-20th, early-21st century Red Wings are doing—with no signs of letting up.

In a town besmirched by its football team, abandoned for 13 seasons by its baseball team until 2006, and teased relentlessly by its NBA entry almost yearly, the Red Wings’ annual contention for hockey’s Holy Grail is accepted almost casually, with a feeling of entitlement oozing from its faithful.

I have never been a fan of the designation of “Hockeytown,” which the team encouraged its fans to use in describing Detroit, sometime around the mid-1990s. Those of you unfortunate enough to consider yourselves regular readers will attest that I’ve derided that self-aggrandizing moniker with stubborn consistency.

“Hockeytown.” HA!

The Canadiens have won over twice as many Stanley Cups as the Red Wings have managed—with both franchises’ timelines running almost concurrently.

So what does that make Montreal? “Chopped Livertown”?

The Red Wings play in Detroit, er, Hockeytown, and it’s a yearly ritual to set out in June and take in a hockey game at Joe Louis Arena. A game with Stanley Cup implications, of course.

The hockey denizens in town are aghast when their team doesn’t win the chalice.

I was on the ice at JLA, in the aftermath of last June’s Game 7 triumph by the Pittsburgh Penguins, and Hockeytown was being vandalized by a group of happy Penguins and their families and staff.

Champagne was being sprayed into the expensive seats by Penguins players—who were soaking their own fans who made the trek from Pittsburgh, and who were hanging over the glass, trying to get blasted.

Player wives and children hugged husbands and daddies. Business-suited men and professionally-dressed women—presumably part of the behind-the-scenes functionaries—gleefully meandered on the same ice surface that, less than an hour prior, was being urgently skated on by dead tired Red Wings players trying to muster one more goal.

There were tears. There were hugs. There was hooting and hollering.

By the Pittsburgh Penguins!!

They had the temerity to win the Stanley Cup in Hockeytown. The horror!

The Red Wings of today have won four Cups in the past 11 seasons. In these modern days, that would qualify as a dynasty of sorts.

But there’s this.

Since the 1991-92 campaign—that’s 17 seasons in a row—the Red Wings have begun the post-season as legitimate Cup contenders. Not maybe contenders. Not “if everything goes perfectly” contenders.

Real, honest-to-goodness, they’re-likely-to-win-the-whole-darn-thing contenders.

For 17 straight springs.

The old-timers can’t boast of that kind of run from their 1950s Red Wings.

Nor can any team, in any sport.

Has there been the same legitimate World Series contender since 1991?

Not even the vaunted New York Yankees can say they were World Series ready in the early-1990s. And certainly no other team can lay claim to constant championship contention for 17 straight years.

The NBA has had its flavor-of-the-day dynasties—the Bulls of the 1990s, the Lakers of the early 2000s. And blips on the screen in between. But no NBA club has been consistently in the hunt since 1991-92.

The NFL, the League of Parity, purposely has constructed itself to prevent dynasties. And none of its teams can come close to describing itself as a Super Bowl contender—legitimately—on an annual basis since 1991.

But the Detroit Red Wings have gone into the playoffs every April, starting in 1992, with genuine hopes of raising the Stanley Cup two months later.

Every single year since 1992.

There have been first round knockouts, for sure. Conference finals meltdowns, yeah. Bizarre second round losses, absolutely.

And a couple of disappointments in the Cup Finals themselves.

But there have been those four Cups and deep playoff runs in most years.

Yet you won’t hear or read much about that in Detroit.

Instead, it’s always about why the Red Wings can’t, or won’t contend. Why the goal-tending will surely fail. Or some such worry.

A few years back, after the lockout, the league operating under a genuine salary cap for the first time, the haters were out in full force.

Let’s see how fast the Red Wings fall when their bottomless money pit is no longer to their avail, the haters said—many hailing from Hockeytown, USA.

This fall, the trendy thing to do is to pick the young, hungry Chicago Blackhawks to become the new rulers of the West. The worry du jour is all the free agents the Red Wings lost this summer.

It says here that the hockey fans in Detroit don’t know how good they’ve had it, in the time it takes a child to be born, grow up, and graduate high school.

They’ve been walking with the Red Wings for 17 blocks now, and it never occurs to them to stop and look back at all that’s been accomplished.

It’s a fan base that’s been spoiled rotten, and I wonder anymore how many of them know that we had another name for the NHL franchise in Detroit long before Hockeytown became all the rage.

The Dead Things.

Folks around here ought to remember from where their team came, and immerse themselves in the historical significance of what the Red Wings are doing at this very moment.

Because it ain’t been done, anywhere, since the great Yankees teams of the 1940s, ‘50s, and early-‘60s.

Yet they never called New York, the greatest of all our cities, “Baseballtown.”

They didn’t have to.

‘84 Tigers Turned Pennant Race Mine Field Into A Walk In The Park

A lot of them will be there, standing on the Comerica Park field, not the place of their glory but still right smack dab in the city of their faithful.

Darrell Evans says he’ll be there. Alan Trammell, too—excused from his duties as Chicago Cubs bench coach. Kirk Gibson, as well—appearing with the consent of his employers, the Arizona Diamondbacks. The old white-haired manager himself, Sparky Anderson, has submitted his RSVP.

They’ll all be there, and more, when the Tigers honor the 1984 World Series champs on Monday, prior to an all-important tilt with the Minnesota Twins. It’s the Silver Anniversary of their mugging of the baseball world. If you’re approaching middle age, like me, then you’re ready to protest—wanting your 25 years back.

It’s interesting that today’s Tigers will go out after the pomp and circumstance on Monday and take on the Twins in a game with pennant implications, for a couple of reasons.

One, the Tigers’ magical 1984 season began with the Twins—the Tigers sweeping them in Minnesota, long before the Metrodome began vexing them.

Second, the ‘84 Tigers didn’t really have to play any heart-stopping, nailbiting games in September—at any time of the month, let alone in the season’s final week.

If it wasn’t for the Toronto Blue Jays’ gallant effort, the Tigers would have had the AL East sewn up by Memorial Day. And that barely qualifies as an exaggeration.

You know the story of the ‘84 ride. A 9-0 start, which became 16-1, which turned into 26-4, which had even the oldtimer baseball people scurrying to the record books.

But the Tigers weren’t done sprinting from the gate.

After another ten games, the Tigers’ record was 35-5—a won/loss mark that is as famous in these parts as other storied baseball numbers like 61 and 715 and 56 and 511.

Thirty-five and five. It rolls off the tongue now, even to those too young to recall when the Tigers made a mockery of their competition.

But the Blue Jays were playing at well above a .600 clip, and in doing so were able to at least keep the Tigers on their radar.

Still, the Tigers’ divisional lead was generally swaying back and forth between eight and twelve games most of the summer. Occasionally the Jays would get within seven, and there was cause for panic.

The 2009 Tigers mustered a seven game lead a few weeks ago and certain keyboard mashers like yours truly declared the race over with.

It’s all relative, huh?

I’m glad the Tigers are honoring the 1984 heroes, who authored a season that we may never see again. A wire-to-wire lead, that unworldly 35-5 start. A no-hitter by Jack Morris. An 11-pitch at-bat by Dave Bergman on Monday Night Baseball, before a walk-off home run—against the Blue Jays.

And on and on.

I remember the Tigers, too soon, acknowledging the 1968 champs after just 10 years, in ‘78. Mickey Stanley was still an active player, to show you. It was nice and all, but ten years is gone in a flash.

Twenty-five years motor by, too, but it is a Silver Anniversary, so it’s time.

The 1984 Tigers thrilled, they amazed, they made folks proud to be Detroiters.

The 2009 Tigers have caused most people to run for the Pepto-Bismol.

Both will be, when the dust settles, divisional champs. After that, who knows?

So take some time out on Monday—whether at the ballpark or watching from home—to give a nod to some ballplayers who made an entire baseball season a breeze.

Bless You, Boys!

Whether Forced Or Not, Jimmy D Got Rooked In Federko Trade

Jimmy Devellano, recently announced as a winner of the Lester Patrick Trophy for dedication toward hockey, was the first man hired by Mike Ilitch when the latter purchased the sad sack Detroit Red Wings in 1982. One of the reasons was Jimmy D’s uncanny ability to sniff out NHL talent from the woodwork of small North American towns, and from other NHL teams.

It wasn’t a smooth ride at the beginning. Three years after his hire, Devellano presided over a brutal 17-57-6 season, his attempts at a quick fix via free agency—college and pro—having failed miserably.

But three years after that, the Red Wings were on the right path, seemingly.

Two consecutive visits to the Conference Finals, plus another Norris Division title in 1988-89, gave cause to believe that Devellano was finally the genius executive the Red Wings had been looking for, for decades.

Until he made The Trade.

There are urban legends—whispered myths—that Devellano engineered one of the most lopsided trades in team history because of something not hockey related, spurious in nature. I can neither confirm nor deny that.

But what can be confirmed is that, 20 years ago this summer, Devellano got absolutely fleeced by the intra-division St. Louis Blues.

A reminder of Jimmy D’s temporary loss of sanity and genius stands behind the Red Wings bench today, and has for four seasons now.

Current assistant coach Paul MacLean, one of Mike Babcock’s lieutenants, was shipped away in 1989 to St. Louis, along with burgeoning center Adam Oates, for aging center Bernie Federko and plugging forward Tony McKegney.

Ugh.

Coach Jacques Demers had Federko in St. Louis while Jacques coached the Blues and he loved him. Loved him so much, apparently, that he was able to convince Devellano to do whatever it took to bring him to Detroit to provide more veteran leadership.

The Blues said, “OK, you want Federko that bad? Then we want MacLean—and Oates.”

And Jimmy Devellano, usually so wise when it comes to personnel, agreed to such a travesty of a trade.

Federko (left) and Oates, who would eventually be traded for each other

MacLean, acquired from Winnipeg just one year prior, did what he was supposed to do, scoring 36 goals for the Red Wings in ‘88-’89. And Oates was on the verge of greatness. He was 27 and had just recorded a whopping 62 assists.

But off they both went, to St. Louis, for 33-year-old Federko and McKegney, who was 31. McKegney scored 40 goals in 1987-88, but slipped to 25 one year later.

At the time, the trade was looked at with suspicion, but Jimmy D was on a mini-run and everyone liked Demers, so maybe he could work more magic with Federko and the question mark McKegney.

Not even close.

Federko played one clumsy season in Detroit before retiring, scoring 17 goals, and McKegney was gone after just 14 games as a Red Wing, shipped to Quebec for defenseman Robert Picard.

MacLean and Oates did wonders for the divisional rival Blues—MacLean scoring 33 goals, and Oates registering 79 assists as he combined with Brett Hull lethally.

The Red Wings failed to make the playoffs in 1989-90, the last year they did so.

OK, about the urban legend regarding this trade.

The young bachelor Oates was rumored to have done something untoward that didn’t please Mike Ilitch in the least. Ilitch, the legend goes, demanded that Devellano trade Oates. So Jimmy D was acting with a distinct lack of leverage, and it showed—if this is true.

Don’t know for sure, but that’s your urban legend.

Regardless, let it be known that 20 summers ago, the Red Wings made maybe their worst trade under the Ilitch ownership, long before the folks around town took to calling their city “Hockeytown, USA.”

Adam Oates and Paul MacLean for Bernie Federko and Tony McKegney, straight up.

Not too many have rooked the Red Wings since that travesty.

Last Night on “The Knee Jerks”: Can the Shaky Tigers Hold On?

The Tigers’ wobbly state as a first place team took center stage last night on “The Knee Jerks”, my weekly sports gabfest with Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience.

Our guest was Johnny Lawrence, one of the featured Detroit Tigers columnists for The Bleacher Report.

Johnny gave us his take on the Tigers’ chances to finally put the division to bed, and their outlook for the playoffs. While Johnny doesn’t see the Tigers advancing past ALDS, we all acknowledged that “anything can happen.”

The chat room was chock full of folks, which we appreciate. Of course, many were fans of Johnny’s, so we’ll see what happens next week!

After Johnny’s segment, Al and I got busy in a football kind of way.

We started by eulogizing ex-Lions coach Monte Clark, who passed away last week. It was mutually agreed that Monte got shafted by the Lions, being fired just one season removed from a divisional title.

Then we lamented the deaths of so many in the Lions family, past and present, in 2009. I called it “weird and sad.”

Speaking of weird and sad, Al said, let’s talk about the Lions on Sunday against the Vikings!

So we did.

To top things off, Al ranted about NFL officiating, particularly the mysterious chop block call on Gosder Cherilus.

Don’t forget to follow us on Twitter, for updates on scheduled guests, time changes, etc.

Some highlights from last night:

Big Al

On the second half meltdown: “It’s talent. The Lions just don’t have enough of it. You can talk schemes and strategy all you want, but it boils down to talent.”

On Jeff Backus: “His ‘miscommunication’ damn near got Matthew Stafford killed!”

On Brett Favre: “He’s nothing more than a ‘game manager’ now. And isn’t that another way of saying that you can’t win games anymore? Brett Favre didn’t beat the Lions on Sunday.”

On NFL officiating: “Make these guys full time, number one. All the other leagues do it. And you should be able to challenge more calls than you can now. As a fan it’s incredibly frustrating.”

Eno

On the second half meltdown: “I’m concerned that this new staff is being schooled by the other team’s coaches at halftime. The Lions played reasonably well for 30 minutes then just fell apart.”

On Calvin Johnson: “I love it when the Lions run Johnson on a reverse. No one can tackle him; he’s going up against these little DBs with a head of steam. I wish they ran that play more.”

On Brett Favre: “He may be a ‘game manager,’ but he’s still an upgrade from what they had, and that’s the bottom line.”

On NFL officiating: “I’m not sure making the officials full-time is the answer. They’re still going to make bad calls. But maybe they should broaden the scope of plays that you can challenge. Video replay showed that the Gosder play was no chop block.”

You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE.

Monday Morning Manager

My weekly take on the Tigers, also known simply and affectionately as “MMM.”

Week of 9/14-20: 3-4

This week: 9/22-24: at Cle; 9/25-27: at CWS

Goat of the Week

The Metrodome, pure and simple.

Oh, and Jim Leyland.

The Dome jumped up and got the Tigers again on Saturday, as left fielder Don Kelly lost a harmless (HA!) fly ball in the lethal combination of white lights/white dome roof/white baseball, opening the floodgates for the Twins in the 8th inning of a game the Tigers were leading, 2-1.

So the Dome gets blamed, but so does Leyland.

Why on Earth did he have the rookie Kelly in left field, in that situation and in that stadium?

It’s been whispered before about Leyland—that he sometimes places players in positions to fail. Yes, more veteran outfielders than Kelly have lost balls in the Metrodome’s roof, but don’t you feel better with a guy who’s played there many times before?

Dishonorable mention: The offense in general, which labored to score runs all week—contributing mightily to the Tigers’ losing two of three to the Royals at home.

Hero of the Week

OK, who had Nate Robertson in the “Tigers pitcher most likely to be the ‘x’ factor down the stretch” pool?

Good ole Nate saved the Tigers’ rear ends on Sunday, twirling five terrific innings, allowing just two runs and striking out six. A loss would have drawn the Twins to within one game. Instead, the Tigers left town with a small but not tiny three game cushion.

Robertson, since returning from his injury and rehab assignments, has been mostly brilliant as a spot starter, rescuing the Tigers with quality starts and providing for them, essentially, what they thought they’d get from fellow lefty Jarrod Washburn, their prized trade deadline acquisition.

The Tigers needed Robertson to stifle the Twins as much as possible, while hoping to scratch out enough offense to snatch a victory. And Nate did that, followed by some stellar bullpen work from Zach Miner, Bobby Seay, and Fernando Rodney.

Honorable mention: Justin Verlander, who deserved a much better fate on Saturday.

Quick scouting reports: Indians and White Sox

A few weeks ago, when the Indians came to town, MMM warned folks about them.

The Tribe was on a 35-game run in which they actually had won more games than the Tigers during the same stretch.

Beware, MMM said.

The Tigers swept them out of Detroit.

But no team is without some danger in the final two weeks, when it’s an accomplishment to win any game, regardless of opponent.

The Indians, since that sign of life, have sunk back into the morass of bad baseball.

But the Tigers often play, on the road, as if they’re in that same morass.

As for the White Sox, the Tigers are likely to get a look at starting pitcher Jake Peavy, who was acquired in July but who wasn’t able to pitch for weeks due to injury.

Peavy made his White Sox debut on Saturday and reported nothing more than general soreness after the 73-pitch effort. Peavy was returning from a three-month absence due to an ankle injury.

The White Sox probably didn’t think they’d be on the brink of elimination by the time Peavy got around to pitching for them, however.

But that’s where the Chisox are—on life support. They’re seven games behind the Tigers in the loss column, and the magic number to eliminate them is down to seven.

The White Sox do have six games left with the Tigers, and they pretty much have to win them all to have any shot at a miracle finish that would make the 1964 Phillies collapse look like child’s play.

Under the microscope

MMM says keep a close eye on Edwin Jackson.

The Tigers’ hard-throwing starter is showing signs of breaking down, and at the worst possible time.

Maybe the Tigers expected too much from Jackson after his wonderful first 2/3 of the season. Regardless, he’s just not the same pitcher. Yet an Edwin Jackson at 75% is still better than a lot of big league starters.

The Tigers need Jackson, big time—especially in the playoffs, where power pitching and pounding the strike zone is at a premium.

Watch EJ. Very closely.

Bottom line: The win on Sunday was a huge one for the Tigers. Not only did it mark the difference between leading the division by one game or three, it now puts the Tigers in a position where the “clock is their friend,” so to speak.

If this was a football game, the Tigers would need to just keep the ball on the ground, make a couple of first downs with safe passes, and drain the clock.

They can grab a couple of first downs by sweeping the woeful Indians. Winning two of three would be alright, too. The Tigers’ magic number to clinch is 11.

The goal?

Make the Twins need to win three of four—or all four—of their games in Detroit next week.

Tigers’ magic number to clinch the division: 11

That’s all for this week’s MMM. Join me every Monday!

P.S. Also join me and Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience every Monday night as we co-host “The Knee Jerks” on Blog Talk Radio. The Tigers are a weekly topic. We go live at 11 p.m. ET, and every episode can be downloaded for your listening convenience!

New Coaches And Players, But Lions Still Getting “INC” Grade Every Sunday

The Detroit Lions have been Kings of the incompletion.

Not talking about passing here; talking about overall performance.

On select Sundays, the Lions will play perhaps 15, 20 minutes of decent football. On special occasions, they might squeeze out 30 minutes. Things could even get dicey and they might tease you with 45 minutes, just to mess with your mind.

Two years ago, the Lions were also Kings of the incomplete season.

They sprinted out to a 6-2 start and folks who should know better started to talk about the playoffs.

Their hideous won/loss record in the 21st century has been pocked with weekly displays of incomplete football games.

Maybe they’ll fall behind in monstrous fashion—often in the opening few minutes—only to put together 15, 20 minutes of acceptable football before collapsing again into a heap.

The Lions have many other variations of this theme; but they switch it up, though—you have to give them that.

Sunday at Ford Field, in the home opener, the Lions gave us a rather simple, meat-and-potatoes version of their incomplete performance displays.

This version against the Minnesota Vikings wasn’t very creative, but it was no less an example of the Lions’ propensity to not put it all together.

The version was this: play 30 “not bad” minutes of football, then slide into oblivion for the second 30.

It was another example of halftime vexing the Lions and reviving their opponents. New coach Jim Schwartz and his crack staff have proven to be just as feeble as their predecessors in matching wits with their counterparts during intermission.

The Lions jogged into the locker room at the half, holding a precarious yet well-earned 10-7 lead. The seven points by the Vikings weren’t gotten until the waning moments of the second quarter. The Lions had established a bit of a running game, and were keeping Brett Favre and his offense in check.

Matthew Stafford had thrown his first career NFL TD pass. The Vikings looked out of sorts.

Fast forward to the final few minutes of the fourth quarter, and there were the all-too-familiar, telltale signs of another Lions game.

The other team on the sidelines, laughing, joking, relaxed. Relieved even. A safe 27-13 lead in their vest pockets as the clock ticks away.

The Lions hanging and shaking their heads on the bench, and wearing that look of defeat. It may as well be their official look, like how The Joker’s garish white makeup with the blood-red and green accents is synonymous with him.

Defeat isn’t just makeup on the Lions’ faces, though—it’s now embedded into their skin, like tattoos.

The Vikings played with their dinner for the first 30 minutes of Sunday’s game, then returned from another of those infusing halftimes and started devouring hungrily.

Lions rookie QB Matthew Stafford was sacked right out of the gate in the third quarter, and the route was on—despite the scoreboard showing the Lions with a three-point lead.

The Vikings made those adjustments that every NFL team supposedly makes at the break, and the Lions were ill-prepared for them. Again.

Turnovers—those guaranteed haunters—did the Lions in. They made three of them, which the Vikings turned into 14 points.

Fourteen points also happened to be the Vikes’ margin of victory. Fancy that.

About Stafford: the kid is hellbent on learning the hard way, which all kid QBs do. Matthew’s favorite seems to be the forced pass that turns into an easy interception. That mistake du jour might as well be on the rookie QB’s “Greatest Hits” album.

In the fourth quarter, the Lions were down just ten, 20-10, and were beginning to twitch. They made a couple first downs. The crowd was being reintroduced into the game.

Then Stafford struck again—throwing a groaner of a pick that Favre and company turned into a touchdown and an insurmountable 27-10 advantage.

So that’s 19 losses in a row, if you’re scoring at home. The last time the Lions won a game was two Christmases and two Pistons coaches ago. Hillary Clinton was the front runner to be the Democratic nominee for president. No one had heard of Susan Boyle, Jon and Kate Gosselin, or Twitter. Everyone still used MySpace instead of Facebook.

But the Lions were playing incomplete football games back then, and beyond. And very much so, today.

Nice to know that there are still things in this world on which you can count, isn’t it?

Miguel Cabrera’s Shoulders Getting Narrow at the Wrong Time

It was in a fit of frustration, earlier in this unusual baseball season, when Tigers manager Jim Leyland tried his hardest to inflict a scolding on his star first baseman without naming him.

“It’s time,” Leyland said, while the Tigers were again laboring so hard to score some runs, “for the big boys to be the big boys.”

You can lose the “s” and thus the plural version of that phrase, for Leyland had one player and one player only in mind.

The “big boy” was Miguel Cabrera. Still is.

It was a time when Cabrera was padding his statistics without any real impact on his team’s won/loss column. Miguel’s done that quite a bit this year, actually—and that’s largely why the Tigers suddenly find themselves in a dogfight for a division that they led by seven full games an eye blink ago.

Leyland all but begged his slugger, when he made the “big boys” comment, to broaden his shoulders and lug the Tigers along for a period of time. It was a cry for help, the “big boys” comment was—literally and figuratively.

Cabrera is a wonderful talent. A freak of a hitter, when he gets it going, puts it all together—all that rot. He ought to have the shoulders of Atlas, not that of Ray Bolger’s scarecrow from Wizard of Oz.

Cabrera’s shoulders broadened for a scintillating couple of weeks in late-August, when the Tigers started to pile onto their division lead. But now they’ve become puny again.

There are plenty of suspects in the Tigers’ lineup against whom you can levy charges for aiding and abetting a popgun offense.

Curtis Granderson, the formerly exciting leadoff hitter, who used to slap doubles and triples all over Comerica Park’s vastness, but who has this season fallen in love with the long ball and now cannot hit left-handers to save his soul.

Magglio Ordonez, once a gigantic hero in this town, by virtue of swatting the Tigers into the World Series in 2006, and by winning the batting crown the following year. But Ordonez vanished on the Tigers for such long stretches that it was summarily discussed whether to cut him from the roster, like some commoner.

Gerald Laird, the good field, no hit catcher whose bat is where rallies go to die.

There are more of them who you have my permission to look at cross-eyed.

Gutsy third baseman Brandon Inge, who’d play until his body fell apart if you let him. But Inge’s heroics—playing on one good leg—could be argued are hurting the Tigers more than helping.

The Tigers—the first place, wobbly Tigers—have instead relied on the unproven and the young—the so-called “role players,” for assistance.

Rookie catcher Alex Avila wasn’t even supposed to be anywhere near Detroit in 2009, his big league debut penciled in for 2010, but the Tigers were getting nothing from the bats of Laird and backup Dusty Ryan. So in a moment of weakness or desperation—take your pick—the Tigers summoned Avila from the minor leagues.

And the kid who wasn’t supposed to be a Tiger yet ended up becoming a player on which the team relied for clutch hitting—shaming Leyland’s “big boys” in the process. Others, like Ryan Raburn and Clete Thomas, also became heroes when those paid the big bucks disappeared.

Oops—my bad. I pluralized big boy again, a couple sentences ago.

Miguel Cabrera—he of the big bat, big contract, and big expectations—has pulled another vanishing act, and at the worst possible time.

Cabrera’s talent is in rarified air. When he’s on, he’s a rightfully feared hitter who can break the spirit of entire teams. He has the goods to swing the bat of Albert Pujols or Alex Rodriguez or Ryan Howard. It is company with which he ought to feel comfortable.

But Cabrera is failing the Tigers now. Maybe it’s a lack of maturity or temerity, but Cabrera is proving to be a fraud in the broad shoulders department.

I’ve seen players of far lesser talent than what Cabrera possesses hunker down and pile the Tigers on their backs.

I thrilled to Kirk Gibson, who returned from the strike of 1981 as if a man on a mission. Gibby destroyed American League pitching in the second half of that divided season, batting a robust .375 from August 10 on, leading the Tigers straight into a truncated but no less real pennant race with the Milwaukee Brewers.

I remember Johnny Grubb—the Gentleman from Virginia—carrying the Tigers for several weeks in 1986 as the team scrambled to give the Boston Red Sox a run for their money.

Neither Gibson nor Grubb had anywhere near the talent that Miguel Cabrera has. Perhaps Cabrera has more of it in his left bicep than Gibson or Grubb had in their entire bodies.

But Kirk Gibson was the greatest money hitter I’ve ever seen in Detroit. By far.

Cabrera has a wonderful chance to own this town, right now. It’s all there for him. He should, by rights, be allowing his teammates to board him as he lugs them across the finish line, quite heroically.

The Tigers need a pick-me-up in the worst way right now. As I bash the keyboard, the Tigers have lost eight of eleven games and on most nights are looking feeble in the process. Their prized pitching staff is finally starting to show signs of wear and tear. And the offense isn’t there to provide the pitchers with quid pro quo.

Their once-mighty lead in the Central Division has shrunk to three measly games. The untrustworthy Minnesota Twins are up to their old tricks again.

This ought to be Miguel Cabrera’s time. This is when the genuinely great players rise to the occasion. This is where the “big boys” separate themselves from the mere mortals.

But this isn’t proving to be Cabrera’s time—unless you mean his time to gag along with his teammates as the air gets tougher to breathe due to all the heat of a pennant race that shouldn’t be happening.

Cabrera’s numbers will look moderately gaudy at the end of the season, at first blush. Folks outside of Detroit who don’t know better will look at his HR/RBI/BA and whistle, duly impressed.

They will not know the true story.

The story of a marvelous ballplayer who stared down the barrel of true greatness and blinked.

He’s no Kirk Gibson.

Cemetery, Sadly, Now Beckons Clark For Real

“See you at the cemetery.”

Sadly, those words are no longer simply metaphorical.

Monte Clark is gone—dead at 72 after a long illness—and this has been a ghastly year for sports deaths, if you’re a follower of the teams in Detroit.

The following list is only partial: George Kell; Bill Davidson; Chuck Daly; Mark Fidrych; Brad Van Pelt; John Gordy. And Ernie Harwell is likely dying.

Most tributes to Clark, the former Lions coach (1978-84), like this one from my friend Big Al, have mentioned in vivid detail the “praying hands” that Clark displayed prior to Eddie Murray’s FG try in the 1983 playoffs in San Francisco. As well they should, for that might have been one of the most iconic images in Detroit sports history, bar none.

But the opening line of this post resonated with me almost as much.

For there would have been no playoff appearance in ‘83 if the Lions hadn’t rebounded from a 1-4 start.

It was in Anaheim, after that fourth loss, when Clark—a former offensive lineman and a hulk of a man—stood before the cadre of media folks who all wanted to know the answer of the typical post-game question for the loser: “What happened out there?”

In a hushed tone, filled with gallows humor, Clark placed himself on the hot seat—practically giving himself the ziggy.

“See you at the cemetery,” he said, then stepped away from the microphones and notepads.

The inference was impossible not to understand. Monte knew that the papers on Monday morning were going to be filled with poison, so might as well do a pre-emptive strike.

Well, now we truly will see Monte at the cemetery, thanks to his passing.

Clark was the first football coach in Detroit to be given the highbrow title of Director of Football Operations, even though GM Russ Thomas was far from retirement. Monte wanted some control beyond just that of drawing up plays and game plans. He wanted some say so in drafting, trades, and other personnel matters.

The highbrow title was mandatory, if the Lions wanted Clark as their next coach. It was a distinct lack of control, working for eccentric GM Joe Thomas, that slayed Clark after just one year as coach of the 49ers, in 1976.

Thomas dumped Clark rather unexpectedly after that ‘76 season, and the experience stung Monte. So when the Lions came calling, looking for a coach to replace Tommy Hudspeth, Clark insisted on the broadened title and increased input, beyond that of “just” a coach.

Monte was Don Shula’s o-line coach in Miami for many years, and there are far worse folks from whom to learn your coaching chops than Mr. Shula.

Monte Clark, as he looked when he became the Lions’ new coach in 1978

The Lions started 1-6 in Monte’s first season, but gathered themselves and went 6-3 the rest of the way.

Then came a fateful exhibition game at the end of the 1979 pre-season.

QB Gary Danielson, who led the Lions to their fine finish the year before, went down with a serious knee injury, in Baltimore. He was done for the season.

The Lions had creaky Joe Reed as their backup, and by the third game Reed was done, also by injury.

The Lions were then QBd by rookie Jeff Komlo—he died this year, too—and the result was a horrific 2-14 season.

The Lions went through Reed, Komlo, Jerry Golsteyn, and Scott Hunter behind center, but Komlo by far got the most playing time. He completed about 50 percent of his passes and threw a ton of interceptions.

But that 2-14 year enabled the Lions to draft Billy Sims with the No. 1 overall pick, and playoff contention was just around the corner.

Clark avoided the coaching cemetery in 1983, but fell victim to it one year later after a disappointing 4-11-1 record, thanks largely to losing Sims to a career-ending knee injury in October.

But yes, that image of Monte praying to the football gods prior to Murray’s 43-yard try on the final play in, of all places, San Francisco, will be burned into the minds of all Lions fans old enough to remember it when it happened.

I’m one of those, and that December 31, 1983 game ruined my New Year’s celebration, as it did millions of others’.

The funny thing is, if you ask, most Lions fans will tell you that as soon as they saw Clark praying, they knew Murray was going to miss. I was one of those, too.

The Lions are the NFL’s fallen angels, and those types don’t have prayers answered.

Osgood Must Make Good On Yet Another Promise

Ty Conklin did everything the Red Wings wanted him to, and more, and now he’s gone—bugging out of town after just one season in Detroit.

Conklin, the Red Wings’ ace in the hole last season in net, is the typical vagabond goalie on tour—taking his act from city to city on a yearly basis, almost.

It began in Edmonton, and then moved to Pittsburgh. Last season, Conklin performed in Detroit, and to rave reviews. This year, he’ll do his thing in St. Louis.

If it wasn’t for Conklin, who knows where the Red Wings would have been last season—as far as the non-playoff version goes. He outplayed supposed No. 1 netminder Chris Osgood all season, and there was talk that Conklin, not Ozzie, would be the best choice to be between the pipes when the curtain opened on the post-season.

Osgood had, by his own admission, a horrible regular season. Then, in very Ozzie-like fashion, he promised us he would be ready when the playoffs arrived.

Was he ever!

After being shut down, basically, in February so he could mentally re-charge, Osgood was perhaps the Red Wings’ playoff MVP. He likely would have won the Conn Smythe Trophy—awarded to the MVP of the NHL playoffs—if he and his teammates could have pulled off one more victory in the tournament.

The Red Wings won’t have Ty Conklin and his safety net this season. Instead, unproven, slow-to-develop Jimmy Howard figures to be Osgood’s backup.

It could be a dicey situation.

Osgood, for one, has made another promise. And far be it from us to not believe him, for Chris Osgood almost always makes good on his promises and almost always bounces back from sub-par work.

“I will never, EVER, have another regular season like I did (in 2008-09),” Ozzie told us media types before the Stanley Cup Finals, on Media Day. “I found out the hard way that I wasn’t prepared—mentally or physically—for the season, coming off winning the Cup.”

It won’t happen again, Ozzie promised.

I believe him.

Still, if Howard doesn’t wee-wee and is thus asked to remove himself from the pot, then the Red Wings will be in a pickle. It would be unfortunate to make Osgood—who’ll turn 37 in November—play in any more than 50-55 games during the season, if the team can help it.

If Conklin isn’t around last season, or if he doesn’t play as stellar as he did, then the Red Wings, with sieve-like Chris Osgood as the No. 1 goalie, likely don’t win the Central Division. It’s that simple.

Because Conklin was around, providing veteran play and calming folks around the team, the Red Wings felt they could be more patient with Osgood—letting him get prepared for the playoffs at his own, leisurely pace. That’s not easy to do when the No. 2 is young and/or shaky.

This year, the Red Wings might have young and shaky on the bench most nights, opening the swinging door for teammates during games.

As a result—barring a trade for a veteran goalie (don’t count on blast from the past Dan Cloutier, who’s in camp on a tryout)—the Red Wings need Chris Osgood to make good on one of his promises yet again.

The Red Wings don’t have that “Cup hangover” this year. Coach Mike Babcock admitted recently it’s there, for every defending champion. But he said he wasn’t about to share that with his team last training camp—why should he have?

Osgood doesn’t have the hangover, either. He promises to be ready, promises not to be a big piece of Swiss cheese in net for the Red Wings.

After all, he’ll never, ever let that happen again.

His word’s been as solid as the ice on which he plays, so may as well believe him.

Last Night on “The Knee Jerks”: Hey, Hey Hockeytown!!

It was finally time to talk some serious hockey again last night on “The Knee Jerks”, my weekly sports gabfest with Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience.

Our guest was, as Big Al calls him, “The Godfather” of hockey blogging, Paul Kukla of Kukla’s Korner.

Paul joined us for a look back at the Red Wings’ off-season, and what to look for during training camp. We didn’t stop there. We pressed on, asking Paul to name us some key players for 2009-10 and where he sees the Red Wings ending up next spring.

(Note: Mr. Kukla’s glass is half full, which should reassure lots of Red Wings followers).

After Paul gave us his rich insight, Al and I got to chatting.

We began with the Tigers—Al is on the bandwagon with me and agrees the Tigers have all but sewn up the division—and their post-season chances. Then it was time to talk some football, U-M and Lions style. We dissected Michigan’s big win over Notre Dame (is Tate Forcier a Heisman candidate of the future?) and the Lions’ garish loss in New Orleans.

Finally, it was time for the requisite Jerks of the Week. Mine wasn’t sports related, but when you hear who it was, I think you’ll understand!

Fun times, as always!

Don’t forget to follow us on Twitter, for updates on scheduled guests, time changes, etc.

Some highlights:

Big Al

On U-M freshman QB Tate Forcier: “Forcier for Heisman in a couple of years? Looks like RichRod might have found his Pat White.”

On the Tigers’ chances in the playoffs against the Yankees: “Don’t forget that it’s a shorter series, so anything can happen. We didn’t think they’d beat the Yankees in 2006, either.”

On the bullpen: “Do you make Brandon Lyon the closer now? He’s been lights out since May. How about next year? The Tigers might lose BOTH Lyon and Fernando Rodney to free agency. I think I’d rather keep Lyon, because Rodney might be easier to replace.”

On the Lions coach Jim Schwartz: “Jim Schwartz LOOKS like a head coach. He did a pretty good job of game management in New Orleans. Unfortunately, he’s been put in a sh*tty situation!”

Eno

On Forcier: “Enjoy him now. That win over Notre Dame was huge. But there’ll be a game where he just blows up, because he’s so young. But if he’s for real, Michigan should win a lot of football games over the next four years.”

On the Tigers: “They lost five games in a row and only lost a game-and-a-half off their lead. That’s an indictment of the division. They’re going to win the division. And if they’re going to beat the Yankees, it’s more likely to happen in a 3-of-5 than a 4-of-7.”

On the bullpen dynamic: “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Keep Lyon as the set-up man for those tough outs in the seventh and eighth innings. I hope the Tigers don’t lose both of them to free agency. Ryan Perry isn’t ready yet to assume a bigger role. He’s too erratic.”

On the Lions: “The revamped defense was shockingly like last year’s. I think Matthew Stafford had the usual first game jitters. The Lions need to give him a running game, somehow.”

You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE.

Not Too Much Unexpected As Lions Fall To Saints

It was a storied line, uttered by the most powerful man in the world, once upon a time.

The quote is attributed to President John Kennedy, in 1961, recently installed into the Oval Office after a bitterly contested election against Dick Nixon.

“What we found out,” JFK said, “was that things were just as bad as we said they were. Maybe worse.”

My thoughts turned to that quote as I watched new Lions coach Jim Schwartz, whenever the FOX Sports people flashed him on the sidelines, taking in his team’s 45-27 loss to the New Orleans Saints Sunday in the Superdome.

“My goodness,” Schwartz seemed to think, “what have I gotten myself into?”

Actually, Schwartz, who’s not a dummy, no doubt had some inkling that his football team wasn’t exactly an upper echelon unit. He knew it when he was hired in January. He knew it even more during OTAs. He knew it a little more during mini-camps. And he certainly was fully educated in training camp and the pre-season.

Still, you wonder if Schwartz—the erstwhile d-coordinator for the Tennessee Titans—was a little taken aback by how woefully ineffective his defense was in N’awlins.

And poor Gunther Cunningham, the man in charge of the defenders, must have damn near blown out an artery.

As expected, Saints QB Drew Brees and his receiving corps, ahem, breezed through the Lions all afternoon. But what wasn’t expected was that the defense didn’t seem to show one ounce of improvement over last season.

Correction.

As radio’s Jamie Samuelsen pointed out on Twitter yesterday, last year the Lions gave up a TD on the third play from scrimmage in the opener in Atlanta. Sunday, it took the Saints five plays to score their first touchdown.

Progress, Jamie said!

Once again, the Lions turned their attempts to stop a capable quarterback into a video game. Brees had himself six touchdown passes—the fantasy football geeks must have thought they died and had gone to heaven—and his uniform likely skipped the laundry basket after the game.

Might as well slap his nearly-pristine jersey onto its hanger and let it sit till next time.

The Lions put as much heat on Brees as a refrigerator Sunday, scarcely able to put a finger on him all afternoon.

In a fit of exasperation during Sunday’s game, I Tweeted, “The more things change….”

Didn’t need to finish the sentence.

OK, we know the defense has issues, but what about the much-ballyhooed debut of the Matthew Stafford Era?

The kid suffered through an afternoon typical of the newbie NFL starting QB: he overthrew open receivers; he underthrew open receivers; he zipped it when he should have flicked it; he flicked it when he should have zipped it.

Stafford was probably a little too hyped up, and you can’t blame him. Not only was he battling the adrenalin of his first start, he had himself a 14-0 deficit just like that.

But that’s OK. Matthew got his first game over with, and it wasn’t an unmitigated disaster. Only a partly mitigated one.

Naah—not a disaster at all. I suspect his accuracy and touch—very evident in the pretend games of August—will return to a degree next week at home against the Vikings.

Stafford didn’t look flustered. He didn’t seem to panic. Nor did his teammates, frankly.

Running back Kevin Smith didn’t get too many carries, mainly because the Lions were again playing from behind so early. Receiver Calvin Johnson, once again, didn’t touch the ball nearly enough. I thought Schwartz and o-coordinator Scott Linehan were smarter than that!

Still, the Lions were an annoyance to the Saints most of the game, and they made the fans in the Dome uncomfortable at times.

Stafford threw his first brutal, “Welcome to the NFL” interception late in the first half, after the Lions recovered butterfingered Reggie Bush’s muffed punt deep in New Orleans territory.

Darren Sharper has made a living picking off Lions QBs—whether he’s been a Viking or a Packer or a Saint. And he was at it again, as Stafford tried to force a ball into the end zone after the Bush turnover.

The Lions were down 28-10 at the time and could have gone into the locker room trailing by just 11. But the Sharper pick squashed that.

Stafford will learn. That’s the good thing about all this.

He’ll likely progress faster than his team will, which isn’t so good.

The defense seems a lost cause after just one game. The new LBs—Julian Peterson and Larry Foote—were mostly invisible. The tackling was again atrocious.

Teeny-tiny bright spot: as much as Brees had his way with them, the Lions broke up more passes than I’m used to seeing. The secondary was bad but more aggressive and “into” it, if that makes any sense.

Heck, we’re talking about the Lions here.

I should do like The Talking Heads and stop making sense.

Monday Morning Manager

My weekly take on the Tigers, also known simply and affectionately as “MMM.”

Week of 9/7-13: 1-5

This week: 9/14: TOR; 9/15-17: KC; 9/18-20: at Min

Goat of the Week

The bullpen sprang its first major leak of the season.

The Tigers are still 64-0 when leading after eight innings, but on Saturday, Fernando Rodney surrendered a tie-breaking two-run home run to Aaron Hill as the Tigers lost their season-high fifth straight game. The Blue Jays rallied from a 6-3 deficit to win, 8-6. The game also featured a game-tying wild pitch by the usually reliable Brandon Lyon.

The losing streak, coming on the heels of a six-game winning version, was largely due to the bullpen getting all sieve-like. Everything that went right during the winning streak went wrong in the five losses to the wretched Royals and almost-as-bad Blue Jays.

Guess that’s why they’re called streaks, eh?

The bullpen, as a group, is last week’s Goat.

Dishonorable mention: Curtis Granderson, who continues to sully the leadoff position with atrocious at-bats, especially against lefties.

Hero of the Week

The Tigers found themselves on Sunday in that position of needing a win in the worst way—a place they haven’t been in a while.

So they got a big start from rookie Rick Porcello, who helped his team get back on the winning track.

It’s hard to say that a game is a “must win” when you have a five-game lead in the division in mid-September, but the Tigers really needed to win Sunday. Losing five straight to the likes of Kansas City and Toronto was not on the menu.

Porcello put an end—at least temporarily—to the nonsense by vexing the Jays, limiting them to two runs and four hits in six innings.

This time, the bullpen didn’t goat everything up, and the Tigers had themselves a much-needed win.

Honorable mention: Rookie catcher Alex Avila, who continues to impress with his short, compact, powerful swing, and who has done more to inject the Tigers’ offense with some punch than anyone ever expected when he was called up from the minors rather unexpectedly. Five homers in 48 AB for young Avila—not bad at all.

Quick scouting reports: Royals and Twins

Break up the Royals!

They handled the Tigers, three straight, last week in Kansas City. Some payback would be nice, and would start to assure the Tigers—and their fans—of the division title.

The Royals have some youngsters trying to show off for 2010 and beyond, they have Billy Butler (.303), and they still have Zack Greinke—he of the 2.19 ERA and Cy Young contention. Greinke is scheduled to pitch against the Tigers this week.

The Twins?

Ahh, the Twins—those untrustworthy fellows. Their ineptitude has prevented them from gaining any real ground on the Tigers, particularly during Detroit’s losing streak. They’re just not good enough to sustain a serious run.

Or are they?

Don’t count them out until the mathematicians say it’s safe. It’s getting close to that point, but we’re not there yet.

You’re familiar with the names: Morneau, Mauer, Cuddyer, Span.

The Twins have them, but they’re not putting together good stretches of baseball right now.

The Tigers play Minnesota six more times this season. The Twins pretty much have to win all six to have a shot.

But the math isn’t official yet, so don’t count them out.

Don’t EVER count the Twins out.

Under the microscope

MMM put Nate Robertson under the scope last week and the guy re-injured himself.

Sorry.

So at the risk of jinxing anyone else, MMM is putting Magglio Ordonez under the microscope.

Why?

Maggs has the makings of an “X” factor down the stretch. He would seem to have a lot to prove. His batting average has been inching toward .300. He’s experienced. He’s been mostly invisible all year—certainly less visible than his contract situation, which has been discussed ad nauseam.

It might just be a gut feeling that MMM has, but watch Ordonez closely down the stretch.

Just a hunch.

Bottom line: Monday night on “The Knee Jerks”, MMM said that the Central race was over and done with. That declaration was made because the Tigers were on a six-game roll and the lead was seven full games.

Then the Tigers promptly went out and lost five in a row to two teams going nowhere.

But the race is still over, MMM thinks.

This week’s bottom line? The Tigers need only break even down the stretch. They don’t need to play out of their minds.

Wrong!!

You’ll hear that nonsense a lot from now on. But seems to me when you start doing that, start lowering expectations, then you get into a “try not to lose” mode, instead of a “lower the hammer on them” mentality.

The Tigers have a six-game advantage in the loss column, which should be next to impossible for the wacky Twins and Chicago White Sox to overcome.

The Tigers ought to just put this thing to bed and make a statement going into the playoffs.

Tigers’ magic number to clinch the division: 15

That’s all for this week’s MMM. Join me every Monday!

P.S. Also join me and Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience every Monday night as we co-host “The Knee Jerks” on Blog Talk Radio. The Tigers are a weekly topic. We go live at 11 p.m. ET, and every episode can be downloaded for your listening convenience!

20 Years Ago, Barry Sanders Turned Lions Fans On From Carry No. 1

The rigors of another NFL training camp were past. The meaningless dress rehearsals known as exhibition games, all four of them, had been played. The fates of certain pro football players—the fringe guys on that imaginary “bubble”—were now hanging in the balance.

And the fate of a franchise tilted and swayed.

Would he, or wouldn’t he?

The Detroit Lions, 20 years ago last spring, became the beneficiaries of one of the most boneheaded, outlandish, and just plain stupid draft day moves—or non-moves—in league history.

Imagine—the Lions, taking advantage of someone else’s egregious personnel error.

But it happened, royally.

The Lions, with the third pick of the ’89 draft, prayed to the football gods that the jitterbug running back Barry Sanders, from Oklahoma State, would still be on the board. Only two teams would have to pass him up, and one of them—the Dallas Cowboys—seemed hellbent on selecting QB Troy Aikman with the No. 1 choice overall.

That left the Green Bay Packers.

The Packers were a rotten team in 1989—and a case could be made that they were more odiferous than the Lions, because of the four wins by the Lions in 1988, two of them were claimed against Green Bay.

A brand new, exciting running back like Barry Sanders would have been more than enough to put football back on the map in Green Bay, the tiny burg that once proclaimed itself “Title Town,” due to the championship ways of its pro football team in the 1960s.

The Packers had no running attack. They were a plodding, vanilla, boring outfit. Just like the Lions.

So with Sanders dangling in front of them, ripe for the picking, the Packers said, “Naah,” and drafted mammoth offensive tackle Tony Mandarich, from Michigan State.

I could scarcely believe my eyes and ears when NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle stood behind the podium at the draft and announced Mandarich’s name as the Packers’ pick with the No. 2 pick off the board.

I wasn’t alone.

Mandarich was a fine college lineman, and big as a house. He played left tackle, that prized position on the line, reserved for the very best blocker on the roster.

But he wasn’t worth that high of a pick, when Barry Sanders was also available.

The Lions, their prayers answered, nabbed Sanders. Rozelle might has well have just stayed at the podium and read Sanders’ name immediately after Mandarich’s.

Yet before Barry played one down, he was already showing off his elusiveness.

The Lions found out—the hard way, naturally—that it was much easier to draft Sanders than it was to sign him to a contract.

Barry was represented by dual agents, and neither of them were easy to deal with. And the Lions were represented by GM Russ Thomas, and no one gave old Russ bouquets for being an easy negotiator.

Training camp began in July, and when coach Wayne Fontes took attendance, there was a glaring absence: the prized rookie Barry Sanders.

Barry’s people wanted this; Thomas was offering that.

This and that weren’t jibing. Not even close.

Camp droned on. The media people and the fans kept talking about what Barry could add to the Lions’ moribund offense. If only he would sign a contract and actually suit up for them.

The talks between Barry’s people and Thomas became more and more acrimonious. Barry’s people made threats—likely empty, but who knew—of taking their client north of the border to play in the inferior Canadian League.

Lions fans became antsy. They wanted Barry on their team, and it’s always easy to spend other people’s money, so what’s the holdup?

Camp finished. The pretend games—the exhibition season—began.

Barry was nowhere near being signed, we were told.

The Lions’ other first-round pick that year, QB Rodney Peete from USC, was signed and progressing nicely. He was on pace to be the team’s starter.

Whether Peete would be handing the ball off to Barry Sanders was another matter indeed.

Some fans started to turn on Barry—accusing him of being just another spoiled brat athlete. Maybe he just wants to avoid training camp, they said. The word “lazy” reared its ugly head.

The week of the Lions’ regular season opener arrived, and Fontes took attendance once again. Barry was still absent, but with an excuse: he had no contract. Still.

The Lions prepared to play the Cardinals, at the Silverdome. The week marched onward. It was Friday afternoon—48 hours before the game—when the news broke.

Barry Sanders signed a contract!

He wouldn’t play in the tundra of Canada, after all. As if.

But he had no practices under his belt. No training camp to learn plays—although I’m not sure what Barry had to learn, in retrospect. Football players will tell you, though, that even a few practices are necessary—if nothing else but to get hit and immerse yourself into football mode, physically and mentally.

Barry would have little opportunity for that, since he signed his contract on Friday afternoon.

The Lions ran him through a few drills on Friday and Saturday, but certainly nothing too rigorous or involved.

On Sunday, Fontes inserted Barry into the game sometime in the second quarter. The Lions fans, maybe even those who spit on Sanders’ image and called him lazy, stood and roared.

Peete had been hurt in the final pretend game and so the QB was a journeyman—surprise, surprise—named Bob Gagliano. And so it was Gagliano who gave Sanders his first career handoff in the NFL.

And Barry, the ink barely dry on his contract, with little to no practice time, took the football from Gagliano and juked and slithered his way for a brilliant 19-yard run.

I was listening on the radio, and play-by-play man Mark Champion had a baby announcing Barry’s first carry. I might have risen from my seat, in my dining room.

So who needs practice? Who needs training camp?

That was 20 years ago this week. The adage is true: where does the time go?

Mandarich, by the way, got caught as a steroids user and was out of football within three years—one of the biggest draft busts in NFL history.

The Packers would make up for that transgression, however, while the Lions spun their wheels in the mud.

The Lions’ prized rookie of Sanders’ debut, 20 years hence, is QB Matthew Stafford, who was much easier to sign. He had himself mini-camps and regular camps and pretend games and everything. And his start Sunday in New Orleans is no less anticipated than Barry’s  20 years ago against the Cardinals.

Wouldn’t it be something if the kid tossed a bomb on his first throw?

There’s No Such Thing As A “Laugher” To The Big League Manager

Sparky Anderson was miserable.

Sleepless nights. Constant worry. Fear of being strung up on the center field flagpole at Tiger Stadium (no joke). Ghoulish thoughts of bitter disappointment.

Yep, the Tigers’ 1984 World Championship season almost wrecked the team’s manager.

The ‘89 season of 103 losses almost wrecked him, too, when Sparky took a few weeks off during the season due to mental exhaustion. Read: “I ain’t never lost no 100 games before.”

But 1984? It was nearly poison to him.

It was before a game in Detroit during that wire-to-wire ‘84 campaign when Sparky, speaking candidly to a reporter, pointed to the famous, in-play flagpole in deep center field.

“See that pole? They’ll be hanging me from it if we don’t win this thing.”

The Tigers sprinted out to that legendary 35-5 start in 1984, and by the All-Star break pundits were declaring the AL East race, and maybe the MLB race, over with.

Those kind of expectations made the ‘84 season one of Sparky’s least favorite—indeed, maybe the least favorite, in terms of fun—that he’s ever managed.

He said so in his book, They Call Me Sparky, which came out in 1998.

The Tigers were in first place from Opening Day until October, and no one really threatened them. The poor Toronto Blue Jays played well over .600 ball for much of the year, but they were constantly 8-to-11 games out, it seemed.

That kind of lead, with those kinds of expectations, can drive managers batty.

Anderson didn’t do as much smiling in 1984 as you think
For the record, Sparky called the 1987 team his favorite.

“They weren’t nearly as talented (as 1984’s team),” Sparky wrote. “That ‘87 team had no business winning anything.”

The ‘87 Tigers—minus catcher Lance Parrish, who fled to Philadelphia as a free agent—started 11-19 and things didn’t look good. But they went 87-45 the rest of the way, which included a thrilling final week to overcome the Blue Jays on the final day of the season.

But the 1984 team vexed Sparky something fierce.

Jim Leyland, manager of today’s Tigers, alluded to the life of a manager recently. The subject came up after the Tigers had blown a team out—a rarity with their popgun offense.

Leyland rebuffed the notion of the “laugher”—the blowout where a team races to a 10-0 lead, as the Tigers had done on the night in question.

The manager’s reasoning?

Much like Sparky’s, but in a microcosm.

What if we blow this 10-0 lead? What if we come from ahead?

Nope, Leyland said, give me a nailbiter any day of the week instead of the ill-named “laugher.”

Later this month, the Tigers will honor that 1984 team—a quarter century, believe it or not, since their year of glory. The 1984 team that never came close to squandering their division lead, never trailed in either post-season series.

Leyland’s team is threatening to make the AL Central race a laugher, that dreaded word.

The lead peaked at seven games last weekend, and is now five-and-a-half. The untrustworthy Minnesota Twins have shaved a game-and-a-half off in less than a week, thanks to the Tigers’ inexplicable three-game sweep at the hands of the slapstick Kansas City Royals.

Leyland, no doubt, is worried that his team might come from ahead and lose the division. And there will be no Wild Card awaiting the second place team in the Central, as it was in 2006 when Leyland’s Tigers gagged and blew the division in the final month. To the Twins.

The Tigers might be best served to have given their manager no larger than a two or three-game lead, instead of this, ahem, laugher that they created upon September’s dawning.

At least there’s no flagpole in center field anymore, from which to hang the manager.

Not that the folks around Detroit won’t find someplace else from which to do the deed.

The Decision Is Made, So Might As Well Wish Stafford The Best

Occasionally, pro sports provides us with delicious irony and poetry.

Seven years ago, the Lions beamed with pride. Finally, a genuine article at the quarterback position. In the second year of what would derisively and painfully be known as the Matt Millen Era.

The Lions would no longer be “married” to erstwhile QB Charlie Batch. The word was Millen’s, uttered shortly after arriving into town as the franchise’s savior, in January 2001. From the day Matt Millen told the media that the Lions were, for the moment, “married” to Batch at quarterback, the marriage had no chance of succeeding.

Millen wanted his own man, his own quarterback to help stamp his mark on the Lions.

Joey Harrington breezed into town as the No. 3 overall pick in the 2002 NFL Draft and the Lions had found the quarterback that they were looking for during the entire span of the Ford ownership, which began in 1964.

This week, Harrington, now a vagabond player, was cut by the New Orleans Saints—the same Saints team that the Lions open with this Sunday. Around the same time, rookie Matthew Stafford was named the Lions starting quarterback.

The Matt Millen Era ended, in a way, when the Lions president was fired last fall. But it ended officially this past off-season, as one Millen-acquired player after the other was released or traded. The purge continued in training camp, almost until nothing but a thin, brittle shell of Millen’s outhouse could be seen.

Joey Harrington’s career is on the ropes. The Saints might bring him back—they’ve done it before—but there are no guarantees. If the Saints don’t come through for him, it’s very questionable whether another NFL team will sign Pal Joey.

Seven years ago, in a game at Ford Field against the Saints, ironically, I saw Harrington throw some footballs which ended up nestled into the arms of Lions receivers—some 30, 40 yards downfield. The balls were feathered, sometimes zipped. But with accuracy, either way.

“Finally!,” I remember screaming at the TV. “A quarterback in Detroit!”

It wasn’t the first time that I called it wrong, and it won’t be the last.

I hope this isn’t another of those times where I’m wrong, because I’m telling you that Matthew Stafford has the best arm of any quarterback I’ve ever seen in Detroit.

At first blush, that might not seem like a very powerful statement. The Lions haven’t sent a QB to the Pro Bowl in nearly 40 years, after all.

So I guess I’ll amend that a bit. Stafford has one of the five best arms of any QB, anywhere, who’s entered the league in the 21st century. At least.

I’ve written, many times, that the Lions would be best served to keep Stafford on the sidelines, ball cap firmly on head, clipboard firmly in hand. I fretted over the offensive line’s ability to protect the team’s prized signal caller.

But the decision has been made. Stafford has beaten out Daunte Culpepper, so why yammer on about all my concerns at this point?

Congratulations to The Kid. He exhibited a keen grasping of the offense, supreme confidence, and a je ne sais quoi that successful NFL QBs need—that ability to shrug off mistakes and move onward, among other intangibles.

I wish him well. Truly.

As for Culpepper, he released a statement through the Lions yesterday that was drenched in class and professionalism. He, too, wished Stafford well. And though terribly disappointed, Daunte maintained that he will be right there for the rookie, whenever needed.

Daunte Culpepper proved during training camp that he can, once again, be a productive quarterback in the league. I always suspected that he was playing for his next job, anyway. He’s not stupid. The future in Detroit is Stafford. Culpepper was using the Lions as an audition for future NFL work.

And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

It was a win-win situation, really.

The Lions held a spirited competition, both pushing the rookie and providing incentive to the veteran. The Lions won because they got their rookie ready in a hurry. Stafford won because he’s the starter. And Culpepper won because he proved his worth to potential employers after Detroit.

Oh, and the fans win, because they want to see The Kid sooner than later, if you were to run a poll.

Matthew Stafford is the Lions’ future. Not sure you could have said that about Pal Joey Harrington, back in the day. The entire weight of the franchise rests on Stafford’s strong right arm, while Harrington was supposed to be merely a piece of the puzzle that Matt Millen was cutting with his poorly-calibrated jigsaw.

Lions coach Jim Schwartz has a team that’s not going to the playoffs. Not even close. I suppose he figures that the best man for the job is Stafford, so why wait? It’s not like a few blown games with a rookie QB—if it comes down to that—is going to make much difference in the standings.

Stafford can, if this works according to plan, practically obliterate, with one giant sweep of the eraser, the ghoulish memories of Jeff Komlo and Chuck Long and Andre Ware and Batch and Harrington. Not to mention about 50 others who’ve stuck their hands under center during the wacky Bill Ford ownership.

I wish him well. The best man won the job.

Last Night on “The Knee Jerks”: A Football Fest, With U-M and Lions Radio Guy Jim Brandstatter!

It was a football frenzy last night on “The Knee Jerks”, my weekly sports gabfest with Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience.

Our guest was U-M and Lions radio analyst Jim Brandstatter, who gave us some insight on Michigan football after the Wolves’ 31-7 win over WMU on Saturday. And yes, we touched on the controversy brewing in Ann Arbor over practice time.

“I believe Michigan does things right,” Brandy said, admittedly not surprisingly!

We did about 25 minutes on U-M, then another 25 on the Lions. More big news to talk about there, with the naming of Matthew Stafford as the starting QB.

“It was just a matter of time,” Brandstatter said of Stafford becoming the starter.

We thank Mr. Brandstatter, who hustled back home after a couple days up north with his family to do a special Labor Day edition of TKJ. Thanks, Brandy!

After Brandstatter, Al and I gave our opinions on Michigan and the Lions, then we launched into a spirited discussion about the Tigers and their playoff chances (I declared the race over and done with). As we talked, a dark horse name emerged as the team’s third starter in the playoffs.

By the time we got done with football and the Tigers—which included handicapping Jim Leyland’s chances of being Manager of the Year, Miggy Cabrera’s chances of being AL MVP, and Placido Polanco’s chances of being a Tiger next year (he’s a free agent after the season and young 2B Scott Sizemore is in the wings)—it was time to name our Jerks of the Week, which we colorfully did, as usual!

Some highlights:

Big Al

On U-M QB Denard Robinson: “This kid has another gear that I didn’t think was humanly possible. A couple defenders had an angle on him during his touchdown run and he just ran right past them!”

On new D-coordinator Greg Robinson: “Robinson might be the best ‘acquisition’ Michigan picked up in the off-season. The defense was aggressive and not reactive, as under (2008’s coordinator) Scott Shaffer.”

On Cabrera: “We got on his case earlier in the season for putting up empty stats, but this guy’s been on fire since the All-Star Break.”

On Leyland: “He has that 2006 aura going on right now.”

Eno

On who should be the starting QB for U-M: “Sooner or later you have to throw the ball, and while I like Robinson’s athleticism, I think Tate Forcier’s the best choice, long term.”

On Rich Rodriguez: “The win over WMU was nice, but he’s going to have to do a lot more than that to ingratiate himself in the Michigan culture. If he beats Notre Dame, that’s a huge step in the right direction.”

On U-M/Notre Dame: “I see a blowout for Michigan. I don’t know what it is, but I just sense Michigan winning by at least two touchdowns. I think Charlie Weis is overrated, too.”

On Polanco: “If the Tigers only offer him a one-year deal, that’s an insult. And why not move Scott Sizemore to shortstop and let him play there until Polanco’s ready to move on or retire?”

You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE.

Monday Morning Manager

My weekly take on the Tigers, also known simply and affectionately as “MMM.”

Week of 8/31-9/6: 6-1

This week: 9/8-10: at KC; 9/11-14: TOR

(Sorry for the abbreviated post this week, but MMM has to hustle off to a Labor Day BBQ!)


Goat of the Week

This is a first for MMM: NO goats for last week.

How could there be? A six-game winning streak (more on that later), including a three-game sweep in Tampa over the Rays, further ripping the road monkey off the Tigers’ backs.

The series in Tampa was filled with clutch hitting, good defense, and solid pitching when it mattered most. The Indians were swept out of Detroit, as they should when one team has something to play for and the other doesn’t.

So, no goats last week. There can’t be. MMM would come off unseemly if it did that!

Hero of the Week

OK, where to begin?

Brandon Inge, for his ninth inning grand slam on Sunday to give the Tigers the sweep?

Justin Verlander, for more terrific pitching?

Brandon Lyon, for ably stepping in for Fernando Rodney?

The kids from Toledo, pinch-hitting and pinch-running for the cause?

Nate Robertson, for twirling 10 innings since his return in two starts, and only surrendering one run?

Hey, what about manager Jim Leyland, for kicking Joe Maddon’s ass in Tampa?

Heroes were abound last week, as the Tigers extended their lead in the Central Division to sven full games over the Twins.

Quick scouting reports: Royals and Blue Jays

This week, the Tigers play two teams going into the toilet.

The Royals have been horrific since the All-Star break, and the Blue Jays recently had a 5-15 streak.

The Royals have Zach Greinke, but that’s about it. Their staff has been riddled with injuries, and their offense is virtually non-existent. Now Jose Guillen is likely lost for the season, as if the Royals needed THAT.

The Blue Jays and Tigers haven’t met since Opening Week, when the Jays took three of four in Canada. It’s another scheduling quirk, like the one the Tigers just encountered by scrunching all seven of their games with the Rays into 10 days.

Under the microscope

It’ll bear watching to see how Jim Leyland uses Nate Robertson.

Old Nate is back, and if his first two starts are any indication, he might function as a late-season acquisition from another team.

Robertson should be the fifth starter, as Armando Galarraga hasn’t earned that right with his latest appearance.

Robertson’s stamina will be watched. He went four innings in his first start, and six in his second.

Oh, and with the return of Nate comes the return of “Gum Time”, that rally-inducing breaking out of the bubblegum that worked so well in 2006. It sure worked over the weekend in Tampa, and against the Indians on Thursday afternoon.

So MMM is putting Nate Robertson—actually, the way he’s used—under the microscope.

Bottom line: Last Monday night on “The Knee Jerks”, MMM said that if the Tigers could just go on a five or six-game winning streak, they could probably put the division race to bed. The reasoning was that the teams chasing them couldn’t keep up with that kind of winning.

Well, after uttering those words, the Tigers promptly won six in a row, and it looks like the division race is indeed put to bed. The magic number is a measly 20, with about three weeks and some change left.

Perhaps there was no bigger win, in terms of defining a season, than Sunday’s comeback in Tampa.

The Tigers could have packed it in, satisfied with winning the first two games of the series. The first batter was retired in the ninth. Then Maddon got cute and started changing pitchers, when Lance Cormier was doing just fine, thank you.

Then the Tigers made Maddon pay for his cuteness.

That four-run rally in the ninth Sunday might be the game we point to as the one that symbolically clinched the division for the Tigers. We’ll see.

Tigers’ magic number to clinch the division: 20

That’s all for this week’s MMM. Join me every Monday!

P.S. Also join me and Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience every Monday night as we co-host “The Knee Jerks” on Blog Talk Radio. The Tigers are a weekly topic. We go live at 11 p.m. ET, and every episode can be downloaded for your listening convenience!

Michigan’s Coaching Job Not All That Anymore? Don’t You Believe It

The press conference was held in a conservative little room, with the principals leaning forward on a sofa, a smattering of microphones on stands, propped up on the coffee table. A far cry from the made-for-TV events of today.

They bunched together on the couch: the athletic director, and the new coach.

Doubtless that the press folks were rolling their eyes, now charged with learning how to spell a new, lonnng name.

The first name was easy enough: Bo.

But Schembechler?

A nightmare, for the writers and the headline guys—unless they chose to get on a first-name basis with the new coach, and right quick.

One of the local papers in Detroit eschewed the last name entirely, upon learning who would coach the football players at tradition-rich University of Michigan.

BO WHO?

That was the headline, when Michigan reached into the Mid-American Conference and hired Glenn E. “Bo” Schembechler from Miami of Ohio to run their football program.

Bo was 40 years old, and soon it was revealed that his resume included some time in as a disciple of an already-established coaching legend. But the legend was Woody Hayes of Ohio State, and you can imagine how that news went over in Ann Arbor.

Yeah, Bo coached for Woody, at a time when neither of them had an inkling that they would go on to author one of the greatest 10-year stretches of any sports rivalry anywhere, college or pro.

But before that Ten Year War, as it’s been called, Bo had to sit on a couch and appear fit to take over Michigan, which had fallen on some hard times under his predecessor, Bump Elliott.

Bo was 40 but he looked older, with a receding hair line and already with that weathered, grizzled look that befalls all coaches. A little over a year later, Bo got even older when he had a heart attack on the eve of the Rose Bowl—an opportunity made possible by Michigan’s grand upset of Ohio State.

In 1969, when Bo took over a stumbling U-M program—Michigan had lost to Ohio State 50-14 in 1968—the only baggage he had was that no one knew who the hell he was.

The current coach, Rich Rodriguez, has the opposite problem. Everyone seems to have a Rodriguez story, and few of them are very flattering nowadays.

Rodriguez needs a personal bellhop, with all the baggage he has brought to the school of Yost and Crisler and Oosterbaan and Harmon and, of course, Schembechler.

More on that a little later.

Bo Schembechler coached Michigan for 21 years, and except for a blip here and there—Bo would occasionally blow up at a reporter—there wasn’t much news about the program that wasn’t directly related to the football on the field.

Oh, the people at Texas A&M tried to get Bo to bolt in the late-‘70s—he was thinking about it—but the Aggies’ effort failed and that story quickly faded.

Then Bo retired in 1989 and offensive coordinator Gary Moeller—Mo, they called him, so we had a nice little Bo-to-Mo thing—took over, and it was still all about the football until Mo had a few too many drinks at the Excalibur restaurant in Southfield and was caught by a bootlegged recording device as he was in the midst of a tearful, maudlin, drunken diatribe, alleging an affair between his wife and then-U-M assistant Les Miles.

That ended Mo’s time at Ann Arbor after five years, and another loyal assistant, defensive coordinator Lloyd Carr, took the reins.

Lloyd Carr—a Michigan man, both in terms of the school and the state.

He was a high school coach at Westland John Glenn, then moved into the college ranks as an assistant at Eastern Michigan. From EMU, Carr moved out of state for a couple of years at Illinois, then returned to Michigan as an assistant under Bo. And that’s where he stayed, until Mo had his disorderly conduct incident and resigned.

Carr did a wonderful job putting the pieces of the program back together after Gary Moeller shamed it. The Moeller incident was soon forgotten in Ann Arbor because Lloyd did the best thing possible to induce amnesia in fans and boosters: he won football games—lots of them.

There was a co-national title in 1997, and everything was about the football, still.

If you’re one who’s prone to believe everything you read and hear, then you might be a lost cause, but I’m going to try this anyway.

Perhaps you’ve heard a real dandy that started almost two years ago—a doggone knee-slapper. But only if you’re an independent thinker, that is. So if you’re not, pay close attention here.

Here’s the punch line: Coaching Michigan isn’t the football job it once was.

I know you’ve heard it. I know you’ve read it. I know you have, because once it took hold, it became a mantra almost—chanted by anti-Michigan and pro-Michigan people alike. It pervaded talk radio and was virulent on the Internet and even infested the water coolers at work on Monday mornings.

“Coaching Michigan isn’t the football job it once was.”

HA!

That statement is purely false in direct proportion to its ad nauseam repeating, and is so full of excrement, that if you believe such horsepucky, then I feel for your loss of brain matter.

Rich Rodriguez, lugging all those bags from West Virginia, is supposed to be proof of this falsehood.

Michigan had to settle for Rodriguez, the school’s third choice. That much I will grant you. RichRod, indeed, wasn’t the first person Athletic Director Bill Martin had in mind, nor called, when Lloyd Carr announced he would retire following the 2007 season.

But the fact that Michigan hired Rodriguez doesn’t make true the assertion that the job isn’t what it used to be.

In Carr’s final season, Michigan went 9-4, culminating in a thrilling upset over Florida in the Capital One Bowl. The school was still the possessors of the winningest program in college football history.

More wins than Notre Dame. More wins than Nebraska. More wins than USC or Alabama or Ohio State or LSU. More than Florida or Texas or Oklahoma or Penn State. More than Ole Miss or Arizona State or Arkansas.

All that, and a 9-4 2007 season under Lloyd Carr, plus a bowl win.

And all of a sudden the coaching job at Michigan isn’t what it once was?

Martin and, to a lesser degree, President Mary Sue Coleman, screwed everything up with their clumsy, pathetic little patty cake attempt to bring Miles back home from LSU. Martin made the school look so bad that it couldn’t even get Greg Schiano to leave tiny Rutgers, where it takes two home games, at least, to get the amount of fans Michigan gets into its stadium every Saturday.

If Michigan hires Miles, then we’re talking about how many national championships they’re going to win in Ann Arbor—not about NCAA violations and rebounding from 3-9 and waxing nostalgic about the good old days.

But this doesn’t mean the job at Michigan isn’t what it once was. It means the people making the decisions at Michigan aren’t who they used to be.

The old AD, Don Canham—the man who brought Bo in from the cold of Miami (OH)—would never have let Miles, a U-M guy, slip through his fingers, number one.

Michigan is stuck, at least for the time being, with Rodriguez, who’s in the papers far more often about stuff that’s not football than stuff that is. The latest is something about Rodriguez and a banned booster and some real estate hanky-panky. Terrific.

But U-M is stuck with him not because the coaching job isn’t what it used to be. If the right people were in place upstairs, you’d have to beat the candidates off with a stick. Who wouldn’t want to coach Michigan and put them back on the map, with the recruiting tool of, “Where else can you play in front of 110,000 fans every Saturday?”

Rodriguez has, in just one season and two off-seasons, soiled the Michigan program—shamed it as Gary Moeller did in a drunken fit, 14 years ago. But the fact that he did so has nothing to do with the waning quality of the job itself. It has everything to do with the bozos running the show in the halls of the administration.

Boot Bill Martin and then see if the Greg Schianos of the world ever say no to Michigan again—if they’re ever to be so honored to be asked, that is.

Harwell ThisClose To Appearing Immortal To Us

If only the rest of us could accept Ernie Harwell’s fate as well as Ernie Harwell.

Leave it to Ernie to top us again when it comes to level-headedness and spirituality.

The news that Harwell, 91, the longtime Tigers broadcaster, has a cancerous tumor in a bile duct and that the prognosis isn’t terrific, is slowly but surely sinking into the souls of those who’ve listened to him call Bengals baseball for months, years, decades—whichever category you choose, and in whichever you happen to belong.

“I’m ready to face what comes,” Harwell told the Detroit Free Press. “Whether it’s a long time or a short time is all right with me because it’s up to my Lord and savior.”

OK, but what about the rest of us?

Ernie’s health is about to decline, perhaps quickly, because once this dreaded cancer gets started it can get downright insatiable until it achieves its purpose.

So who knows how long we have to prepare for the worst?

As foolish as it sounds, there was a time when I was convinced that the comedian/actor/writer George Burns would never perish. He had made plans to play Carnegie Hall on his 100th birthday and there was no reason to believe that George wouldn’t be able to honor that commitment.

Burns was once asked what his doctor said about George smoking cigars.

“My doctor’s dead,” George replied with a wink, gently rolling yet another stogie between his thumb and forefinger.

No one is immortal, of course, but sometimes a person comes along and you think they’re going to give that law of nature a run for its money.

Ernie Harwell is one of those types.

It was a crisp spring Saturday afternoon in May, 1976, and my friend Kris Donker and I were hanging out before a Tigers game in front of the lower deck box seats, just behind one of the gates that opened onto the field at Tiger Stadium.

Batting practice had just finished, and the ushers hadn’t shooed us away yet. We just stood there, taking in the sights of the stadium, awash in green: grass, seats, facades—everything was so green. This was several years before they re-painted the Stadium in blue, which I never forgave them for.

Suddenly, a distinctive voice drenched in Georgia was heard from behind us.

“Excuse me, fellas. Comin’ through!”

We were snapped out of our daydreams by Ernie Harwell, which, as a 13-year-old boy, was one of the very best ways to be woken up from such a state.

Ernie was trying to get onto the field and we two adolescent kids, far from our assigned seats, were in his way.

We stepped aside.

“Thank ya, fellas,” Ernie said, carrying a briefcase or valise.

What struck me was that there was absolutely no difference in sound or pitch or delivery between the Ernie Harwell politely asking two boys to move out of his way, and the Ernie Harwell calling a Ron LeFlore at-bat.

I had the good fortune of meeting Harwell several times since then, in my capacity as a cable TV producer/director/host. One of my most treasured possessions is a photo I have of the two of us, snapped circa 1990, arms around each other’s shoulders, smiling on the set of one our shows. A friend of mine blew it up to 12″ x 18″, and the next time I saw Ernie, he signed it graciously.

“Who are those two handsome fellas?,” he asked with a chuckle when I presented it for him to sign.

I ought to scan that photo and post it on the Internet, I suppose.

This is beginning to sound like a eulogy, and I don’t mean it to be, for Ernie is still among us. But the news of Ernie’s cancer is, I’m afraid, the first shoe to drop on a life that we all knew would come to an end but which teased us to think was interminable.

But then again, Ernie himself sounded eulogistic when talking to the Freep.

“I’ve had so many great adventures,” Harwell said. “It’s been a terrific life.”

Geez, even Ernie is talking about himself in the past tense.

Hold on, Mr. Harwell—you’re not “Lonnnng gone” just yet!!

We need time to say goodbye and that just might take forever, so deal with it.

Better Late Than Never: LeBeau On Verge Of Hall Of Fame

Maybe the best compliment that could be paid to Dick LeBeau is that he turned out to be a better coach than a player—and he was a Hall of Fame player, so what does that make him as a coach?

A portion of the above sentence has been met with a stone wall for some 32 years—the part about him being a Hall of Fame player. But no one said that those who vote on such things always get it right.

LeBeau, 72 next week, is finally, after far too many years—decades, really—knocking on the door of that funny-shaped building in Canton, Ohio with the faux football protruding into the air.

It was announced last week that LeBeau is a finalist for induction into the Pro Football Hall of Fame, thanks to the senior committee, who frequently has had to ride to the rescue to right some wrongs. It happens all the time in baseball.

LeBeau will be lauded as the vote grows near—it’ll happen early next year—as being Hall worthy because of what he did on the sidelines as a position coach and, more so, as a defensive coordinator for Super Bowl teams.

Let’s see how many folks talk about his career as a player, and why that alone should have been good enough, even if he hadn’t coached one practice in the NFL.

LeBeau is one-third of a trio of former Lions whose snub by the Hall voters was an annual rite of winter.

The others are both from the defense and you likely already know who they are: DT Alex Karras and LB Wayne Walker.

If the NFL had introduced the Wild Card entrant into the post-season party in the early-1960s, the Detroit Lions would have qualified frequently. They were often the Western Division’s second-best team, usually behind the vaunted Green Bay Packers.

That seemingly irrelevant observation is anything but, because it’s my belief that players like LeBeau, Karras, Walker, and Lem Barney and Charlie Sanders (who both had to wait too long for their inductions) all got the short shrift because of the distinct lack of post-season play on their resumes.

Don’t come at me with Karras’s gambling blip, which cost him the 1963 season due to suspension. Fellow NFLer Paul Hornung was suspended as well, and The Golden Boy is in the Hall, comfy and cozy.

Walker, until Jason Hanson broke it, held the Lions’ record for career games played, with an even 200. He held that record for over 30 years. Walker was a Pro Bowl caliber player for several seasons.

LeBeau, a cornerback, intercepted 62 passes in his 14-year NFL career, which is good for seventh best of all-time.

LeBeau returning one of his 62 career interceptions

The Lions, ironically, were actually known far more for their defenses than their offenses during much of the Snubbed Trio’s time in Detroit. Yet the lack of division titles trumped that, as far as Hall of Fame chances go.

But this isn’t to diminish what LeBeau has done as a football coach, because that alone is Hall worthy.

Aside from three brutal seasons as head coach of the woeful Cincinnati Bengals, LeBeau’s career on the sidelines has proven him to be a pioneer in certain aspects of football defense. It was LeBeau who’s widely credited with developing the zone blitz—a dizzying, almost frenetic way of trying to both confuse the offense while also thwarting as many passing options as possible.

Before the zone blitz, defensive linemen hardly ever were asked to drift back into pass coverage. But they did after LeBeau sunk his talons into defense preparation.

“As far as I’m concerned,” said Hall of Fame CB Rod Woodson and one of LeBeau’s prized pupils, “Dick LeBeau has done more for the game than a lot of people in the Hall of Fame currently. He’s done more than Vince Lombardi, if you ask me.”

As a coach, that is.

But Dick LeBeau did a pretty damn good job wearing the helmet and pads, too. He just had the misfortune of doing it with the Lions. Lem Barney and Charlie Sanders were able to overcome that, but the Snubbed Trio hasn’t.

Looks like one of the Trio, though, is about to break through. LeBeau won’t go into the Hall as a Lion, per se, but at least he’ll be in. Let’s hope when they give the speeches in Canton someone remembers what LeBeau did on the field. As a Detroit Lion.

Last Night on the “The Knee Jerks”: We Got Literary, Then Cranky (As Usual)

He was a little late, but our guest, author Marty Appel, showed up on “The Knee Jerks” Monday night, to enliven my weekly sports gabfest with Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience.

Appel’s new book is “Munson: The Life and Death of a Yankees Captain,” and it’s a terrific recollection of the great Yankees catcher who died in August 1979, when the private plane Munson was piloting made a crash landing in Canton, Ohio.

We spent a fun 30 minutes or so with Marty, who regaled us with stories of Munson and the “Bronx Zoo” days of the Yankees, circa 1976-79, along with his project.

After Marty’s segment, Al and I tackled, so to speak, the current situation in Ann Arbor with U-M’s football program. I got a little hot under the collar when the notion was brought up about Michigan not being a top program anymore, much to Al’s surprise and glee.

After Michigan, we discussed the Tigers and why they’re unable to run away with a horrible division; the Red Wings’ signing of Todd Bertuzzi, Jason Williams, and Patrick Eaves; and, of course, the Lions as they prepare for the start of the regular season.

Some highlights:

Big Al

On U-M football: “Rich Rodriguez is a square peg in a round hole. But Michigan is still a top five job. But if he wins…winning covers a multitude of sins.”

On the Tigers: “They’re contenders at home and pretenders on the road. They’ve won one of their last 11 road series. It’s hard to think that a team that bad on the road can be a playoff team, but the division is so bad.”

On the Red Wings: “I see where the Red Wings are coming from with the Bertuzzi signing. He can go into the corners and muck it up. And the price is right. But when Jason Williams was here, he had the reputation as a whiny underachiever.”

On the Lions: “Daunte Culpepper is the safest option. NFL coaches are a notoriously conservative bunch. Matthew Stafford has the best arm of any Lions quarterback I’ve seen, bar none. But Culpepper gives the Lions the best chance to win.”

Eno

On U-M football: “Lloyd Carr won nine games in his last year (in 2007). So how come Michigan’s not a good job anymore? It’s not a good job anymore because the people running the show like (President) Mary Sue Coleman and (AD) Bill Martin are MAKING it a bad job!”

On the Tigers: “They’d have to completely tank not to win this ridiculous joke of a division. The fact that they’re not running away with it is an indictment of them and their offense.”

On the Red Wings: “All I know is, the Red Wings seem to have this knack of resurrecting the careers of veteran players. And Bertuzzi and Williams still know a lot of the people with the Red Wings and they know how to play ‘Red Wings hockey.’”

On the Lions: “I think the Lions will start Daunte Culpepper in New Orleans. I think cooler heads will prevail. And I don’t think you want Matthew Stafford to get into a gunslinging match with Drew Brees.”

You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE.

Michigan Blew It With Miles, So Now It Must Pay

Unless a bunch of University of Michigan football players, past and present, have banded together in a deliberate attempt to sully the reputation and undermine the authority of Rich Rodriguez, then U-M is going to have to lie in a bed of its own making.

Actually, Bill Martin’s making.

This latest crisis involving the Michigan football program—the one where players past and present allege NCAA violations in terms of off-season workouts, etc.—is on Martin, the school’s fumbling, bumbling Athletic Director.

For it was Bill Martin who so botched up the hiring of Lloyd Carr’s successor that he wasn’t even able to convince longtime Michigan assistant Les Miles to flee Louisiana State University and come home.

Les Miles should be the coach at Michigan, period.

Miles should have taken over from Carr in a transition that would have been not only a lot smoother, but almost seamless.

Les Miles wanted Michigan, badly. But, amazingly, Michigan didn’t seem to want Les Miles in a quid pro quo manner.

Michigan, the Victors Valiant. Michigan, the Leaders of the West. Michigan, the winningest football school in America. Michigan—who let one of their own slip through their fingers.

Martin didn’t show Miles nearly enough love upon Carr’s exit in 2007.

The following aren’t my words, but my sentiment.

Former broadcaster Bob Page, during his appearance on “The Knee Jerks” on July 13—the weekly sports gabfest I have with Big Al on Blog Talk Radio, put it thusly when it came to the Miles debacle.

“All Bill Martin had to do was make one call and say, ‘Les, it’s time to come home now. We don’t care what you’re making at LSU. We’re not interested in anyone else. We want you to come home now’,” Page told us of how Martin’s coaching search should have started and ended with Les Miles.

I agree with Page’s assessment, 100 percent.

Martin didn’t do that. Instead, he publicly stated that Miles was merely one of the candidates Michigan was considering.

Les Miles—a National Championship-caliber college football coach, who cut his teeth at Michigan, wasn’t the clear-cut choice to take over from Carr?

Martin screwed up. It got so bad that he couldn’t even get Greg Schiano to leave Rutgers.

RUTGERS!!

Martin didn’t go after Miles hard enough, nor quick enough. It should have been a slam dunk—fait accompli. Carr leaves, Miles comes. End of story.

It’s likely that Les Miles felt snubbed by Michigan’s tentativeness and, when push came to shove, that was enough to convince him that he was best served to stay put in Louisiana.

It wasn’t the inadequacy of the Wolverines’ facilities. It wasn’t the inadequacy of the Big Ten, versus the Southeastern Conference. It wasn’t the notion of replacing someone as respected as Carr. It was none of those that kept Miles from moving back to Ann Arbor to take over the Michigan football program, as should have been his fate.

It was Bill Martin’s wishy-washiness when it came to launching his coaching search—a search that should have taken nothing more than a phone call and the first flight to Baton Rouge to complete.

Now look at what Martin has.

He has almost constant upheaval and a square peg in a round hole—Rodriguez, who still has that outsider feel about him.

But I’ve said it over and over: you don’t blame the peg—you blame the person trying to cram it into place.

It just seems to me that there’s too much smoke this time to think there isn’t some sort of fire when it comes to these new allegations of NCAA violations, as uncovered by the Detroit Free Press.

There’s always going to be attrition when a new football staff takes over a program. That’s to be expected. The defection of Justin Boren way back in early 2008, shortly after RichRod took over, could be taken with a grain of salt, because those things happen.

But the Boren instance was just the first of several whispers, both loud and soft, of Rodriguez’s way of doing things being looked at with crossed eyes. Again, that happens. But this is Rodriguez’s second season and still the university is trying to get out from underneath the transition phase of his hiring.

Something’s amiss at Michigan. All these kids, who were recruited to Michigan and who, one would presume, love the school, aren’t making this stuff up. The only question will be the severity of the violations, and the consequences.

Would any of this had happened if Les Miles was coaching Michigan?

I don’t bet. I don’t gamble. But even I as a non-risk taker would shake hands with you and say, comfortably, one word.

No.

Monday Morning Manager

My weekly take on the Tigers, also known simply and affectionately as “MMM.”

Week of 8/24-30: 4-2

This week: 8/31: TB; 9/1-3: CLE; 9/4-6: at TB

Goat of the Week

Time to go into nitpick mode.

The week was four up, two down for the Tigers, against two contenders, so how many Goats can there be? Of course, at MMM, we only need one.

Putting Aubrey Huff under the microscope last week didn’t have the magical effect it’s had for others this season. He’s still scuffling along.

Huff, acquired a couple weeks ago from Baltimore, hasn’t done much of anything since joining the Tigers. These things typically go one of two ways: the newly-acquired player with hardly any pennant race experience comes in and provides an instant spark; or the pressure of possibly being the missing piece to the puzzle weighs heavily on the new guy.

With Huff, it appears to be the latter.

However, there might be a sign of life. Huff had a hard-hit double into right-center field in the seventh inning of Sunday’s game, and while the Tigers stranded him, maybe that’s a good sign. It was the hardest ball Huff has hit as a Tiger.

Ian Casselberry, from BlessYouBoys.com, said on a podcast I was on yesterday hosted by Joe Dexter that he feels Huff is one big hit away from bursting out and going on a tear.

We’ll see. But in a week deemed successful from a team standpoint, Aubrey Huff contributed very little to it. Hence the Goat label.

Dishonorable mention: Righty starter Edwin Jackson, who’s only gone into the seventh inning once in his past six starts. Yes, this is really nitpicking, but there you have it. MMM isn’t always interested in justice—it needs word count!

Hero of the Week

How about some love for Fernando Rodney?

For someone who didn’t even have a true role on the team in spring training (set-up man? “disaster” closer?), Rodney has been, in a word, magnificent.

Only one blown save opportunity all year. The vaunted changeup working on most nights. The walks-to-innings pitched ratio down considerably.

Rodney saved three of the Tigers’ four wins last week, and he’s pretty much money in the bank anymore.

Sunday’s game was prime for major disappointment. The Tigers scored three runs in the bottom of the eighth, on Placido Polanco’s dramatic, two-out home run, and had taken a 4-3 lead on a day where the bats were once again limp noodles. It was a game that, had the Tigers blown it in the ninth, would have been devastating.

But Rodney did his thing, taking care of the Rays in the ninth, and the Tigers had themselves the closest thing to a walk-off win: a lead-changing bottom of eighth, followed by a shutout top of the ninth.

Honorable mention: Normally light-hitting Gerald Laird and Adam Everett, who had back-to-back two-run doubles in a five-run fourth inning to spark the Tigers on Friday night.

Quick scouting reports: Indians and Rays

At first blush, the Tigers should take care of the Indians, right?

Not so fast, Delaware Mud Breath!

The Tribe, despite waving the white flag at the trade deadline and preparing for the future, have been playing pretty good baseball as of late. In fact, since July 22, they’ve won more games than the Tigers.

The Indians are on a 21-14 roll, during which time the Tigers have gone 20-17.

Yet the Tribe doesn’t have Victor Martinez. Doesn’t have Ryan Garko. Doesn’t have Cliff Lee. And still doesn’t have a “normal” Grady Sizemore.

Sizemore is having a disappointing season, a la that other great AL center fielder, Curtis Granderson.

The numbers: .247 BA, 18 HR, 62 RBI, 91 K.

Here’s another telling one: 13-for-21 in stolen bases in 2009, compared to 38-for-43 in 2008.

Not very Sizemore-ish, is it?

He’s down in doubles, too—though up in triples.

Yet the Indians are playing well, so this three-game set in Detroit may not be the slam-dunk people think.

The Tigers will quickly re-acquaint themselves with the Rays on Friday in Tampa, just four days after completing a four-game series in Detroit.

MMM gave you the Rays scouting report last week, so let’s just say that it will be interesting to see how the Tigers fare in Florida, after finally getting the road monkey off their backs by virtue of winning their series at the Angels last week.
Under the microscope

This week, MMM doesn’t put a player under the scope, but rather, an entire position.

What will happen of left field for the Tigers?

The other two OF positions seem set: Granderson in center; Magglio Ordonez, warts and all, in right.

But who will play left field the most down the stretch and, the baseball gods willing, in the playoffs?

Marcus Thames? Herculean strength, but not much else.

Ryan Raburn? Maybe the most athletic of anyone, and with some pop, but is he more of a utility player?

Carlos Guillen? How healthy IS he, anyway?

Aubrey Huff? A clang-clang glove perhaps best suited for DH duty.

Clete Thomas? More of a RF, but he’s played some LF, too.

Whew!

Manager Jim Leyland has some decisions to make. So let’s put LF under the scope this week and see who gets the bulk of the playing time out there.

Bottom line: Last week showed MMM that the Tigers might, indeed, have what it takes to fend off the chasers in the Central Division. Taking four of six from the Angels and Tampa is encouraging.

The Tigers are close to putting this division race to bed. They’re maybe one five or six-game winning streak away from pounding some nails into the coffins of the Twins and White Sox.

BUT…the Tigers don’t go on long winning streaks. They win a few, lose a couple, etc. Why? Because their hitting isn’t formidable enough to bash its way to wins for a week or so.

The division is there for the taking, obviously. But the Twins aren’t to be trusted, so beware.

Tigers’ magic number to clinch the division: 29

That’s all for this week’s MMM. Join me every Monday!

P.S. Also join me and Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience every Monday night as we co-host “The Knee Jerks” on Blog Talk Radio. The Tigers are a weekly topic. We go live at 11 p.m. ET, and every episode can be downloaded for your listening convenience!

September’s Baseball Means One Eye Always Elsewhere

The old centerfield scoreboard at Tiger Stadium—before modern technology replaced it in 1979—slapped you in the face. And no wonder; it had arms.

Trudging up the runway from the concourse to your seats, whether in the upper or lower deck, chances are one of two things would enrapt you: the famed “short porch” overhang in right field, or the behemoth scoreboard above the centerfield bleachers.

But the porch wasn’t big enough, or interesting enough, to hold your attention for very long.

The scoreboard was the 400-pound gorilla in the room.

It was made up of body parts.

The clock was the head—first a Longines with an hour and minute hand, then a digital version consisting of hundreds of lights.

The clock/head rested squarely on the torso, which towered over the bleachers.

The scoreboard’s upper chest contained the meat and potatoes: score by innings, balls and strikes and outs, player at bat, etc. Toward the belly button were the umpires’ numbers, upcoming home dates, and the space for an “E”, if the official scorer ruled an error.

Extending left and right were the arms, which ran from upper deck to upper deck.

The arms contained the out-of-town scores; American League on the left, National League on the right.

With no fancy-shmancy game casts from the Internet to help him, the scoreboard operator received his information the old-fashioned way. Not quite from courier pigeon, but not much quicker. Even the phones were slower back then.

Sometimes there’d be no score at all—but rather the letter “R”, which meant there was a rain delay going on.

The scores changed much like the tally of hamburgers served on a McDonald’s sign: when nobody was watching.

The Braves would tie up the Phillies and you wouldn’t see the lights change. All you knew was that it was 3-2, Philadelphia a few moments ago, and now it was 3-3.

The scoreboard changed its scores much like how the tortoise ran his race: slow and steady.

It was July, 1971, and the hated Baltimore Orioles were keeping the second-place Tigers at arm’s length in the old East Division.

The Tigers won the league pennant in 1968—the last year before baseball quartered itself into four divisions—but the Orioles were the kings of the East Division, winning it in 1969 and 1970. Easily.

The Tigers were busy trying to keep at the Orioles’ heels when I settled into my seat that July night in 1971, ready to witness my first big league baseball game in person.

I wasn’t quite eight years old, but already I knew enough to keep my eye on the left arm—the one displaying the American League scores.

Despite my attentiveness, I missed it.

The Orioles were winning elsewhere, while the Tigers were taking care of the Yankees before me.

But then, when the action on the field didn’t dictate it, there was nonetheless a low, dull roar forming throughout the stadium.

The Orioles had given up some runs, and were now losing their ballgame. The scoreboard operator with his crude method of keeping track of such things changed the Orioles from winning to losing.

The Detroit baseball fans, so wise, noticed and gave their loud approval.

The crowd’s reaction fascinated me, still fascinates me to this day, because it wasn’t like an announcement was made over the PA system. Craggy Joe Gentile hadn’t said a word about the Orioles from behind his microphone in the press box, through which his words were heard from the box seats to the washrooms.

The Orioles score simply changed and somehow the fans noticed. And reacted. Loudly.

The Tigers wouldn’t catch Baltimore when all was said and done, and the Orioles captured their third straight East Division title in three years of divisional play.

Scoreboard watching in mid-July might seem a little premature, but now we’re in the thick of that exercise.

August is slipping away, and behind it comes the most dramatic month of all.

I’ll spot you a thrilling Stanley Cup playoff run, or NFL games in December that are pocked with playoff implications, yet you won’t come close to my September baseball schedule.

There isn’t anything like baseball in fall’s first month.

All over the Major Leagues, games are played with a chill in the air and fire in the belly.

Every game, every inning—indeed, every pitch—matters, when the mad rush to the playoffs takes place in September.

The scoreboard watching is delectable.

Today, of course, you don’t watch scoreboards, per se—you surf the Internet looking for your up-to-the-minute dope.

But the premise is the same. The objective hasn’t changed one iota: to see how the teams ahead or behind yours are doing.

It’s mushrooming now in Detroit.

Did the White Sox win? How are the Twins doing?

Damn—Jermaine Dye hit a home run in Chicago. White Sox up, 4-3.

Yeah! The Rangers just had a big inning in Minnesota.

Friday night presented yet another opportunity for scoreboard watching.

The Tigers were handling the Tampa Bay Rays—themselves embroiled in scoreboard watching with the Red Sox and Rangers for the Wild Card spot—and so everyone around Detroit felt free to zero in on the White Sox’ battle in New York with little impunity.

The Tigers finished off the Rays and now undivided attention could be paid to what was going on in the Bronx.

The Yankees had taken an early 2-0 lead, but the White Sox scratched out a couple of runs later on to tie it. The game moved into extra innings.

Doubtless Tigers players watched in the clubhouse, likely half-dressed, as the drama played out in new Yankee Stadium.

The Yankees were batting in the bottom of the tenth. They managed to put a couple of runners on base with two outs.

Second baseman Robinson Cano then decided matters with a three-run homer to give the Yankees a 5-2 win, one of those newfangled “walk off” jobs. But, more importantly for the Tigers, it meant a 5-2 loss for the White Sox.

The White Sox dropped to third place, behind the surging Twins, who are 8-2 in their last ten games and who can never be trusted.

The Tigers woke up Saturday morning with a solid four-and-a-half game lead over the Twins and a full five games ahead of the stumbling White Sox.

The scoreboard watching is just getting started. So will be, soon, September baseball.

Gentlemen, start your keyboards!

Before Smoltz-for-Alexander, Tigers Struck Gold With Fryman

He was a tobacco farmer, really. And how many of them play big league baseball?

But Woodie Fryman might have been thinking that his days of a full-time purveyor of tobacco were drawing near, as he languished as the black sheep of the Philadelphia Phillies’ rotation in the summer of 1972.

It’s a “What have you done for me lately?” business, pro sports is. Often, it’s lately, as in…oh, yesterday. And Fryman hadn’t done much good for the Phillies for a whole bunch of yesterdays as August ‘72 approached.

If you’re sick of hearing about how the Tigers traded prospect John Smoltz for the aging, sourpuss Doyle Alexander in 1987, and of how Doyle was lights out helping the Tigers to the divisional title, then you’ve come to the right place.

For before there was Smoltz-for-Alexander, there was cash-for-Fryman.

Woodrow Thompson Fryman, the tobacco farmer from Ewing, Kentucky without whom the Tigers may not have won the 1972 East Division.

Fryman was 32 in August ‘72, which isn’t ancient but can look it when you’re 4-10 and pitching for a team that would go on to lose 97 games, as those Phillies did.

Besides, the Tigers weren’t full of spring chickens themselves. They were a (clear throat) veteran team, to put it politely. Not old—experienced, thank you.

The core of the 1968 World Champion team was still there, but everyone was four years older, naturally, and precious few prospects were being produced by the farm system.

GM Jim Campbell was making it a habit—often out of necessity—of plucking players from the 30+ year-old scrap heap and fitting them with Old English Ds, both to put a Band-Aid on a wound that would have to be attended to later, and to give his manager, Billy Martin, the horses needed to win a division that was tantalizingly close and ripe for the taking.

Campbell supplied Martin with the lefty-swinging catcher Duke Sims, rescued from the Dodgers (also in August ‘72), who hit .313 for the Tigers down the stretch. At the end of the month, Campbell brought Frank Howard in from the cold (actually, from the heat of Texas), wallowing with a horrible Texas Rangers team.

The year prior, Campbell acquired veterans like 2B Tony Taylor, lefty reliever Ron Perranoski, and righthander Dean Chance.

All this mainly because the Tigers’ farm system wasn’t churning out very many big league-caliber players. Martin was the first to notice, and called the front office out about it, which eventually hastened Billy’s firing in 1973.

So here comes Woodie Fryman, purchased from the Phillies on August 2, 1972.

Fryman as a nearly-40 year-old pitcher for the Expos

Fryman pitched two games in relief without allowing a run, including 6-1/3 shutout innings in Cleveland a few days after joining the Tigers.

Then Fryman started his first game as a Tiger on August 9, in Yankee Stadium. He threw a six-hit shutout at the Yanks, who were among the four-headed monster trying to win the East Division—along with the Tigers, Red Sox, and Orioles.

Fryman started four days later against the Indians at Tiger Stadium and pitched another complete game, allowing just two runs.

Four days after that, Fryman shut down the Twins, allowing two runs in yet another complete game victory.

Fryman had pitched a tad over 35 innings as a Tiger and allowed just four runs, for an ERA of 1.02.

Woodie Fryman was a throwback. His windup recalled those of pitchers decades before him: after getting the sign from the catcher, Fryman would lean forward, swing both arms behind him, raise them above his head as they met, the ball just now hitting the mitt, and then complete the motion, which included hiding the ball along his waist until the last moment before firing it toward home plate.

Fryman and his throwback windup and left arm suddenly were carrying the Tigers, in a nip-and-tuck race that would leave the Orioles and Yankees behind in the final turn and leave just the Tigers and the Red Sox in a furious run down the final straightaway.

Fryman would pitch every fourth day and give the Tigers nothing but excellence. Only once in 14 starts did he surrender more than four runs. His ERA as a Tiger was a miniscule 2.06. His record was 10-3.

Without Woodie Fryman, the Tigers would have been left in the lurch. With him, the Tigers had enough to win the East by a nose over Boston.

In the ALCS, Fryman got roughed up in Oakland in Game 2, but then gave the Tigers eight strong innings in the decisive Game 5, four days later. The A’s squeaked out a 2-1 victory, breaking Tigers fans’ hearts all over Michigan.

Fryman wasn’t anywhere close to being done, it turns out, when the Tigers came calling in 1972. He’d pitch until 1983, as a 43-year-old. He wasn’t all that eager, apparently, to turn to tobacco farming full time. But his days as a starter pretty much ended, and with a bang, with the Tigers in 1972-73.

The Tigers didn’t make the playoffs again until 1987. Fryman’s heroics in ‘72 were talked about frequently around Detroit, until Doyle Alexander came along.

Not too many folks talk about ole Woodie Fryman around these parts anymore.

What has he done for us lately, right?

Hmmph.

Denver Writer Needs History Lesson When It Comes To Bertuzzi Signing

Terry Frei needs a history lesson. And a Valium.

Frei is a sports writer for the Denver Post, and he’s got his shorts in a knot over the Red Wings’ signing of free agent Todd Bertuzzi, announced last week.

The column, “Wings whiff on toxic Bertuzzi,” appeared recently.

Frei has apparently not been paying very good attention to the Red Wings—odd for someone who roams the Rocky Mountains, where they’re obsessed with the Winged Wheel and wondering where the rivalry went off to.

“Purely from a hockey standpoint, it makes no sense,” Frei writes—perhaps one-handed as he scratches his head with the other. “Bertuzzi, who had 15 goals last season for the Calgary Flames, is washed up.”

Ahh, I see.

Bertuzzi will be 35 before next season ends, but if Frei thinks that such a player can be washed up, then he’s not even paying attention to his own team.

Joe Sakic just retired, at age 40. He had 36 goals two years ago, when he was closing in on age 38.

And what of Chris Chelios, age 47? How can Frei watch his hockey, when his peepers are embedded in his rectum?

Frei then points out that the only playoff series Bertuzzi’s teams have won in the past five years came with the Red Wings—in 2007.

So how is that an argument for why the Red Wings shouldn’t have signed him? Seems to be one of those hockey/good luck/superstition things to me.

Frei hasn’t been paying attention, because if he had, he’d know two things: 1) the Red Wings have trademarked the rescuing of veteran players; and 2) he doesn’t know more than Red Wings GM Ken Holland and his support staff.

Holland doesn’t “whiff”, as the headline of Frei’s column stated. In his 12 years as GM, Holland has made maybe two or three bad signings and/or trades.

Uwe Krupp in 1998 (which Holland would admit to). Bringing Dominik Hasek back in 2003 (which Kenny would NOT admit to, despite me trying a few years ago). And the Kyle Calder trade at the 2007 deadline.

That’s it.

Does Frei truly think Holland has gotten dumb, or is he just jealous over a rivalry that’s turned from Red Sox-Yankees to (insert NFC North team)-Lions?

Maybe it grinds Frei that the Red Wings are one of the classiest organizations in pro sports. They aren’t the Avalanche, who clumsily and shamelessly publicly courted Patrick Roy (!!) to be their coach, all while their current coach, Tony Granato, twisted in the wind.

It was disgusting. “Toxic,” even.

I can understand Frei’s state, after watching the Red Wings toy with the Avalanche in the 2008 conference semi-finals.

But the true source of Frei’s displeasure might be the fallout from Bertuzzi’s cheap shot leveled against Steve Moore, back in 2004.

“What Bertuzzi did was disgraceful,” Frei writes. “…To me, though, what’s most galling at this point is the cavalier acceptance of Bertuzzi within the sport as just some guy who temporarily snapped, went a bit far, but served his five minutes in the penalty box, and is back on the ice…”

First, the “cavalier acceptance” isn’t coming from Holland or the Red Wings. Are they to blame? The NHL has deemed Bertuzzi fit to play in their league. So the Red Wings should prop themselves up as some beacons of justice and vow never to employ him?

Would the Avalanche do such a thing?

OH, I forgot—the Avs aren’t a player or two away from Stanley Cup contention. They’re a player or two away from the conference cellar.

Second, Bertuzzi’s not getting off scott-free here. He’s going to have to pay—financially. And he already has.

Third, I believe Bertuzzi IS just someone who temporarily took leave of his senses.

Another history lesson for Frei: Eddie Shore.

Shore was a bruising defenseman for the Boston Bruins in the 1930s and ’40s who lost his mind in anger one night against the Toronto Maple Leafs. He was searching for King Clancy, but in Clancy’s absence from the ice, Shore went after Ace Bailey, drilling him to the ice, head first.

Bailey’s injuries were life-threatening. It was touch and go for a while. And he’d never play hockey again.

But Shore did.

It’s a shame, but tempers are lost in the heat of battle. The league is remanded with the power to suspend or ban a player for life. But failing that, does that mean the teams should refuse to hire that player?

That seems to be asking an awful lot.

Frei concludes, “Bottom line: Bertuzzi is a lot of things. His ‘case’ is a black eye for the league. Yet even if it just comes down to trying to win games, he’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

I guess I need to give Frei another news flash.

Bertuzzi was adored in the Red Wings locker room. He got along well with his coach, his GM, his teammates. His relative ineffectiveness in the ‘07 playoffs was due to his bad back, which had just been operated on months before.

Kenny Holland doesn’t need any advice or scolding from little Terry Frei.

Frei best write more about teams he’s actually been paying attention to.

I know that means having to cover the Avalanche, which I understand isn’t the greatest gig in the world anymore.

The Avs’ big brother just skated by and splattered them with some more snow, and Frei can’t stand it.

Today’s Lions Don’t Even Know How To Have Proper In-Fighting

The helmet flew across the locker room, somewhere in the bowels of what was then known as City Stadium. You might know it as Lambeau Field, in Green Bay.

The hurler of said helmet was beside himself with anger.

“Absolutely violent,” he would describe his state, some years later.

The noggin that was the target of the flung helmet belonged to a quarterback. The flinger was a defensive tackle.

Alex Karras might have killed Milt Plum, had he been more accurate.

Karras and the rest of the Lions’ defense had played their hearts out against the Packers, on the road, on a muddy and sloppy field in Green Bay. It was October, 1962, and this was a time when the Packers and the Lions were the unquestioned cream of the NFL’s Western Division.

The Lions nursed a 7-6 lead late in the fourth quarter. They held the ball, with about two minutes to play. It was third down, around midfield.

Football protocol dictates a running play, then a punt deep into the opponent’s end of the field.

But Plum, to everyone’s either horror, curiosity, or glee—depending on your perspective—faded back to pass.

“What’s he doing?” Karras and linebacker Joe Schmidt cried from the sidelines.

Someone from the Lions—Plum never revealed who—got greedy and wanted a first down to put a nail into the Packers’ coffin. So instead of the safe running play, Plum went for a decidedly less safe passing play.

The Lions’ receiver, Terry Barr, slipped on the City Stadium mud, and fell. Plum’s pass was then easily picked off by DB Herb Adderley, who returned it deep into Lions’ territory.

A few moments later, Paul Hornung kicked the game-winning field goal.

Karras demanded to know who called such a hare-brained play. Plum, smugly, told Alex that it was none of his business.

Not long after uttering those words, Plum was ducking to avoid Karras’ helmet, hurled at him from across the room.

It was a gut-wrenching loss, certainly one of the worst the Lions endured in their history.

The Packers finished 13-1 that season—the only loss coming in Detroit on Thanksgiving Day, when the Lions sacked Bart Starr over 10 times.

The Lions went 11-3.

Quick math: if the Lions win that game in Green Bay, as they should have, they and the Packers would have been tied at the end of the season, 12-2.

Not sure about tiebreaker rules back then, but in head-to-head play, the Lions would have been 2-0 against Green Bay. At the very least, they would have played the Packers in a playoff to determine the divisional winner.

Those close to the Lions in those days say that the horrifying loss in Green Bay in October 1962 divided the team for years, and torpedoed any real chances of glory.

So time was, the Lions would fight each other—after games. In the regular season. About something meaningful.

Sometimes it seems as if the Lions of today are in competition with the Oakland Raiders to see who will be named Most Dysfunctional Team of the NFL. Heck, let’s give out two such awards—one for the NFC (Lions) and one for the AFC (Raiders, by 20 lengths).

The great thing about covering the Lions and following them is that you can never, EVER say, with any degree of certainty, “Well, I’ve seen just about everything now.”

Two Lions players, DE Dewayne White and TE Carson Butler, got into a scrap on Saturday night, some 30 minutes before game time, prior to a meaningless exhibition game in Cleveland. And White isn’t letting it go.

“We’re going to have bad blood for quite some time,” he said afterward.

Seriously, who gets into a pre-game fight, as members of the same team? In the pre-season, no less?

Two teams come to mind: the Lions, of course—and the Raiders, whose head coach likes to use his assistants as punching bags, it seems.

New Lions coach Jim Schwartz has himself his first infighting, literally, among the troops. We’ll see how he handles it.

Can you imagine Grady Jackson throwing his helmet at Matthew Stafford?

Well, Jackson is no Karras (damn), and Stafford is no Plum (thank God).

The Lions can’t even fight themselves properly; so how do they figure on handling the rest of the league?

Monday Morning Manager

My weekly take on the Tigers, also known simply and affectionately as “MMM.”

Week of 8/17-23: 3-3

This week: 8/24-26: at LAA; 8/28-30: TB (plus 8/31)

Goat of the Week

A leadoff home run on Sunday wasn’t enough to save Curtis Granderson from the wrath of MMM.

Grandy is last week’s Goat, because he was a leadoff hitter who was unable to put the ball in play, much less get a hit.

Granderson struck out ad nauseam last week, and it got so bad that manager Jim Leyland benched him for a couple games.

But this Goat tag is almost as much for the kind of overall season Curtis is having as it is for just his bad week.

The season is 3/4 done, and Granderson has yet to bring his batting average up or re-discover his gap-hitting skills. He’s just not the same—ironically making the All-Star team in 2009 after a couple years where he deserved it more yet didn’t make it.

Granderson simply is not the offensive weapon that he’s been for the Tigers in the past, and it’s hurting the team. For all of the Tigers’ offensive woes—and there are plenty—Grandy’s lack of spark in the leadoff spot is among the top of the list when it comes to what’s keeping the Tigers’ offense from breaking out.

Dishonorable mention: Rookie reliever Ryan Perry, whose job it was to keep the Tigers close on Sunday, the score 5-4 Oakland in the 8th inning. But Perry followed up a good outing with a horrid one—surrendering a three-run homer and a solo shot as the A’s extended their lead to an insurmountable 9-4, in a game the Tigers needed to win their first road series since June.

Hero of the Week

Clete Thomas reluctantly gets the nod here.

MMM isn’t crazy about making Clete a Hero, but he did drive in the game-winning run on Thursday afternoon, as the Tigers completed an impressive comeback to capture the series against the Mariners.

Then Thomas followed that up with a two-out single Friday night in the sixth inning, driving in what turned out to be the game-winning run.

But Clete is striking out too much, something that Leyland acknowledged over the weekend. Thomas is miscast as a No. 3 hitter, but it’s not like anyone else is really standing out, either.

Honorable mention: Ryan Raburn, who clubbed two “no doubt” solo homers on Friday night, each to put the Tigers ahead.

Quick scouting reports: Angels and Rays

Both the first-place Tigers and the second-place White Sox have tall orders this week. Might be a chance for the third-place Twins to claw back into the AL Central race.

While the Tigers are visiting the Angels and hosting the Rays, and the White Sox are traveling to the Yankees and Red Sox, the Twins will play host to the Orioles and Rangers.

We’ll see.

The Angels, after a slow start, have reclaimed their designation as the cream of the crop in the AL West.

Vladimir Guerrero is back and badder than ever.

Guerrero, who’s only played in 64 games this season because of injury, is hitting .356 with seven homers in August.

But the Angels have plenty of other thumpers.

Eight players—count ‘em, eight—have batting averages of .300 or higher.

Switch-hitting 1B Kendry Morales might be having the best overall year, though.

Morales has 27 HR, 83 RBI, and is hitting .301.

Monday night’s series opener ought to be a dandy, because each team’s ace is going to be on the mound.

It’s Justin Verlander vs. Jered Weaver, and that’s quite a way to start a series.

Verlander is 13-7, Weaver is 13-4. Both are hard-throwing right-handers who pound the strike zone. And both have a nasty streak in them.

The Angels’ closer is lefty Brian Fuentes, who came over as a free agent from Colorado after Frankie Rodriguez fled to the Mets. Fuentes is 35-for-40 in save opps this season, but he’s surrendered five homers in 41.2 innings, so he can give up the occasional longball.

The Tigers are 3-3 vs. LA this season—1-2 on the road and 2-1 in Detroit.

The Rays and the Tigers are, just now, getting around to starting their season series against each other. Tampa visits for four games in a “wrap-around” series that concludes on Monday, then the Tigers will venture to Florida to play the Rays over Labor Day Weekend.

So what about these Rays, the defending AL Champs?

Our old friend, Carlos Pena, continues his feast-or-famine style of hitting.

Pena has a monstrous 34 home runs, 84 RBI, but is hitting just .220 and has struck out a whopping 148 times. Typical Pena.

SS Jason Bartlett is hitting .340, and 3B Evan Longoria is showing no signs of a Sophomore Jinx; he’s got 24 homers and a .273 BA.

In fact, the entire Rays infield is full of offensive might; 2B Ben Zobrist has 22 HRs and a .288 BA.

A surprising spark has been generated by veteran catcher Gregg Zaun, picked up from Baltimore a couple weeks ago. Zaun already has a grand slam, and is providing the team with much-needed catching depth.

The pitchers are still led by those two young guns that terrorized the league last year: James Shields and Matt Garza. But newcomer Jeff Niemann, 26, has 11 wins and a 3.71 ERA.

The closing situation has been murky, but lefty J.P. Howell is coming around, having converted nine of his last ten save opportunities after a rocky start. The Rays began the season with veteran Troy Percival closing, but despite going 6-for-6, Percival’s back wasn’t right and he had to shut himself down. A couple weeks ago, Percival informed the Rays that he was, in essence, retiring—again.

But this time, Troy’s done for good—unlike when he “retired” from the Tigers in 2006.

The Rays have the misfortune of playing in the AL East. They overcame that hurdle last season, but the Yankees and Red Sox have outpaced them all season this year. Still, the Rays aren’t chopped liver—not by a long shot.
Under the microscope

Aubrey Huff—welcome to Detroit! You’re a Tiger less than two weeks and you’re already under MMM’s microscope!

And why not?

Huff was brought over from Baltimore to give the Tigers that much-needed lefty bat, and to try to inject the listless offense with something special.

It’s early, but Aubrey hasn’t done much of anything.

The theory was also that Miguel Cabrera needed a respected bat hitting behind him, although Miggy has put up big numbers with Tom, Dick and Harry batting behind him. But Huff has been mostly invisible in a Tigers uniform so far.

When you bring someone in this late in the season, he’s supposed to be a missing ingredient and the pressure is often greater on those kinds of guys than the ones you pick up at the July 31 non-waiver deadline.

We’ll see how the veteran Huff, who’s never really been in a pennant race before, handles the scenario.

Bottom line: Where does Leyland keep all that smoke and all those mirrors?

He’s had his ragtag team with the popgun offense in first place for forever it seems, all while everyone keeps waiting for the other cleat to fall.

This is a crucial week, and how many more times will MMM declare THAT this season? Probably pretty often.

This is the stretch run, folks; please put your trays in the upright position and make sure your seat belts are buckled.

Games at the Angels and home against the Rays are good barometers, and also great challenges for the Tigers and their teeter-tottering on top of the Central Division.

Pay attention to the White Sox at the Yankees and Red Sox, but also keep a third eye on the Twins, who can never be trusted.

Tigers’ magic number to clinch the division: 37

That’s all for this week’s MMM. Join me every Monday!

P.S. Also join me and Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience every Monday night as we co-host “The Knee Jerks” on Blog Talk Radio. The Tigers are a weekly topic. We go live at 11 p.m. ET, and every episode can be downloaded for your listening convenience!

Inge Giving Us A Performance That Will Be Legendary

It was used as yet another example of why hockey players are supposedly the toughest human beings on the face of the Earth.

Brent Gilchrist, a forward for the Red Wings with suspect talent but not suspect determination, made his teammates sick, literally, in the 1998 post-season.

Not that we knew anything about it at the time.

Playoff hockey is filled with mind games and secret intelligence that would make the CIA proud.

Never is this more evident than when it comes to player injuries.

Coaches smirk, players wink. General managers divert attention.

It’s a very well-orchestrated operation.

The NHL doesn’t require teams to divulge details of player injuries, an option that is taken advantage of, whole-heartedly.

Guys who are out of the lineup have “upper body injuries.”

Smirk. Wink.

Guys who are playing but who clearly don’t look like themselves are merely struggling. There’s nothing the matter with them.

Smirk. Wink.

It’s not until that team’s playoff run is over with, that we’re told the truth.

Gilchrist, we were told once the intelligence officers for the Red Wings deemed it OK, had played the entire post-season with a torn groin.

Try getting out of bed with one of those without sinking back onto the mattress, sobbing in pain.

Yet Gilchrist, not wanting to miss out on what he believed to be an excellent chance to win his first Stanley Cup, not only got out of bed, he dragged his butt to the hockey rink and proceeded to make even the most hardened of his teammates look away in disgust.

Gilchrist, it was disclosed, would have the training staff inject his groin with syringes the size of knitting needles, so that he could be administered the proper amount of cortisone, and in the precise spot, so the pain could be dulled enough for him to play.

Sometimes the cortisone would wear off, and Gilchrist would undergo the procedure during games—whether between periods or between shifts.

Other Red Wings players reported becoming almost sick to their stomachs, having accidentally catching a glimpse of what Brent Gilchrist was enduring, just so he could play some hockey.

The Red Wings played 22 playoff games that spring, which culminated in their second straight Stanley Cup. Gilchrist, with his mangled groin with the track marks, participated in 15 of them.

The extent of his injury was so severe that Gilchrist only managed to play in five games for the Red Wings the following season. It was acknowledged that his decision not to have surgery when he should have—choosing instead to play in the playoffs—cost him basically the whole next season due to belated surgery and recovery.

But he had himself his Stanley Cup—the only one of his career.

That’s a hockey player for you, eh?

Baseball players are wimps!

They sit down if they have a hangnail!

Can’t even play when it’s raining!

I have two words for you and your myths.

Brandon, and Inge.

Inge, the Tigers’ marvelous third baseman, is, under full disclosure, authoring one of the gutsiest feats by any athlete we’ve seen in Detroit—Gilchrist included.

Inge is playing on one leg for the Tigers right now—and he’s still one of the best third basemen in the game, defensively.

Correction: Inge is playing on, at best, two-thirds of one leg.

Rod Allen, the astute analyst for Fox Sports Detroit, put it right.

“There’s a difference between playing in pain, and playing injured,” Allen said Friday night as the Tigers were embroiled in yet another tight ballgame, in Oakland.

“And Brandon Inge is injured.”

No kidding.

This isn’t the NHL, so we’re all able to marvel at what Inge is putting himself through, just so he can do whatever he can to help shove the Tigers across the finish line before the White Sox or the Twins.

His knees are killing him—the left one being the worst of the two.

“Excruciating” has been used to describe the pain.

“Unbelievable” is what I’d use to describe his being on the field, and not in the hospital, his leg propped up and recovering from the surgeon’s knife.

Inge has what doctors say is about a 75 percent tear in the middle portion of the patella tendon in his left knee.

Yeah. That’s right.

The right knee hurts him, too.

But, as Allen said, the right knee is just pain. The left knee is injured.

Inge should be on the disabled list, for the rest of the season, and should have had surgery weeks ago. Someone else should be playing third base.

“It affects everything you do,” he said recently. “Anything that gets you in any sort of an athletic position, that’s what hurts. Anything.

“It’s not fun playing like this.”

Even stepping into the batter’s box—stepping into it—causes Inge great discomfort.

But here’s where it gets legendary, as if that wasn’t enough.

“How could I go on the disabled list and not play, when we’re in first place, when there are people all over out of work and struggling to get by? What kind of message would that send?”

Gulp.

Did a professional athlete, being paid millions of dollars, just say that?

The words are Inge’s, said a few weeks ago.

I wrote earlier in the season, before Inge’s travails were made known, that if they ever get around to erecting some more bronze statues at Comerica Park, they might want to include Brandon Inge, the Tiger with the most seniority of the current bunch, among the casts.

I got the expected reaction—scoffs and chortles and head shaking. A few, and only a few, agreed with me.

Then I found out about Inge’s knees and what he’s putting himself through, and the “v” word starting floating around my head.

Vindication.

Did you hear the latest?

Now they’re sticking needles into Inge’s knee and injecting him with a glucose solution, which is supposed to function as an irritant, alerting the body to fix the problem.

I just saw your hangnail and raised it by a broken knee and a half.

The Tigers offered Inge some time on the disabled list—the minimum 15 day requirement. This was several weeks ago.

But he said no, because no medical expert around the team could assure him that 15 days off would do any real good.

“I don’t want a day off the rest of the year,” Inge told the Detroit News’ Tom Gage last week. “Be sure to tell the skipper (manager Jim Leyland) that, too.”

The skipper isn’t obeying. He’s sitting Inge down occasionally, but not for entire games. Leyland can’t resist the urge to insert Inge into the game in the later innings, because his glove is so valuable.

Leyland failed to do that last Sunday against Kansas City, and faux third baseman Ryan Raburn let a hard groundball gobble him up in the tenth inning. The miscue led to the Royals scoring the game-winning run.

“Inge would have made that play,” was the first thing that came to mind when I saw Raburn turn butcher.

Brandon Inge, on two-thirds of one leg, would have made that play. Likely.

Don’t any of you dare forget what this guy is going through to play baseball this season.

I know I won’t.

Lyon Unsung Hero Of Tigers’ First-Place Run

Brandon Lyon was supposed to anchor the Tigers’ bullpen. Only, he was supposed to do it in the ninth inning.

The ninth inning isn’t his—the plan went awry—but he made a two-for-one trade: surrendering the ninth for the seventh and eighth.

But he has, indeed, been an anchor nonetheless.

Lyon, signed in the off-season after four years in Arizona, was brought in to be the Tigers’ closer. It seemed plain to the experts and blabbering bloggers (like me) that the plan called for Lyon to supplant Fernando Rodney, the helter-skelter reliever who became the top fireman following Todd Jones’ retirement.

Rodney was wild. Rodney was inconsistent. Rodney was a thrill ride in the ninth inning.

Lyon was more experienced. Lyon was coming off a solid year. Lyon was excited to go to, in his mind, a contender. He was ready to grab the closer’s role and give it a choke hold.

That worked for about two weeks of spring training.

Funny things happen in pro sports when the talking and writing gives way to the actual playing of the games.

Neither Lyon nor Rodney performed in spring training as advertised.

The roles were reversed; Lyon was erratic and unreliable, and Rodney was the calming influence in save situations.

Go figure.

After the Tigers ventured north to start the season, not much changed. Lyon had lost the closer’s job in Florida, but was still deemed to be an important part of the bullpen, especially with Joel Zumaya’s health in question and a rookie (Ryan Perry) on board.

Yet Lyon started the regular season much as he finished the Grapefruit version: fooling no one, and getting hit hard.

He didn’t endear himself to his new fans in Detroit. They turned on him quickly.

“Todd Jones Lite” was one way of describing him: a guy who didn’t strike out anyone (like Jonesy) but who didn’t get anyone out, either (unlike Jonesy, for the most part).

Meanwhile, Rodney grew more and more comfortable as the team closer, allaying fears fans and observers had about him.

Lyon’s entrance into games was met with disdain, worry, and eye-rolling—sometimes all at once.

That seems ages ago.

It says here that Brandon Lyon is one of the Tigers’ Unsung Heroes.

Lyon’s job is much like that of an umpire’s or referee’s. If all goes well, you hear nothing. But make a couple of mistakes, and…

Lyon has commandeered the eighth and ninth innings for the Tigers, even more so since they lost Zumaya yet again to injury.

The stat called a “hold”, if it was a woman, would register on the sexy scale just above Margaret Thatcher. But it’s the only one that can be truly attached to the guy who comes in, often during pivotal situations, and is charged with wriggling out of jams. The outs he gets usually are no less tough and important than the ones the closer waltzes in and gets in the ninth inning.

Lyon has been terrific for about three months. He gave the Tigers four remarkable innings in Minnesota in an extra inning game, as an example. But most of his stints have come and gone with little fanfare.

Rodney, for his part, has proven that the closer’s role he earned in spring training is his and his alone. Lyon’s work as a set-up man hasn’t been wasted by any shenanigans in the ninth inning.

Others in the pen have chipped in, who were question marks for various reasons.

Southpaw Bobby Seay, who had a devil of a time with lefty sticks in 2008, is back to his old self.

Perry has had a decent rookie year, interrupted by some brief time in Toledo.

Fu-Te Ni has brought another trusty left-handed arm to the party.

And Lyon, who overcame an understatedly rocky start to seize control in the seventh and eighth innings.

He’s still that “pitch to contact” guy—baseball code for lack of a consistent strikeout pitch—but the difference is that those moments of contact aren’t as square or as catastrophic as they were from February to May.

Lyon has settled down and is pitching again—using good location, change of speeds, and good old-fashioned experience to get hitters out. He’s re-learning the American League, where he hasn’t pitched since 2003, with the Red Sox.

It’s not as glorifying as what Fernando Rodney does, but without it, the Tigers would be in a heap.

Bertuzzi Latest To Be Christened By Red Wings’ Magic Potion?

Last we saw of Todd Bertuzzi in Detroit, he was a skating shell. No more than 50, 60 percent of the player he’d been in his heyday.

Bertuzzi gave it the old college try, but he wasn’t what the Red Wings thought they were getting when they dealt for him at the 2007 trade deadline. Or, at the very least, he wasn’t what the Red Wings hoped they were getting.

He was coming off serious back surgery, and had only played in a handful of games for the Florida Panthers when the Red Wings came calling.

The result was a gingerly-skating Bertuzzi in the ‘07 playoffs, rarely crashing the net and hardly ever throwing his big body around.

Still, the Red Wings wanted him back for ‘07-’08, thinking an off-season and more rest and therapy would make him more of the Todd Bertuzzi, circa 2002 that vexed the Red Wings in their series with Vancouver that spring.

But Bertuzzi wanted more of Mike Ilitch’s pizza dough than the Red Wings were willing to offer, so Bert signed with the Cup champions, the Anaheim Ducks.

After being released by the Ducks and catching on with the Calgary Flames last season, Bertuzzi is back in Detroit, signing a one-year, $1.5 million deal.

He’s 34 now, but has played in 134 of a possible 164 games over the past two seasons, which isn’t bad for a 30+ year-old coming off back surgery.

Bertuzzi’s career has been pocked with controversy. There was the Steve Moore sucker punch, which resulted in criminal charges and a lawsuit. Moore hasn’t played in the NHL since the incident, which was over five years ago.

Bertuzzi’s first Detroit stint was a game effort, but his back wasn’t anywhere near 100 percent

Bertuzzi badly wanted to be the final piece of the Red Wings’ playoff run puzzle two years ago, and was genuinely excited upon arriving in town in late March ‘07. But his body betrayed him, not ready yet for the rigors of playoff hockey. He managed three goals in 16 playoff games, but his shifts were auspiciously devoid of the on-ice presence that he once wielded.

But there must be some sort of magic hockey potion in the Detroit River, which for years has been pumped into Joe Louis Arena via underwater pipeline, and under which players are christened.

Unwanted free agents. Unproven youngsters. Other teams’ castaways. Veterans looking for one more “kick at the can”—the Stanley Cup.

All of the above have donned the Winged Wheel and found their mojo playing in Detroit.

The current roster is dotted with these types.

Dan Cleary, a cast-off from Edmonton and Phoenix, is probably the best example—a guy who scuffled along, trying to find his foothold, then joining the Red Wings and blossoming.

There was Dallas Drake, brought back by the Red Wings for a swan song, the last bar of which was Drake skating around the Mellon Arena ice with the Stanley Cup in June 2008, at age 39.

So the Red Wings, having lost Marian Hossa, Mikael Samuelsson, Jiri Hudler, and Tomas Kopecky to free agency this summer, are opening the magic potion pipeline once again, hoping that Bertuzzi and the afore-signed Patrick Eaves and Jason Williams can benefit from it.

Bertuzzi will probably never again be the player NHL fans remember in his prime. It usually doesn’t work that way the further the calendar advances. But he’s on board for a relative pittance of a salary, and the Red Wings believe in the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. They always have.

They play hockey a certain way in Detroit, and the team’s aura has enabled players to buy into the system and eschew any bad habits learned elsewhere.

Bertuzzi didn’t get the prize—that has so far eluded him—in his first go-round in the Motor City. Already, most “experts” are counting his new/old team out of the running for the 2010 Cup.

Just like they counted the Red Wings out after they fell into an 0-2 hole against Bertuzzi’s Canucks in the first round of the ‘02 playoffs. I think you know how that post-season ended for the Red Wings.

So Todd Bertuzzi knows a little bit about what the Red Wings can do when they’ve been written off.

Last Night on “The Knee Jerks”: Hooping It Up, “Old School”, With Ray Scott!

It was time to talk some “old school” basketball last night on “The Knee Jerks”!

The weekly gabfest I have with Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience had another jam-packed episode, and our guest was former Pistons player and coach and member of the Michigan Sports Hall of Fame (MSHOF), Ray Scott.

Ray regaled us with stories, from his being drafted by the Pistons in 1961, to his time as the team’s coach from 1972-76. And we discussed the state of the current Pistons, and got Ray’s take on the rebuilding project that GM Joe Dumars is undertaking.

Finally, we talked about the sorry financial state of the MSHOF, how it got to be so bad, and whether there’s hope for it. (Ray seems to think there could be a “white knight” on the horizon; we’ll see).

It was a glorious (and fast) 60 minutes with one of the “walking encyclopedias” of NBA history—Mr. Ray Scott.

After Ray, Al and I talked some Tigers and Lions for the remaining hour.

The highlights:

Big Al

On the Tigers acquiring Aubrey Huff: “The Tigers FINALLY did what I’ve been asking since the beginning of the season—they got a left-handed bat! But where the heck is Huff going to play?”

On the beanbrawl in Beantown featuring Rick Porcello and Kevin Youkilis: “Youkilis was a pussy. The Tigers got bent over by the league with the ejection of Porcello.”

On the Lions’ exhibition win Saturday: “I still don’t see this team winning more than four games because there are too many issues on defense. The front four produced no pressure against the Falcons’ starters.”

On Matthew Stafford: “I think it might be a good decision, after all, to have Stafford start Game One of the regular season. If he’s the best QB, then there’s no reason not to play him. Period.”

Eno

On Huff: “He may be what the Tigers need to get over the hump. Sometimes guys who come from last place teams get re-energized. This could be good for both parties.”

On the beanbrawl: “To eject Porcello without any warnings handed out was a screw job, for sure.”

On the Lions’ exhibition game: “I wouldn’t read too much into the defensive issues right now. At least the Lions have a coordinator who believes in blitzing and pressuring the QB, and that in of itself is a breath of fresh air.”

On Stafford: “It’s getting to the point now where if you’re looking for reasons NOT to like him, it’s like nitpicking. And what an arm he has!”

You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE.

Lions Should Trade Drew Stanton To A Team That Deserves Him

Drew Stanton led the Lions to a comeback win in Saturday’s exhibition opener. The team’s No. 3 quarterback looked good, looked confident, and showed what he can do with his nimble feet when the situation calls for it.

Now let’s hope he never sees the light of day on the football field—as a Lion— from now until death do we part.

Stanton, the kid from Michigan State who’s been treated oh-so-poorly since becoming a Lion in 2007, can only hope to be the Gary Kubiak of our time—an apprentice and clipboard holder for one of the best quarterbacks in the league.

Of course, the latter is still up to Matthew Stafford, but as long as Stafford is in Detroit and healthy, Stanton will be nothing more than a career No. 2 man.

Kubiak played that role for the Denver Broncos, taking care of garbage time behind John Elway. But Kubiak clearly was paying attention, as he eventually became a well-respected offensive coordinator and then parlayed that into a head coaching gig with the Houston Texans.

As it is, Stanton is No. 3, with Daunte Culpepper and Stafford crowding him out.

It would mean disaster for the Lions if Stanton lines up behind center and starts a regular season NFL game.

Frankly, I wish the Lions would trade him.

Stanton is probably comfortable in Detroit, having played at MSU and going into his third season as a Lion. But he’s not going to play, and that’s what every professional athlete wants to do—play.

In the NBA, playing time is still the one weapon that coaches can wave in their players’ faces. The threat of not getting as much still can quell some bad behavior. It’s also the reason a lot of players leave as free agents. They want to play. Simple as that. Many of them would just as soon leave a winner—and have on many occasions—to join a losing team, if there’s a chance to see serious playing time.

Stanton can’t possibly be any different. He didn’t sign a pro contract to wear baseball caps and earphones.

The Lions should deal him, and quickly. It’s the least they can do for the kid.

Two years ago, with the Lions’ offense still under the thumb of Mad Mike Martz, the rookie Stanton hurt himself early in training camp, just as Martz was monkeying around with the young man’s mechanics.

That was bad enough, but then the Lions made the curious decision to place Stanton on the Injured Reserved list, thus ending his season before it began. His rookie season, no less.

So Stanton did the best he could to learn, even though he was basically persona non grata.

2007 was a wasted season.

Martz was then fired, and a new coordinator came in—Jim Colletto.

But the Lions still had Jon Kitna, and Dan Orlovsky as Kitna’s backup. Stanton was, for all intents and purposes, a rookie all over again. He wasn’t on IR, but he was given no bigger role, really. Never really given a chance to see what he could do.

Even after Kitna went down with an injury, the Lions looked elsewhere for QB help, bringing the pudgy and out of shape Culpepper out of retirement, and thrusting him into the lineup despite Daunte looking like a nose tackle instead of a quarterback.

The Lions even brought Drew Henson in, for goodness sakes.

Rod Marinelli and Colletto were among the casualties of the 0-16, 2008 season.

This meant a new head coach and yet another o-coordinator for Stanton to work with.

Then the Lions went and drafted themselves a “franchise quarterback” last April—Stafford.

Culpepper got himself into shape, dropped weight, and looks and feels like the Daunte of old.

The new o-coordinator, Scott Linehan, has history with Culpepper. And Stafford is clearly the QB of the future. GM Martin Mayhew, as camp opened, hinted the Lions would seek yet another veteran QB, to combine with Culpepper to sandwich around the rookie Stafford.

So where does this leave poor Drew Stanton, perhaps the most shabbily-treated second round-drafted quarterback in history?

For his sake, I hope it leaves him with another NFL team. The Lions don’t deserve him after what they’ve done to him.

They pick him early in the second round in ‘07, amidst some genuine excitement from the locals, who remembered vividly what he did both in high school in Okemos and at MSU.

Then they sic Martz on him, who screws him up and makes him un-learn everything he ever knew about quarterbacking.

Then they put him on IR, which is tantamount to stuffing him in a closet for the year.

And that was just for starters.

Stanton needs to go somewhere else—both where he can play and show off his mobility, and to get a fresh new start on an NFL career that just might have some promise.

None of the above will happen in Detroit, with the Lions and their commitment to first Culpepper and, eventually, Stafford.

The Lions will likely get nothing more than a 3rd or 4th round pick for Stanton in a trade, but that’s OK. It would be more of a mercy transaction—more for Stanton than the Lions.

Saturday’s contest was one of those games in August that can mean so little, but it’s also all you can go on sometimes. And Stanton showed some poise in the waning moments against the Falcons, eventually using his feet to traverse the final 18 yards the Lions needed to move into Jason Hanson’s field goal range.

The Lions won, which of course means nothing, but at least Stanton knows that he led them to the victory, no matter how hollow.

“Stanton’s stock is rising”, I saw one Internet headline scream this morning.

Sell high—isn’t that what the money folks recommend?

The Lions ought to unload Stanton while he’s got some value—even if they have stripped him of most of it by their own hand.

Monday Morning Manager

My weekly take on the Tigers, also known simply and affectionately as “MMM.”

Week of 8/10-16: 3-4

This week: 8/18-20: SEA; 8/21-23: at Oak

Goat of the Week

The umpiring crew in Boston.

MMM didn’t think the Tigers would win more than one game in Fenway Park during the four-game set last week, but they just might have, had Tuesday night’s beanball debacle not occured.

It all started Monday, when Miguel Cabrera and Brandon Inge were hit, along with Kevin Youkilis of Boston. On Tuesday, Cabrera was hit again, in the first inning, by Red Sox starter Junichi Tazawa. Tigers starter Rick Porcello brushed back Victor Martinez, who took exception, in the bottom of the first. FSD cameras caught Martinez mouthing very clearly, “What are you doing?” to the Tigers’ rookie.

You know what happened next.

Porcello plunked Youkilis in the bottom of the second, and the Red Sox third baseman charged the rookie, triggering a bench-clearing brawl.

Without any warnings handed out, the umpires ejected Youkilis AND Porcello. Youkilis, for certain, should have been kicked out, but to eject Porcello without a warning to both dugouts about all the brushbacks and HBPs, was highly questionable. Tigers manager Jim Leyland had a fit; to the umpires’ credit, they let him go off and didn’t eject him. Sometimes the boys in blue will do that—let a manager blow off some serious steam—when a highly controversial decision is rendered.

The Tigers were leading 3-0 at the time.

Chris Lambert replaced Porcello and before you could say, “Uh-oh,” he surrendered a game-tying, three-run homer.

Now, it’s impossible to declare without some fear of being wrong that had Porcello stayed in, that three-run dinger by Jason Bay wouldn’t have occurred. But the Tigers were off to a good start, had a three-run lead for one of their better starting pitchers, and it might have been their night.

We’ll never know for sure.

But the decision to run Porcello out of the game turned out very poorly for the Tigers, who lost the contest, 7-5.

Dishonorable mention: The Tigers’ up-and-down offense (again), which went 0-for-16 with RISP in Sunday’s loss to the Royals, when just one key hit likely would have given the team a three-game sweep.

Hero of the Week

Justin Verlander, without question.

JV has been MMM’s hero several times, and usually it’s for the same reason: bailing the Tigers out when they need to stop some bleeding.

Verlander was up to the task yet again last Thursday, when he blew the Red Sox away so the Tigers could avoid a four-game sweep in Boston.

On his 123rd and final pitch, to Bay, JV hit 100 mph and struck Bay out swinging.

Verlander pitched eight shutout innings, in a rough ballpark for pitchers, in a game the Tigers absolutely had to win. He’s turning into an MLB-wide ace before our very eyes, folks.

Twenty wins seem within JV’s grasp. He has 13 now and is showing no sign of wilting in the dog days of the season.

Verlander, by, far, leads the AL in strikeouts, averaging well over 10 Ks per nine innings.

“That’s a horse,” Leyland said after Thursday’s game.

No kidding. And the Tigers keep saddling him up, asking him to lead them to safer ground.

Honorable mention: Brandon Inge, for ending Friday night’s game with a bang—a walk-off home run in the ninth for a 1-0 victory. Especially nice, considering how hurt and ineffective Inge has been since the All-Star break.

Quick scouting reports: Mariners and A’s

A strange scheduling quirk this week means the Tigers will play a home game Thursday afternoon then have to shuttle themselves out to Oakland to play the A’s the next night.

The quirk is that the Tigers’ day off this week is Monday, not Thursday. Time was that West Coast trips were rarely preceded by a game day. But the Tigers have just completed a stretch of games in 17 straight days, which explains Monday’s day off.

The Seattle Mariners are hanging tough in the AL West, though they remain long shots to unseat the LA Angels.

As usual, the offense is keyed by RF Ichiro Suzuki.

Ichiro is hitting .360, which we’ve come to expect—that’s how good he is. This is a career .333 hitter who’s likely Hall of Fame-bound. Sometime soon Ichiro will collect his 2,000th hit, and there’s no reason to think he won’t surpass 3,000 for his career.

In each of his eight seasons, Ichiro has banged out at least 200 hits, which is mind-boggling. He has 175 this year, so that streak looks like it will be extended to nine straight years.

Oh, and how’s this for his run-scoring totals, by season?

Year One: 127
Year Two: 111
Year Three: 111
Year Four: 101
Year Five: 111
Year Six: 110
Year Seven: 111
Year Eight: 103

Amazingly consistent.

Ichiro hits. Ichiro runs. Ichiro can steal bases. Ichiro can bunt his way on. Ichiro can catch the ball. Ichiro can throw the ball.

Yeah, Hall of Famer—one of those first ballot guys.

If you like power with frequent breezes, big 1B Russell Branyan is your man. Branyan has 27 homers—but also 130 strikeouts.

On the mound, ex-Tiger Luke French—traded for Jarrod Washburn—is 1-1 in three Mariners starts, with a 4.41 ERA. According to the rotation schedule, the lefty should start Thursday’s game in Detroit.

But the real star is righty Felix Hernandez, who’ll start Tuesday’s game. Hernandez is 12-4, with a 2.74 ERA. He’s 2-0 against the Tigers this year, with a 2.77 ERA.

In Oakland, the Athletics waved the white flag at the trade deadline and are looking ahead to 2010.

The lineup is mediocre, with only DH Jack Cust a serious home run threat. Only one batter, CF Rajai Davis, is hitting .300—and Davis is at exactly .300. But Davis, through July and August, is hitting 36-for-95 (.379).

Their best pitcher, statistically, is on the DL (Dallas Braden). The rest of the rotation is struggling, and their bullpen is a shambles.

The closer is Andrew Bailey, who’s actually been pretty good—converting 15-of-16 save opportunities since June 1.

But Bailey only has 21 opportunities, period, and that’s saying a lot about the A’s, who sit in dead last in the West.

Under the microscope

I don’t like Clete Thomas’s defense.

He’s butchered too many plays for my liking, and if he’s going to be the left-handed-hitting guy in RF—which he appears to be as the platooning with Magglio Ordonez continues more often than not—then he has to be better with the glove.

Maggs is no Gold Glover, either, but Thomas’s mitt right now is cast iron.

To be fair, some of his missteps have been due to over-aggressiveness. But still, he’s cost the Tigers and with the team playing so many low-scoring, tight ballgames, an ill-timed miscue could easily cost them a game.

Let’s put Clete under the scope and see if he stops stumbling in RF.

Reminds me of a funny story.

Slugger Dave Kingman, never known for his defense, was having his glove’s laces fixed one day, and the TV cameras caught it in the dugout.

The announcer—and I wish I could remember who it was—said, “They should call a welder, not an equipment guy.”

Bottom line: Once again, Verlander had to stop the bleeding. And once again, he responded.

That scenario has been happening too much for a team in first place.

Sunday’s game of tiddly-wink offense, following a ten-run outburst on Saturday, has also been too typical.

How many wins have the Tigers left on the field because they couldn’t drive in a freaking run or two?

They should be making a mockery of this divisional race, with the White Sox just two games above .500.

Even the Twins, five games below .500, are still in the hunt, though longshots.

This Seattle at home/Oakland on the road week can be tricky for the Tigers. The Mariners have played the Tigers tough all season, and the West Coast is unpredictable.

The Tigers remain three games ahead of the White Sox in the all-important loss column, which is the column to watch more than any other.

But I like how Miggy Cabrera has woken up and is starting to play more like the Albert Pujols-like superstar he has the potential to be. And Carlos Guillen has shown me something since returning from injury sabbatical.

But more guys have to get in on the fun, offensively.

Going 0-for-16 with RISP is atrocious, and brings back ghoulish memories of 1-for-26 in Yankee Stadium last month.

Tigers’ magic number to clinch the division: 43

That’s all for this week’s MMM. Join me every Monday!

P.S. Also join me and Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience every Monday night as we co-host “The Knee Jerks” on Blog Talk Radio. The Tigers are a weekly topic. We go live at 11 p.m. ET, and every episode can be downloaded for your listening convenience!

Martin’s Self-Destructive Pattern Began In Detroit 40 Years Ago

Billy Martin made one thing perfectly clear in one of his first team meetings as manager of the Tigers.

“I am,” Martin said, “a very bad loser.”

Looking back on it, it’s actually quite amazing that Martin ever came to manage the Tigers to begin with.

Billy was not the kind of man that General Manager Jim Campbell usually looked for in his manager.

The button-downed Tigers organization didn’t seem like the place for Martin, a brawling, drinking, pugnacious runt of a man.

Campbell need only have looked at a parking lot down the street from Tiger Stadium, and recalled an incident a couple years prior, in order to be reminded of Billy’s demeanor.

Martin was finally a big league manager in 1969, for the Minnesota Twins. It was the culmination of eight years in the organization, first as a scout then as a third base coach.

Two hallmarks of Martin as a manager began in Minnesota: his ability to work wonders with ball clubs, and his propensity for self-destruction.

The latter first bobbed to the surface in Detroit, on an August night in 1969. Forty years ago last week.

The Lindell A.C. was a wonderful sports bar, filled with history and memorabilia. A place to have a cold beer and a juicy burger, while staring at things like Wayne Walker’s jockstrap hanging on the wall. Honest.

The Lindell was also a swell place to have a good, old-fashioned barroom brawl.

One night, they put chains and manacles on the pro wrestler Dick “The Bruiser” and dragged him out of the Lindell—located right on the corner of Cass and Michigan, maybe a mile from Tiger Stadium—when he got overzealous in trying to get under the skin of the Lions’ Alex Karras prior to their celebrated wrestling match in 1963, when Karras was suspended from the NFL for a year.

The Twins were in Detroit the first week of August ‘69, on their way to the AL West Division title. They were trying to hold off the charging Oakland A’s.

Dave Boswell was a 24-year-old pitcher for the Twins, a tall drink of water at 6-foot-3. And he was in the middle of something at the Lindell after one of the games in Detroit. Martin was among the patrons that night.

Martin, who never met a fight he didn’t like, took exception to something Boswell did. Or so says Billy. To hear Martin tell it, Boswell came at him first.

Of course.

Regardless, Martin, all 5-foot-10 of him, slugged his pitcher with a solid punch, in the alley behind the Lindell, where the proceedings had moved.

Billy kept battering Boswell, knocking him unconscious. Boswell ended up needing about 20 stitches to close up his face.

Four days later, Martin held a mini-press conference, explaining why Boswell hadn’t continued with the Twins on their road trip.

That’s when Billy told of the escapade behind the Lindell, and his version of acting in self-defense.

Boswell, one day later, refuted that.

This wasn’t chopped liver that Martin had punched out. Boswell would win 20 games for the Twins in ’69, starting 38 times.

Boswell went 18 days between starts while his face, and his ego, healed.

Martin was 1-0 as a fighter as a manager.

And Martin’s pattern of self-destruction while managing, his propensity to rain on his own parade, began on that August night in 1969, behind the Lindell A.C. in Detroit.

The Twins won the division, but lost in the playoffs, swept away by the Baltimore Orioles.

The Twins fired Martin after the season, deciding instead to hire someone who didn’t have a fetish for punching out his pitchers.

Another trend began: Martin getting canned.

Meanwhile, the Tigers were happily playing for Mayo Smith, the manager of the 1968 championship team. They didn’t repeat in ’69, but the Tigers won 90 games.

“He was the best manager I ever played for,” Jim Northrup once told me about his days under Mayo. Of course he’d say that about Smith; Mayo pretty much wrote out the lineup card and stayed out of the players’ way.

But by the end of the 1970 season, Mayo’s magic had worn off. The Tigers sunk to below .500, the standard for mediocrity.

The team, Campbell believed, needed a spark. A piss and vinegar kind of guy.

And you couldn’t get much more pissy or vinegary than Billy Martin.

Campbell made the move. He fired Mayo Smith and hired the volatile Martin.

It worked, for a time.

Martin’s Tigers won 91 games in 1971, and then captured the AL East flag in 1972. In ’71, Campbell acquired a veteran arm to help in the eventually futile chase of the Orioles for the division title. The veteran was a right-hander named Dave Boswell.

In Detroit, Martin always had an older team, with precious few young prospects, but he was able to whip them into shape. Billy was good that way.

“The worst manager I ever played for,” Northrup said of Martin. I think Jim used the word “hate”, too.

Martin may not have ingratiated himself to Northrup, or to many others, but he won. Billy was building quite a reputation as one of the game’s best managers—brilliant at getting the most out of the talent available to him.

Billy didn’t make friends. He just won.

One day, desperate and in a losing streak, Billy pulled his batting order from a hat. The Tigers won.

But his desire to win—his aforementioned hatred of losing—got the best of him and ruined him in Detroit, as it would in Texas and Oakland and, several times, in New York.

That, and all the fights, which didn’t end with the Boswell incident.

Around this time of the month in 1973, Martin openly and brazenly admitted that he had ordered some of his pitchers to throw spitballs and beanballs at opposing hitters. Billy was tired of it happening to his team.

That was the last straw. Campbell had looked the other way when Billy flew into Chicago on his own and showed up in the dugout less than an hour before game time, earlier in the season. He was annoyed but let it go when Billy would take his beefs about the Tigers’ woeful minor league system to the media.

The league suspended Martin for ordering spitballs, but before the suspension was lifted, Campbell fired him.

The Tigers, still winners to the end of Martin’s tenure, were 71-63 when Billy got the ziggy.

Then the team went into the toilet, with four straight losing seasons after Billy left.

The Tigers’ inability to replace their aging stars with good young talent did them in. Just as Billy had crabbed about to the press.

The Texas Rangers snatched Martin up about a week after the Tigers fired him. He worked some magic in Texas in 1974, then was fired the next year. The Yankees snatched him up not long after the Rangers fired him in 1975.

Billy’s time in New York under owner George Steinbrenner is a book, not a column. It could even be a series of books. Steinbrenner hired and fired Martin so many times it became a national joke, and fodder for a beer commercial.

Twenty years ago this Christmas, Billy Martin died in a car wreck, after a night of drinking, naturally.

He self-destructed one last time.

Van Slyke Uncredited When It Comes To Granderson’s Outfield Play

The eyes were quite alive, twinkling even. That little kid look you see in grown men, particularly when they put a baseball glove on their hock.

Something happens to the adult male when he slips a mitt on.

The twinkling-eyed man was checking out the glove breaking-in talents of his young pupil. He had one area of concern: some of the laces were too long. It brought up a funny story.

The pupil was Curtis Granderson. The cut-up telling the story was Andy Van Slyke.

It was a quiet moment, over three years ago, before the Tigers were to take on the (then) defending world champion Chicago White Sox.

Granderson, who was fresh off beating out a kid named Nook Logan for the Tigers’ center field job, was being gracious to a locker invader who was striking up some chit chat when Van Slyke joined us.

“I had long laces, too,” Van Slyke said. Then he proceeded to tell a story of how those long laces turned on him one night in Pittsburgh. Seems Van Slyke went for a shoestring catch and caught his spikes on the offending laces of his glove, yanking the mitt off his hand and causing him to tumble all over the Three Rivers Stadium turf.

It was impossible not to laugh.

Van Slyke was who I came to see, anyway. I wanted to know what in the world he was doing, coaching first base for the Detroit Tigers. Oh, and what he thought of the team’s outfielders, not the least of whom was this kid Granderson.

We ended up in the coaches’ locker room, which is nothing more than a glorified walk-in closet. It was something you’d expect from old, creaky Tiger Stadium. Not from supposedly state-of-the-art Comerica Park, built with the pizza dough of Mike Ilitch.

Van Slyke had this piece of clay named Curtis Granderson and I wanted to know what he planned on doing with it.

And, you could do worse than to talk outfielding with Andy Van Slyke, who only happened to be one of the finest of his time, or anyone’s time. He was a funny, wise-cracking soul, but no clown.

First, there’s the matter of who Van Slyke learned his trade from.

“Bill Virdon taught me,” AVS told me.

Ahh. Say no more.

But, for the kiddies out there, I’ll say a little bit.

Virdon, who played for the Pirates in the 1950s and early-1960s, was an exemplary center fielder. He got lost in the shadows of contemporaries like Willie Mays and Duke Snider and even Jackie Jensen when it came to glove work. Heck, Virdon got lost in the shadows of his own teammate. Some dude named Roberto Clemente.

But Virdon was a terrific outfielder, and he remained close to the Pirates organization after he retired. He managed the team, and functioned as both a coach and a spring training instructor.

Van Slyke, clowning with Miguel Cabrera, had fun as a player, but also worked very hard at his craft

On that day in April 2006, when AVS and I talked about Granderson and other outfielders on the team, Van Slyke spoke with parental overtones.

“I watch my kids play a lot of baseball,” he said, referring to his own children, “and I think I’m more nervous watching my outfielders play than watching my kids play, because I have a lot of time invested in their (Tigers outfielders’) success.”

Granderson, Van Slyke said at the time, had tons of potential to become a better outfielder.

And Curtis has.

I’ve been down on Granderson a lot this year, because his bat has been limp for most of the season, except for the occasional home run. Infrequent have been the doubles and triples that Grandy was known to slap around the ballpark. The batting average doesn’t cause one to seek out pen and paper in order to write home about it. It’s not even been worthy of a quick e-mail.

But the glove hasn’t abandoned him, and that’s saying something, for often times players let their offensive struggles affect their defense.

As much confidence as I may have lost in Granderson’s bat, I’ve lost none in his mitt—long laces and all.

Van Slyke’s in his fourth year now of working with the Tigers outfielders, and it shows. Not only with Granderson, who has become very comfortable in the vastness of Comerica Park’s outfield, but with others–even someone like Marcus Thames.

Thames will never be an upper echelon outfielder, but he gets good jumps on fly balls and can make the occasional circus catch.

I hope Van Slyke’s next project is Clete Thomas, because Clete has committed acts of butchery this season that have cost the Tigers.

Van Slyke said it all involves hard work.

“Even after I started winning Gold Gloves in Pittsburgh, I felt I could be better,” he imparted to me. “I thought, ‘You know what? I need to continue to win Gold Gloves.’”

The Tigers’ defense was a weakness last season, during their 74-88 debacle. Now, it takes center stage again, but this time as a crutch for the beleaguered offense.

Pitching and defense. The time-proven recipe for success. The Tigers seem to have both of those ingredients in full, undiluted force.

“We work on things,” Grandy told me way back when about Van Slyke and himself, long before we started expecting playoff appearances from the Tigers. “Angles, positioning. Stuff like that.”

Not sure which is better: Van Slyke The Teacher, or Granderson The Listener.

Something’s working, though.

Lions’ Only “Curse” Has Been Their Tendency To Make Bad Decisions

The haggard pub owner traipsed down to the ballpark, as had been his wont, and brought his sidekick with him, as he’d done several times before.

Only this time, the sidekick wasn’t allowed in.

It was the World Series, and seats were at a premium.

Besides, the sidekick was a billy goat, so a line had to be drawn somewhere.

The pub owner, Billy Sianis, was outraged.

“Them Cubs, they aren’t gonna win no more,” Sianis was said to have muttered in his disgust as he trudged away with goat in tow.

This was in 1945 as the Cubs were playing the Tigers in the World Series. The words of Sianis might have been apocryphal, but it has been confirmed that Sianis and his goat were asked to leave Wrigley Field that day.

The newspaper people jumped on Sianis’ supposed words of fury, and turned them into a “curse.”

Chicago-based syndicated columnist Mike Royko was one of the biggest instigators of this malarkey.

That the Cubs haven’t been to a World Series since ‘45 is proof, the conspiracy whacks say, of Sianis’ curse still in effect.

Fast forward from ‘45 to 1958.

The alcoholic, carousing quarterback leaves town after being abruptly traded, just one season removed from a championship year.

In his shock and anger, the QB shakes his fist and yells at team management that they won’t win for 50 years.

The Curse of Bobby Layne, allegedly.

If common folks had the ability to “curse” people, or teams, or companies, can you imagine the chaos in this country?

CEOs would be dropping dead like flies. Big box retailers would have moths eating all their clothing and cockroaches infesting all of their food. The guy who cut you off in traffic would turn into a donkey at your command.

Sianis and his goat are denied entry into Wrigley Field during the 1945 World Series, according to the Chicago Tribune’s description of this photo

There are no curses.

Bad luck? Sure.

The Lions are 51 years removed from Layne’s “curse”, which has never been properly confirmed, by the way. Not that it matters that we adhere to the facts. That’s no fun for the conspiracy whacks!

The Lions aren’t cursed, unless it’s been by poor decision making and bad hires and miserly approaches to the business—all of which has dogged the franchise in various stages since Layne left.

The question was put to me by my partner, Big Al, on Monday night’s episode of “The Knee Jerks” on Blog Talk Radio.

The Lions have been running into some injuries during training camp, which is less than two weeks old. Even the superstar receiver Calvin Johnson found his hand in a cast briefly, due to a jammed thumb.

Al wanted to know: Are the Lions snakebit?

No!!!

No more than any other NFL team, all of which are navigating through player injuries of various types right now.

It’s called training camp. Guys pull up lame. Some joints get tweaked. Thumbs get jammed.

Or defensive ends pop their Achilles tendon, as the Lions’ Jared DeVries did, now lost for the season.

It happens.

Depth is key to any successful team. The Lions don’t have much of it right now, but they’ll still have to answer the bell on September 13 when they tee the footballs up for real.

If one man, Bobby Layne, was able to plunder the Lions for five decades because of some angry words he may or may not have said, then that’s a world I’d be petrified to live in.

The Lions have done themselves in, thank you. They haven’t needed much help from the outside, or from the netherworld.

There were no mysterious forces at work when Joe Schmidt resigned in a huff as coach in 1973, fed up with GM Russ Thomas’ meddling. No one held a gun to the Lions’ heads when they plucked Darryl Rogers from Arizona State University to coach them in 1985.

You think the Lions were “cursed” when Barry Sanders dropped into their laps in 1989, after the Packers took leave of their senses and drafted tackle Tony Mandarich instead?

Hmmm…the conspiracy and curse whacks never talk about that, I notice.

Did Layne come into Wayne Fontes’ dream one night and tell him to draft Andre Ware in 1990?

The Lions’ bonus baby QB of today, Matthew Stafford, has been blessed, they say, with coming from the same Texas town and high school as Layne and fellow Hall of Fame Lion Doak Walker.

Blessed, or….cursed?

Gasp!!

Stafford graduating from Layne’s high school has been more fodder for the conspiracy and curse whacks.

But now it’s a reverse curse.

Stafford must surely be “the one”, because he went to the same high school as the great Bobby Layne!

If it wasn’t so funny, it’d be sort of pathetic. That’s how desperate Lions fans have become.

If Matthew Stafford is “the one”—and he just may be—it’ll be because the kid is something special. He’s making lifelong football people stumble over themselves with effusive praise. The media are having a love-in with him.

But Stafford could come from Timbuktu, for what it’s worth. That he hails from Layne’s school is nothing more than a wonderful coincidence.

And a delectable piece of bubble gum for the media people to chew on, long after the flavor has vanished.

I’ve been to the Billy Goat Tavern, by the way—Sianis’ pub in downtown Chicago, which was also immortalized by the zany, original cast of “Saturday Night Live”, who made fun of the staff’s “cheeseburger, cheeseburger” shtick.

They really do say that at the Billy Goat. It’s funny.

The walls are adorned with blown-up photos of legendary Chicago newspaper men from over the years, as the tavern is across the street from the Chicago Tribune building.

No doubt many of the men whose images stare at the patrons of the Billy Goat Tavern were willing participants in the propagation of the “billy goat curse” legend.

And the folks bought it—hook, line, and sinker.

The power of the press, people!

Last Night On “The Knee Jerks”: Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie and Joe Dexter

It was a baseball extravaganza last night on “The Knee Jerks”!

The weekly gabfest I have with Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience had another thrilling episode, and our guest was Detroit sports blogger and radio host Joe Dexter of Motor City Bengals.com.

The topic, as expected with a guy who’s got a website named that, was the Tigers.

We spent a full hour and some change with Joe, covering everything from the Tigers’ chances to win the division (plus how they stack up against the Yankees and Red Sox); the possibility of adding another bat before Aug. 31; the confounding Magglio Ordonez; the possibility of adding John Smoltz; whether we trust Armando Galarraga; Jim Leyland on steroids; the toughness of Brandon Inge; and much, much more!

I went on a rant about the fear of dealing prospects, and even though I apologized on the air, it felt oh, so good!

After Joe, Al and I talked some Lions and Pistons for the remaining 25 minutes.

The highlights:

Big Al

On Lions rookie QB Matthew Stafford: “This kid has got a gun. No, he’s got a cannon. He’s got a high-powered weapon.” (this is a week after Al said he wasn’t going to allow himself to get excited!)

On new coach Jim Schwartz: “I hate to say it, but one of the reasons why I’m so excited about the season starting is that Jim Schwartz has been impressing the hell out of me.”

On the Pistons signing Ben Wallace: “He’s going to play for about $1.3 million, which in the NBA is nothing. I wonder if Rodney Stuckey will let him have No. 3 back.”

Eno

On Stafford: “It looks like a perfect storm for him to play. New regime, new teammates, all this praise. It looks like it’s all coming together for him.”

On Schwartz: “I don’t get the feeling that he’s going to let the inmates run the asylum, as has been the case in the past. The Lions finally seem to have a strong personality as head coach.”

On Wallace: “If he can block a few shots, grab some rebounds, change the momentum a little bit…inject some energy, then he’s worth the money.”
You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE.

Roenick Retires, But More Importantly, So Does His Mouth

Truth be told, I wish Jeremy Roenick could have played forever. Maybe just his mouth can show up from now on. That was often the best part of JR anyhow.

Roenick, who retired—this time for good, he says—from the NHL the other day after 20 seasons, was one of the few guys in the league who had the personality of something better than a dish rag.

The NHL is an association of nice guys. It could stand for the No Heathen League.

A bunch of quiet, unassuming, humble dudes from places like Brantford, Ontario and Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. You’ve heard us media folks gush about their demeanor and how gosh darn terrific they are.

No offense, but at the same time, NHL players aren’t the Valhalla of good copy.

You’ll find more quips at an accountants convention.

So it was that Roenick was a breath of fresh air.

He could score on the ice, and register on the Richter scale off of it, with his mouth.

His latest salvo was fired just a couple months ago, while the Red Wings were engaging the Pittsburgh Penguins in the Stanley Cup Finals.

Roenick, a former teammate and current friend of defenseman Chris Chelios, blabbed that Red Wings coach Mike Babcock held some sort of ill will toward Cheli, and that he “never liked him.” Roenick cited mysterious incidents that supposedly occurred that lent credence to his assertion.

That was why, JR said, Chelios wasn’t going to play in the Finals.

Yes, it was another eye-roller from Roenick, who was full of them over the years.

But he was one of the few who dared to try to put the NHL on the map through means other than propping up star kids like Sidney Crosby.

Roenick was like Brett Hull—another superstar who shot from the hip and didn’t care who got in the line of fire.

But players like Roenick and Hull were too few and far between. The rest of them were the same guy.

It’s true. The more hockey players you talk to, the more they sound like the same person. Nice, polite, soft-spoken, full of cliches.

There’s nothing wrong with that—if you’re not battling NASCAR and soccer and lawn darts for your share of the public’s consciousness.

But the NHL doesn’t have the luxury of blandness. They can’t afford a league full of prim and propers. They need the Roenicks and the Hulls and the Don Cherrys.

With Roenick retired—he tried to quit before but the San Jose Sharks talked him out of it—who is now the league cut-up?

Take your time. I’ll wait.

See?

The NHL used to have clowns and jokers sprinkled throughout its six-team alliance.

There was Eddie Shack, who even had a song written about him.

“Clear the track! Here comes Shack!”

Eddie played for a bunch of teams and had a bushy, Fu Manchu-like mustache and didn’t so much skate around the ice as figure eight around it in a reckless manner.

There was Howie Young, who played for the Red Wings—a carousing man off the ice and a carousing man on it, too. Howie didn’t win all of his fights—far from it—but there was never a man he didn’t want to take on.

There was Bill “Cowboy” Flett, who was the first player to wear a full beard on the ice.

Bob “Hound Dog” Kelly. Dave “The Hammer” Schultz.

I remember seeing John Wensink, who played for the Boston Bruins and wore a silly-looking Afro-like hairdo that looked like a fright wig, take on the entire Minnesota North Stars bench one night at the Boston Garden.

There were no takers.

Even our old Red Wing, Ted Lindsay.

Terrible Ted responded to death threats during the playoffs in Toronto by scoring the game-winning goal in overtime and skating around the Maple Leaf Gardens ice, pretending to mow the Toronto fans down with a machine gun—his hockey stick. (see above)

So farewell, JR. You were often a clown, sometimes a jerk, but rarely dull.

The NHL could use a few more like you, I’d say.

Monday Morning Manager

My weekly take on the Tigers, also known simply and affectionately as “MMM.”

Week of 8/3-9: 5-2

This week: 8/10-13: at Bos; 8/14-16: KC

Goat of the Week

When a team has a 5-2 week, including winning a weekend series from a fellow division contender, it’s difficult to hang the MMM Goat label on anyone without looking like you’re nitpicking.

But that’s part of what we do at MMM: we nitpick!

So, tag, Gerald Laird–you’re it!

The auspicious debut of rookie backup catcher Alex Avila has underscored just how little the Tigers are getting from Laird offensively.

It’s terrific that Laird throws out a high percentage of would-be base stealers. It’s wonderful how he handles the pitching staff. But he’s got to be able to give the Tigers more than a BA in the .220s with almost no inclination to getting a clutch hit.

Avila arrived on Thursday and got a couple hits and an RBI. Then, the next night, the left-handed hitting Avila had two more hits, including his first big league home run, and drove in four runs.

Then Laird returned to behind the dish for Saturday and Sunday’s games and did his usual punch-less thing at the plate.

Catcher isn’t shortstop—you expect some offense from that position.

Laird started the season on fire—he was hitting well over .300 in the first few weeks—but has been slumbering for the most part since May.

The Tigers certainly didn’t acquire Laird for his offense. He went into the 2009 season with a .255 career BA. But even .255 would be nice right about now, wouldn’t it?

This might be a trend with Laird. In 2006, he hit .296. In 2007, he hit .224. Last season, his BA was .276. So maybe he just doesn’t do as well in odd-numbered years.

Hero of the Week

Several to choose from, again because of the 5-2 week.

But the choice here is Miguel Cabrera, who looks to be ready to act like a big time superstar and start delivering in bunches.

Miggy is heating up. The home runs are starting to come more frequently. The RBIs are coming when you need them.

Sunday, he blasted a breaking ball into the left field seats. But it wasn’t just that he did it. His body language spoke volumes.

The FSD isolated replay showed Cabrera from head to toe. He swung, and tossed the bat aside in a mixture of both triumph and disdain. He knew the ball was gone. Then, in the dugout afterward, Cabrera was seen with “that look” on his face—the look of a bona fide power hitter who’s “feeling it.”

We’ll see if this is all much ado about nothing.

Honorable mention: Placido Polanco, who’s starting to look like, well, Placido Polanco—with some big hits and pesky at-bats.

Quick scouting reports: Red Sox and Royals

The Tigers are going to be visiting a Red Sox team that is not only superior to them, but who will be in a foul mood after being swept in New York.

Terrific.

This could be disastrous for the Tigers, who MMM doesn’t feel is in the same league with the Red Sox or Yankees or Angels. But at least the Tigers start the series with Edwin Jackson on the mound, so maybe they can get off to a good start.

The Red Sox might soon find themselves focusing on keeping hold of the Wild Card lead rather than chasing the Yankees, who look like the Yankees of old.

The Bosox lineup is loaded, and they can make mincemeat of you in Fenway Park. It’ll take all the Tigers have to even win a single game in this series.

Oh, and David Ortiz has been heating up after an atrocious start.

No need to spend any more space here going over the rest of the Red Sox hitters. I’m sure you’ve heard of them.

The rotation is decent, with Josh Beckett, Jon Lester, and the venerable Tim Wakefield as the top three starters.

The closer, of course, is Jonathan Papelbon.

The Tigers must show that they can play with the elite AL teams—something they have failed to do all season.

As for the Royals?

They’re in their familiar position—last place, with an anemic offense that makes the Tigers’ lineup look like Murderers’ Row.

Early in the season, it was the Royals’ pitching that was keeping them afloat. But no longer. Even trusty Zack Greinke became untrustworthy for a short while.

Greinke’s back on track, and he’s by far the best pitcher on the staff, with a 2.43 ERA.

The rest of the rotation is Brian Bannister and Gil Meche (who returns from the disabled list on Thursday) and pray for rain.

The closer is Joakim Soria, who’s 18-for-20 in save situations, and who has two saves in which he pitched for two innings instead of the customary one.

Under the microscope

Here’s what was written in last week’s MMM about “Under the microscope”:

“Last week MMM put Porcello under the scope, and he responded, big time, in Cleveland on Saturday night.

Time to see if that same magic can work on Miguel Cabrera.

Cabrera hasn’t, at all this season, truly put the Tigers on his back and carried them, like the big-time superstars do. Sometimes you have to quit making excuses, i.e. no one is hitting behind him, etc., and just face the facts: he needs to produce more.

Cabrera is too good a talent to have just 58 RBI on August 3.

The Tigers need to go on a run, and they’d have a much better shot at doing that if Cabrera can load the team onto his broad shoulders and carry them for a couple of weeks.“

Well, look who’s this week’s MMM Hero?

The microscope is hot; first Porcello, now Cabrera.

So who will be the next recipient of the scope’s new-found magic?

Let’s go with starter Armando Galarraga.

Galarraga teases you. He lets you think he’s about to return to his 2008 form, or somewhere near it, then he has a bad outing.

I still don’t like the idea of trusting rookie Rick Porcello with too much down the stretch, which means that Galarraga becomes even more important.

The top three of Justin Verlander, Jarrod Washburn, and Edwin Jackson are as good as it gets in the AL, but sometimes playoff spots are won or lost at the back end of the rotation. It’s like playoff hockey; often times, the teams that get production from the third and fourth line guys are the ones who advance deep into the post-season.

Let’s put Galarraga under the scope and see what happens. His next start is slated for Wednesday in Boston.

Bottom line: Last week was big for the Tigers. They had a seven-game home stand and went 5-2, reaffirming their status as a tough team to play at Comerica Park. More importantly, they’re keeping some daylight between them and the White Sox and Twins.

It’s time to keep your eyes on the loss column, by the way.

The Tigers are four ahead of the White Sox, and six ahead of the Twins in that column.

Why is that so important?

Losses are just that—lost opportunities. You can’t “make up” losses—at least not without needing other teams to beat the team(s) you’re chasing. Being down in the win column isn’t as tragic, because that usually means you have games in hand and can “make them up” by winning them.

Not so with losses.

So the first thing you should look at isn’t the GB column. It’s how far ahead of their competitors the Tigers are in the loss column.

Oh, and the Tigers’ Magic Number to clinch the division is 49, in case you were wondering.

That’s all for this week’s MMM. Join me every Monday!

P.S. Also join me and Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience every Monday night as we co-host “The Knee Jerks” on Blog Talk Radio. The Tigers are a weekly topic. We go live at 11 p.m. ET, and every episode can be downloaded for your listening convenience!

Unwanted Wallace Helped Start Pistons’ 21st Century Rebirth

The unwanted basketball player piled his worldly possessions into his college kid car and drove west.

Not sure if he made the trek non-stop, but David Bing left the campus at Syracuse University and made a road trip to Detroit.

The Pistons’ first round draft choice was sloppy seconds in the minds of the pro basketball fans of Detroit back in 1966—all three thousand or so of them. They wanted Cazzie Russell from the University of Michigan, not the kid from out east.

Today, Bing is the Mayor of Detroit—and in no small part because of how he thrilled Pistons fans from 1966-75 and then helped repair the area as a businessman and community leader.

Not bad for an unwanted.

Nine years ago, another unwanted basketball player arrived in Pistons Land.

When Joe Dumars retired as a player in 1999, he was given one year to function as a sort of observer before taking over the reins of the front office in the spring of 2000.

For that entire first year of observing, folks knew what Joe D’s first challenge would be, and it would be a doozy.

The superstar forward Grant Hill, the Pistons’ prized first round pick of 1994, was at a crossroads. After six years of being the team’s best player with not much support around him, Hill had a choice to make: stay in Detroit, or test the uncharted waters of free agency.

What would Grant do?

And what would Dumars do, should Grant opt to leave?

Hill was a poor man’s Bob Lanier—a front court gem among scuffed, dirty cubic zirconium. A perennial All-Star who often had to suffer the fools on the court wearing “PISTONS” on their jerseys.

Lanier, though, had another All-Star with him, at least: Dave Bing. But then Bing was traded, and Lanier was truly alone as a star basketball player.

Hill didn’t even have that luxury of playing part of his career with another star. He had the frenetic defender and crooked shooter Lindsey Hunter at point guard, and the gunslinger Allan Houston at the shooting guard position. But Hunter and Houston, even when combined, didn’t make one Dave Bing.

There were some playoff appearances for Hill, but just as with Lanier, they were brief and of the cameo variety.

In the playoffs of 2000, Hill and the Pistons gamely took on the superior Miami Heat in one of those best-of-five challenges.

Hill hurt his ankle, badly, in Game Two in Miami. It was so mangled that the Pistons’ best player was reduced to that of cheerleader on the bench as his teammates gave the Heat all they could handle before succumbing in the final moments.

A couple nights later, the Heat finished the Pistons off at The Palace.

So, would Grant stay, or would he go?

It wasn’t the best way for a rookie GM to become indoctrinated into the front office wars of the NBA. But Dumars would soon prove to not be any ordinary rookie GM.

The Orlando Magic fancied themselves just one more star player away from serious championship contention. Someone to complement the high-scoring guard Tracy McGrady.

They wanted Hill. It wasn’t determined whether Hill wanted the Magic, though.

Dumars made a play for keeping Hill in Detroit. But Joe played 14 years in the league and he knew when players wanted, in their heart, to change their scenery.

It didn’t take Dumars long to realize that he didn’t have a prayer of keeping Grant Hill in a Pistons uniform.

So a sign-and-trade arrangement was made with the Magic.

The Pistons would sign Hill, then immediately trade him to the Magic for a scowling guard named Chucky Atkins, and a sculpted big man named Ben Wallace.

The Pistons got rooked.

How could these guys possibly make up for the talents and skill lost when Hill fled for Orlando?

Atkins only had one NBA year under his belt, but was a better shooter than Hunter, who also departed in the summer of 2000. But he was a far less experienced player than Lindsey, who’d played seven years in Detroit.

And this big guy, Ben Wallace?

Undistinguished, Wallace was—first in Washington, then in Orlando. No scoring skills to speak of. A pretty good defender, we were told. Could block some shots with the best of them.

Yawn.

A second-year guard and a one-dimensional center, for Grant Hill?

Soon after the trade was consummated, Hill was seen stepping off a plane in Orlando, where he was greeted like a returning war hero. The Magic all but wetted themselves, imagining what Hill and McGrady could do as a dynamic duo.

Ben Wallace?! Chucky Atkins?!

But Hill’s damaged ankle was, it turned out, far more damaged than originally suspected. After signing a $92.7 million contract, Hill played a grand total of four games—four—for the Magic in 2000-01.

Wallace, meanwhile, endeared himself to Pistons fans with his blue collar work ethic and his fearsome defensive presence near the basket.

A rival player would dare drive to the hoop, and Big Ben was there to dissuade him, to put it mildly. Often the rival’s shot was swatted into the $500 seats at courtside. If the shot managed to elude Ben’s muscular arms, likely it was bothered enough to be off target. And Wallace would gobble up the ensuing rebound.

Ben Wallace still couldn’t score. But neither could the men he was assigned to guard every night.

Wallace, as the Pistons’ starting center, scored a grand total of 511 points for the entire season. LeBron James and Kobe Bryant have that by Thanksgiving, easily.

But Wallace averaged over 13 rebounds a game, and well over two blocked shots per game. What wasn’t recorded was the number of shots that Wallace “adjusted” because of his mere presence in the lane.

The fans in Detroit came to worship and adore Ben Wallace, just as they embraced the unwanted Dave Bing 34 years prior.

Before long, Wallace’s choice of hairstyle was even a big deal. Corn rows, or Afro?

The vendors at The Palace, never to be confused with dumb-dumbs, began selling Afro wigs for the denizens.

Fear the ‘Fro!!

That was the rallying cry as Wallace and, eventually, reinforcements that Dumars assembled in the names of Chauncey Billups, Rip Hamilton, and Rasheed Wallace joined the fray.

The unwanted Wallace and his new cast of characters went all the way to the NBA Finals in 2004 and upset the vaunted Los Angeles Lakers. The next year, the Pistons almost repeated, losing in seven angry games to the San Antonio Spurs.

Earlier in the ’04 championship season, Dumars traded away a guard to the Boston Celtics to complete a complicated transaction in which another guard that Dumars traded days earlier could be re-acquired.

The traded away guard was Chucky Atkins. The guard being re-acquired was Lindsey Hunter.

Friday, the Pistons announced that Wallace was coming back to them, after three years away as a free agent bust—first with Chicago then with Cleveland. He’ll be 35 when training camp begins.

And he still doesn’t score. But Pistons fans still love him.

They no longer ask, “Ben WHO?”

“Hondo” Couldn’t Play For Tigers In ‘72 ALCS, But He Didn’t Care

The cheers were led in the clubhouse by a hulk of a man with champagne stinging his eyes, a 36-year-old slugger so giddy from being rescued from last place that he didn’t care that he wasn’t eligible to play in the upcoming playoffs.

Frank Howard—Hondo, The Capital Punisher—towered, literally, over his Tigers teammates and his 6-foot-7 frame was, briefly, a monument to what the team was celebrating.

The 1972 AL East race was similar to the one the 2009 Tigers are engaged in now: a bunch of teams who weren’t doing anything to separate themselves from the rest of the pack.

The Tigers, Red Sox, Yankees, and Orioles entered September within two games of each other. The Orioles were in first place, but they were wobbly. They had fine pitching, though.

Sound familiar?

The Tigers, it was determined, needed some more offense. Their pitching was fine, too.

Getting maybe even more familiar?

There was a slugger available from a last-place team—a man who’d tasted some success early in his career with the Dodgers, but who’d experienced mostly losing with the Washington Senators. Now, Howard was with the Texas Rangers, who moved from Washington, but who were still losers.

The Rangers were a full nine games out of fifth place in the AL West when they sold Howard, mostly a first baseman after years as an outfielder, to the Tigers late on August 31.

MLB rules stipulated—they still do—that a player be with his new team before midnight on the 31st in order to be eligible for the post-season.

Howard didn’t make it. He reported to the Tigers on September 1.

But he was so happy to go from purgatory to a pennant race that it didn’t seem to bother him.

“I’ll be the biggest cheerleader,” he said, and his words had literal meaning, too. Howard was 6-foot-7 and weighed well over 250 pounds.

Manager Billy Martin used Howard fairly regularly down the stretch as first the Yankees, then the Orioles faded from view.

That left the Tigers and the Red Sox.

Howard’s biggest day was on September 13, when he went 3-for-4 with a homer and four RBI as the Tigers beat the O’s, 6-5, to leapfrog past Baltimore and into second place.

The 1972 season had been shortened because of a players’ strike in spring training which shaved games off the April schedule. It was determined that those games would simply be forgotten, and that meant teams would, by the end of the year, end up playing varying amounts of games.

That imbalance would play a huge role in the ‘72 AL East race.

The Red Sox came to Detroit for a showdown series during the season’s final weekend. The Bosox were a half-game ahead of the Tigers, having played one less game than Detroit.

The Tigers won Game 1 behind a 15-strikeout performance by Mickey Lolich. Now the Tigers were in first place by that tiny half game.

The next night, the Red Sox scored a run in the first inning, and that 1-0 lead held up until the sixth. Jim Northrup singled home Norm Cash to tie it.

In the seventh, Al Kaline singled home Dick McAuliffe, who had doubled with one out. Then Kaline eventually scored a couple batters later, thanks to a Red Sox error. The Tigers led, 3-1 as the Tiger Stadium crowd of over 50,000 roared.

Frank Howard as a hulking Senator

Lefty Woodie Fryman, another terrific late-season acquisition, pitched into the eighth inning before being relieved by Chuck Seelbach.

Seelbach pitched a perfect inning-and-a-third, earning his 14th save. Fryman’s record since being acquired from the Phillies moved to 10-3.

The Tigers had clinched the division with the win, because they were one-and-a-half games ahead of the Red Sox with one game to play.

Boston won the season finale, making their record 85-70 against the Tigers’ 86-70.

Think the Red Sox would have liked the opportunity to play a 156th game against someone who they should have played had the strike not occurred?

MLB’s decision bit the Red Sox in the heinie. Why baseball didn’t announce sometime in September that if such a situation occur at the end of the year, a game would be made up—perhaps by drawing a team out of the hat and pitting the Red Sox against it, so they’d play the same number of games as the Tigers, well, we can only imagine.

But the Tigers took it, happily.

Howard was, indeed, the Tigers’ biggest cheerleader as they went up against the Oakland A’s in the best-of-five ALCS.

Oakland won Games 1 and 2 in California, then flew to Detroit hoping to sweep the Tigers.

But the Tigers battled back, winning Games 3 and 4, before succumbing in a 2-1 heartbreaker in Game 5 at Tiger Stadium.

Reggie Jackson, who slid home with the A’s first run in Game 5, tore up his hamstring and missed the ‘72 World Series, which Oakland captured over Cincinnati. Ironically, Jackson’s replacement in that decisive ALCS game, George Hendrick, ended up scoring the winning run.

As for Frank Howard, he stuck with the Tigers for the 1973 season before retiring.

On my birthday in ‘73—the start of a yearly tradition where we went to a Tigers game every August 6 (the Tigers’ schedule always seemed to cooperate that way)—Howard clubbed a thrilling, two-out, two-run homer in the ninth inning to tie the game against the Yankees on NBC’s “Monday Night Baseball.” The Tigers won in extra innings. That win put them in first place, but they weren’t able to hold it. The Tigers fired Martin later that month.

Howard hit 12 homers in 227 AB with the ‘73 Tigers as their right-handed hitting DH, platooning with the lefty-swinging Gates Brown. The new DH rule was made for guys like the aging Howard and the defensively-challenged Brown.

The ‘72 divisional race was the last hurrah for the core of Tigers who won the 1968 World Series. Sticking too long with those players, the bottom fell out in 1974 and a painful rebuilding process began.

Let’s hope history doesn’t repeat in that manner, eh, with the 2006 core?

Namath Has Lions To Blame (Partially) For His Injury-Ravaged Career

Joe Namath said he only knew how to play football one way: full throttle.

It was that kind of desire and approach that contributed to the end of his career—and the Lions played a big part in that.

Time to turn on the wayback machine and take you to Tampa, FL for an exhibition game between the Lions and the New York Jets. It happened this week, back in 1971.

It was the exhibition opener, and Namath was coming off a season in which he missed several games due to a wrist injury. At age 28, he was still in his prime.

Sometime in the first half, Namath faded back and delivered a pass. It was intercepted by Lions MLB Mike Lucci.

On the return, Namath, instead of staying the hell out of the way—being the franchise player and all—went for the tackle.

Bad idea.

Joe Willie tore up his knee trying to tackle Lucci, and was declared out for the season.

After the game, Namath defended his decision to try to tackle Lucci by declaring that “I only know how to play football one way.”

Namath would end up watching too many Jets games in fur coats and other street clothes following his injury against the Lions in August ‘71

The Jets struggled through the season, sans their prize quarterback. Namath did return ahead of schedule, but only a handful of games remained and the Jets were out of contention.

Namath didn’t miss a game during his first five years in pro football, but then missed 30 of the next 58 due to an assortment of injuries—including those to his knees, which would eventually be ravaged.

The knee injury Namath suffered against the Lions in Tampa in August 1971 was one of the most severe he would encounter, and his eventual limited mobility due to that incident would contribute to more hits to his knees—which clearly shortened his career.

One of the most enduring moving images I can recall seeing on NFL Films is the clip of Namath, in overtime in a game against the Giants in 1974.

The Jets were within the 10-yard line and Namath went back to pass. His receivers covered, Namath made a run for the end zone. Actually, he made a gimpy, excruciating ramble.

Somehow, Namath had enough to score the game-winning touchdown, on two legs that were about as healthy as Lindsay Lohan’s movie career.

It’s impossible to declare with any degree of assurance that had Namath stayed out of Mike Lucci’s way in 1971, that he wouldn’t have suffered any subsequent injuries. But he did, and it’s also impossible to not factor in the Lucci incident as a contributing factor to those injuries.

See? The Lions sometime even ruin the other teams’ quarterbacks.

Last Night’s Episode of “The Knee Jerks”: What a Shame!

There’s a new drinking game that might sweep the nation.

If you were to take a shot of liquor every time Big Al or I said the word “shame” last night on “The Knee Jerks”, then you’d likely be hungover this morning.

So what was so shameful?

The sorry financial state of the Michigan Sports Hall of Fame. The loss of the Buick Open, and perhaps the Belle Isle Grand Prix. The way Lions third string QB Drew Stanton has been treated in Detroit. And more!

The first 45 minutes of last night’s show were spent with former WDFN and WRIF morning man and current Free Press blogger Jamie Samuelsen, who regaled us with some back stories of why WDFN fizzled out, and mused about the landscape of sports talk radio in Detroit, present and future. We also got his take on the Lions and Tigers. It was a very fun and fast 45 minutes.

Then, it was on to Detroit sports proper.

The highlights:

Big Al

On the Michigan Sports Hall of Fame: “This is disturbing news. How are they $150,000 in debt with no overhead?”

On the early raves about Lions rookie QB Matthew Stafford: “I’m not going to allow myself to get excited. I want to see him in game situations first. I want to see it to believe it.”

On the Tigers not getting a bat at the trade deadline: “(GM) Dave Dombrowski didn’t do his job. He had a job to do, and that was to get a bat, and he didn’t do it.”

Eno

On the Michigan Sports Hall of Fame: “I know some things that I can’t say on the air, but I can tell you that when this stuff hits the fan, someone’s going down, because some of this stuff seems pretty heinous.”

On Matthew Stafford: “The thing I like about what they’re saying about Stafford is the intangibles, like grasping the offense and having command and a presence in the huddle. I like that more than the physical tools.”

On the Tigers: “If the Tigers lose the division because they couldn’t score some freaking runs, then Dave Dombrowski ought to be fired.”

You can listen to the episode by clicking HERE

Stafford Likely To Be Ready Before His Protectors Are

The Lions are building a foundation for a brand new era, but in typical Lions fashion, they’ve got things mixed up.

The crown jewel, QB Matthew Stafford, is looking to be ready before the bulletproof case designed to protect it, is.

Stafford is wowing them in Allen Park, in the infancy of training camp. Even the writers, who can be funereal, are stirred by the rookie’s raw physical tools.

A gun, he has. Lasers, he throws. Maturity, he possesses.

Why, he’s the next John Elway! Or Bobby Layne!

They didn’t say these things about Joey Harrington back in 2002, when Pal Joey was the third overall pick in the draft. They didn’t say it about him in mini-camp or maxi-camp or the pre-season or the post-pre-season.

But they’re saying all this, and more, about Stafford, as the pressure mounts on the Lions coaching staff to start him come September 13 in New Orleans.

To me, it’s a fairly simple analysis to render.

Matthew Stafford should not start until his team is ready for him—read: the offensive line.

The question of whether to start Stafford or not has nothing to do with the kid himself. Well, unless he pee-pees his pants or his arm falls off or something like that, this isn’t about Stafford.

Stafford has the goods. I’m sold. You don’t have to rave about him any longer. He’s much more refined than Harrington, and his confidence appears to be more unshakable than Joey’s.

No, this isn’t about Stafford. It’s about those hired to protect him.

Stafford shouldn’t be thrust into the lineup—barring injury to Daunte Culpepper, of course—until his o-line is deemed trustworthy enough to keep the kid from being laid onto his back five or six times a game.

Stafford’s arm, his guile, his absorption of the offense—none of it means a hill of beans if he’s running around for his life in the backfield snap after snap.

Those of you not living in the bowels of the Uniroyal Tire on I-94 for the past several years know that protecting the quarterback hasn’t been one of the Lions’ strong suits. Of course, the Lions really haven’t had a strong suit, but one of the weakest has been pass protection.

There have been moves made to shore that up, but left guard is still a huge question mark, and LG is surrounded by a bunch of little question marks.

If the Lions’ offensive line was a Batman villain, it would be The Riddler.

Why, oh why, make Stafford’s indoctrination into the NFL more difficult than it already figures to be?

Why make the kid try to learn NFL quarterbacking on the run—literally?

With this o-line, Lions QBs figure to be sacked anywhere from 50 to 60 times this season.

You want to make Stafford another David Carr?

There’s at least been a little centrist movement lately when it comes to starting Stafford. Some cooler heads are trying to bob to the surface, stating that Stafford shouldn’t start on Opening Day, but instead maybe later in the season, when all playoff hope is mathematically lost.

Yet I could show you some math that eliminates the Lions on Sept. 13. But be that as it may.

Give GM Martin Mayhew one more season of trades, draft choices, and waiver pickups, in the hopes that the o-line will improve for 2010.

Then, play Stafford with impunity. Have at it.

Naming Stafford as the starter for Opening Day wouldn’t be a promotion—it would be a sentence.

Sacked, with no chance of parole.

Monday Morning Manager

My weekly take on the Tigers, also known simply and affectionately as “MMM.”

Week of 7/27-8/2: 2-4

This week: 8/3-6: BAL; 8/7-9: MIN

Goat of the Week

I’m getting a little tired of writing this, though maybe not as tired as you are of reading it.

The offense is killing the Tigers.

Two games after busting out in Texas, the Tigers again squandered a wonderful pitching performance, this time from Rick Porcello, the baby-faced rookie.

They wasted some scoring opportunities and carried just a 2-1 lead into the ninth inning in Cleveland on Saturday night. Porcello went eight innings and allowed just four hits and the one run.

Sure enough, Fernando Rodney blew his first save of the season, and the Tigers ended up having to win in extra innings.

But Rodney had no margin for error, just like the starters don’t.

I’ve said it on podcasts and I’ve written it here: every Tigers starter has to pitch the game of his life just to give his team a chance to win, and even then it’s often not good enough.

So on Saturday night, the Tigers needed a two-out single from Ryan Raburn in the 12th inning to go ahead because: a) they stranded runners on base in every inning from the eighth on; and b) Miguel Cabrera and Carlos Guillen failed to deliver with runners on first and second and nobody out just prior to Raburn’s at-bat.

Cabrera is falling into a frustrating pattern of padding his batting average while not coming through with very many clutch hits. He’s over .330, but has just 58 RBI, which isn’t all that impressive.

Saturday night was a perfect example; Cabrera got three hits, but when you really needed him to come through, he gets “frozen” on a 1-2 breaking ball and gets punched out.

Then Guillen comes along, swings at the first pitch, and pops up.

Of course, Cleveland’s Grady Sizemore nullified that with a first-pitch pop-up to end the game with a runner on third base.

So once again, the Tigers’ offense, collectively, wears the Goat label for another week.

Dishonorable mention: Tigers GM Dave Dombrowski, for not securing another bat at the non-waiver trade deadline.

Hero of the Week

This is a dark horse, but how about Brandon Lyon lately? And when I say lately, I mean for most of the past three months.

Lyon, who lost the closer’s designation in spring training and started woefully slow after Opening Day, has been terrific as a long/set-up man.

He gave the Tigers three terrific innings on Friday night, but we all know how he was rewarded for that.

Lyon doesn’t strike out people all that much, but he doesn’t walk too many, either. He’s allowed just one earned run in his last ten appearances, striking out 12 and walking just three in 12.1 innings over that span.

So here’s some props, some overdue props, for a guy who’s flown under the radar, but who now becomes more important in the wake of the Joel Zumaya/DL news.

Honorable mention: Raburn, for the clutch hit in the 12th inning on Saturday night.

Quick scouting reports: Orioles and Twins

The Orioles come to town for four games this week, and the Tigers need to capitalize.

The O’s have, once again, sunk to last place in the rugged AL East as their rebuilding project moves along as if it was being done by contractors who keep getting paid with rubber checks.

The Phenom, aka catcher Matt Wieters, has had mixed results in his much-ballyhooed MLB debut.

Wieters, in 153 AB, is hitting .275, but with just three home runs and 13 RBI.

The Men Who Would Be Tigers—Aubrey Huff and Luke Scott—are still Orioles and producing on occasion. Huff is at .253/12/64 and Scott is at .275/18/53.

The real troublemaker is OF Nick Markakis, who’s second on the team in hitting at .297, and is the O’s RBI leader, with 73.

Second baseman Brian Roberts has 20 stolen bases.

The pitching hero has been 24-year-old righty Brad Bergesen, who the Tigers should see on Tuesday.

For a 44-60 team, Bergesen is 7-5 with a 3.43 ERA and just 32 walks in 123 innings.

The closer was lefty George Sherrill, who was 20-for-23 in save opps, but he was dealt to the Dodgers at the deadline. That role in Baltimore may fall to righty Danys Baez.

Funny how playing the Twins in Detroit don’t give me a nervous tick, when in fact they are tough for the Tigers no matter the venue.

But not playing them in that damn Metrodome makes the medicine go down smoother nonetheless.

As usual, the offense boils down to The Big Three: Joe Mauer, Justin Morneau, and Michael Cuddyer. And don’t forget Tiger Killer Joe Crede.

And you might be able to add SS Orlando Cabrera to that list.

Cabrera, acquired from Oakland at the deadline, is a solid .280 hitter who is a major upgrade over Nick Punto at shortstop.

Speaking of Tigers killers, look out for closer Joe Nathan, who is always lights out against Detroit.

The Twins, I fear, still have one of their patented late-season runs in them.
Under the microscope

Last week MMM put Porcello under the scope, and he responded, big time, in Cleveland on Saturday night.

Time to see if that same magic can work on Miguel Cabrera.

Cabrera hasn’t, at all this season, truly put the Tigers on his back and carried them, like the big-time superstars do. Sometimes you have to quit making excuses, i.e. no one is hitting behind him, etc., and just face the facts: he needs to produce more.

Cabrera is too good a talent to have just 58 RBI on August 3.

The Tigers need to go on a run, and they’d have a much better shot at doing that if Cabrera can load the team onto his broad shoulders and carry them for a couple of weeks.

His .332 average is misleading, because the clutch hits have been too few and too far between.

Miggy is squarely under the MMM scope this week.

Bottom line: The reason the Tigers win a few then lose a few, bust out offensively then go back into slumber, is because their wildly inconsistent offense is torpedoing their chances at going on a hot streak.

The Tigers haven’t really gone off yet—one of those 12-out-of-15 things that can create some distance between first and second place. And they won’t, unless they start scoring some runs more consistently and more prolifically.

That’s all for this week’s MMM. Join me every Monday!

P.S. Also join me and Big Al from The Wayne Fontes Experience every Monday night as we co-host “The Knee Jerks” on Blog Talk Radio. The Tigers are a weekly topic. We go live at 11 p.m. ET, and every episode can be downloaded for your listening convenience!

Karras Almost Didn’t Survive Layne’s Antics

Another football training camp has begun. Another opportunity for nostalgia.

Harry Gilmer, the beleaguered coach of the Lions between George Wilson and Joe Schmidt in the mid-1960s, stared out at the confounding young running back on the practice field.

The running back was easy to spot, for he was the only one not wearing a helmet on his bemusing head.

“Coach,” Gilmer calmly said to one of his assistants, “tell that boy to put a helmet on his head.”

The young running back, Joe Don Looney, might have played some football sans helmet, at some point in his life.

It’s another day at Cranbrook, the high brow school whose campus the Lions used for training until the early-1970s. Again, Looney is the focus.

Joe Don didn’t want to practice that day. Gilmer sent team captain Schmidt up to Looney’s dorm room to talk to him.

Schmidt found Looney on his bed, strumming a guitar.

“Joe,” Schmidt began, sitting across from Looney. “The team needs you on the field. I’ve played in this league for 12 years and I’ve never missed a practice.”

Looney, according to Schmidt’s re-telling, looked up from his guitar.

“Well then, Joe, I’d say you’re due for a day off! Stay with me.”

It’s the mid-1990s, and the Lions are training at the Silverdome, on a field outside of the big plastic bubble.

I’m one of the interlopers, with a TV camera man in tow, hoping for some good sound bites after practice.

I’m daydreaming, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, when I hear some raised voices and some “Whoas” and “Look outs”.

I turn just in time to see a golf cart zooming toward me.

Behind the wheel is a moon-faced man chomping on a cigar.

“Hey fellas!” Wayne Fontes says brightly as he stops to give us his post-practice report.

Alex Karras played 12 marvelous seasons for the Lions, as one of the best defensive linemen to ever grace their roster. And, dare I say, one of the best to not be enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

But he almost didn’t make the team as a rookie, to hear Alex tell it.

The late, great Bobby Layne, for whatever reason, took a shining to Karras when the latter arrived as a rookie in 1958.

Just a bumpkin from Iowa, Karras once described himself.

And now he was a rookie in the NFL, playing for the defending world champions.

Layne took Karras under his wing, which in the world of Bobby Layne took on an entirely different meaning than from what you and I take that to mean.

Karras (top) became Layne’s sidekick during the 1958 camp, for whatever reason

Karras re-told the experience in the early-‘70s to the late Detroit Free Press sports writer George Puscas, who Karras grew close to while playing for the Lions.

Seems Layne turned Karras into his personal drinking buddy during that 1958 camp.

“I was drunk all the time,” Karras told Puscas. “I have no idea how I made the team because I was hungover at every practice.”

Karras wasn’t a drinker, per se, and definitely not one to partake of hard liquor. But Layne loved his Cutty Sark, which meant Alex had to love it, too.

Layne, according to Karras, only required one, two hours of sleep per night. The two of them would stumble into the dorms at Cranbrook after a long night of partying at a bar in Pontiac, and while Karras struggled to squeeze a little sleep into his body, Layne would head into the shower and sing his favorite song, “Ida Red”, fresh as a daisy.

Karras said that he believed that Layne’s lack of sleep was due to fear of sleeping, because when Bobby was a kid he was in a car accident and spent an entire night stuck in the overturned car with a dead body. That’s what Alex had heard, anyway.

If true, I can see that theory.

But on the practice field, while Karras battled hangovers, Layne was spry, imparting his knowledge of quarterbacking to his receivers and even the coaches.

“Tell that boy to take that route one more step before turning raght,” Layne would say in his Texas twang. And, Karras said, when the receiver did it, he found the ball perfectly delivered by Layne.

“The coaches listened, because they knew that nobody knew quarterbacking better than Bobby Layne,” Karras said.

The routine was daily: practice would end for the day, and Layne, after dinner, would come looking for “Tippy”, which was short for Karras’s nickname, “Tippy Toes”, so garnered for the way Karras would make his moves toward the quarterback on the tips of his toes.

“Hey,Tippy! Time to go out!”

Karras said that one day, he hid under his bed, hoping that Layne wouldn’t find him. But he relented and made himself visible.

The odd couple combo of veteran QB and rookie defensive tackle would head into Pontiac, where Layne would throw down Cutty Sarks and listen to the live band perform.

Karras said the band would want to take a break, and Layne would implore them to keep playing.

“But we’re tired, Mr. Layne,” one of the band members said.

Layne would dismiss that and throw money into one of the horns. The band would keep playing.

One night, on the way back to Cranbrook, Karras said Layne was singing “Ida Red” and sticking his head out the window, which Bobby had done before.

But this time was different. The car was traveling at breakneck speed, faster than normal. To Karras’s horror, he saw that Layne had placed a brick on the gas pedal and was halfway out of the vehicle, singing at the top of his lungs.

“The car was moving so fast it was shaking,” Karras related. “I was begging him to slow down, to stop the car.”

Layne didn’t have a great camp on the field, but the quarterback blew that off.

“Just wait till the regular season starts,” Layne told Karras at the bar one night. “That’s when ole Bobby will shine. Yes sir!”

The regular season indeed began, with Karras on the roster, to his surprise.

The Lions opened with a loss in Baltimore, and followed that with a tie in Green Bay, when Layne, who also placekicked, scuffed the infield dirt with a potential game-winning field goal.

After that game, Layne was suddenly and mysteriously traded to Pittsburgh.

The following season, the Lions played the Steelers.

“Layne was scrambling and was headed for the sidelines,” Karras said. “I lined him up and really let him have it. I mean, I creamed him. It was almost an illegal hit because he was mostly out of bounds. I’m not sure why I did it.”

According to Karras, Layne looked at him and smiled.

“He liked that. He said, ‘How ya doin’, Tippy?’”

Washburn Trade Nice, But May Not Be Enough

The Tigers figured that if they can’t hit, then they’d pitch as well as they can.

It still might not be enough.

The Tigers’ trade deadline day acquisition of veteran lefty Jarrod Washburn from Seattle  should be more exciting than it is right now.

But what’s the difference, really, if the Tigers don’t score for Luke French or if they don’t score for Washburn?

Well, at least the Tigers will be wasting the efforts of a better brand of pitcher, anyway.

Forgive my cynicism, because Washburn is a heck of a pick-up, or at least should be. The Tigers, by surrendering French and prospect Mauricio Robles, certainly didn’t get rooked in the deal, even with Washburn being free agent-eligible after this season.

And, there’s another veteran in the rotation, invaluable during tension-filled games in September.

Let’s bottom line it: who do you feel more comfortable with in the rotation—Washburn or the rookie French?

No, there’s really no debate about whether the Tigers made themselves a solid deal today. They did. But did they do enough?

There could still be some help on the way for the offense, by way of trades that occur after players clear waivers. It’s not as easy to do, but it can be done. This still might not be the same offense come mid-August or early-September.

It better not be, by hook or by crook.

The Tigers remain, among the three-headed monster of contenders in the AL Central (along with the White Sox an