In a New York state of mind

It's been a week since the Tigers have been bounced from the playoffs, and I'm finally ready to talk about it.

I know, I know. Everybody has already had their say and most of them...okay, all of them...are more informed about the subject than I am, so what makes me think I have something to contribute to this great sing-along?

Well, nothing really. But sports is like love and middle fingers, it's a universal language that we can all converse about in some way. Even now, near a hospital bed, in a dimly-lit room or an otherwise uncomfortably silent car ride, my dad and I can talk about sports. Or I can talk and he can listen.

Anyway, I'm still not sure how to classify the Tigers' season. Magical doesn't quite fit, since I and perhaps most of the fan base spent two-thirds of the season in a state of anxious frustration, second-guessing any one of Manager Jim Leyland's 99 different line-ups or any number of his odd bullpen decisions.

Successful? Could be. If it were truly successful, they'd still be playing, but in the end they did a lot better than I thought they would. I had them picked to finish third, near the .500 mark, but slightly above it. Who would've thought that they'd go on a late-season tear and that, for once, their trade acquisitions would work out?

Solid falls short, as does good, but I think I'll leave it at good because I"m not all that fond of the word 'great' and I don't feel like cracking open my thesaurus. Any season when the Tigers not only make the playoffs, but eliminate the Yankees deserves a stronger word and if you can think of one, go ahead and leave it in the comments section. One of these days, I'll figure out how to comment on the comments below the blogs and I'll be able to respond there, too.

Actually, the Tigers/Yankees are responsible for two of my favorite baseball memories. The first came in 2006, when I was driving up north in a car that had no radio antenna. Not more than a minute out of the metro area, and the game faded out and no amount of tweaking could bring it back in. I drove into a static-filled night, watching the numbers scroll by on the stereo display until, improbably, they stopped on the game--broadcast from the Yankees radio network. Yankee fans calling the Tigers/Yankees game. If you want to hurt someone, Stephen Donaldson once wrote, take something he loves away from him and give him back something broken.

Ah well. What else could I do? I turned it up, thanking God for small favors.

It wasn't exactly a marquee match-up, but perhaps it would have been in 1996. Kenny Rogers was taking on Randy Jackson--the oldest starting pitching combination in post season history. I didn't like our chances, but somehow The Gambler had silenced the Yanks--part of his own post-season dominance that season--and the announcers were not only pissed off about it, they were absolutely flummoxed.

"Well, they have to get SOMETHING going," one of them, a woman, said. "I mean, this is Kenny Rogers out there!"

I stopped in a bar near Houghton Lake as Rogers neared the end of his night. It was called Bumppers; it's not there anymore, having since been demolished and replaced by a Walgreen's. I walked in, completely out of place in my shorts and Hawaiian shirt. But Rogers, with a fist pump, left the game with his shutout intact and I shouted: "Kenny (bleeping) Rogers!" and was answered by a chorus of cheers. We were all brothers that night, the flannel-clad regulars at the bar and I.

The second memory, of course, is watching Justin Verlander blow Alex Rodriguez away with a 100-mph fast ball. My eyes runneth over even now, thinking of it.

Bless you boys.

Next year promises to be much the same: frustrating and anxious because, while the Tigers have a good core to build from with Verlander, Doug Fister, Miguel Cabrera and the rest, the remainder of the division will be improved, too. The Twins won't be hurt. The Indians will have another year under their belts. The Royals, with the young hitters and pitchers that caused many other teams fits in the later portion of the season, will have more seasoning, too. And Adam Dunn has to remember how to hit sooner or later.

Those are concerns for another day. Right now I'm happy the Tigers played longer than the Yankees. Watching the dejected faces of A-Rod, Derek Jeter and the rest of the Bombers in the dugout while all of Motown celebrated always puts me in a New York state of mind.