mathematically eliminated #15 the Milwaukee Brewers

With they loss today the Brewers are out of this shit. Prince Fielder is gone so they become a useless collection of useless fuckers to appease a white crowd. Ryan Braun is being hinted at a possible repeat as NL MVP. Let me just make this clear - fuck Ryan Braun, and fuck the Brewers. If there is any team whose history, uniforms, and star players reek of Aryanism, it is this team. I am glad they do not clutter up any postseason baseball with their innate ugliness.
Speaking of Fielder, I sometimes look forward to post-financial Apocalyptic America, because imagine the Tigers and Brewers teams fighting. And then imagine the city of Detroit fighting the city of Milwaukee, although I guess I shouldn't because I'm at first like, "Oh man, Detroit would kill them," but also Detroit is a dilapidated city and their wolve-human residents would have to ride in piecemeal old Ford cars like that Johnny Cash song where he stole one part a year, whereas Milwaukee would send tanks and shit into Michigan and probably broker some fucked up shady deal with Flint where the people of Flint stormed Detroit and there was massive rioting, and then Milwaukee tanks rolled in and just killed everybody and took over the city.
Of course Detroit, your stupid Robocop statue would do you no good then. But hey, you are still alive in this baseball season, have Prince Fielder's chunky monkey ass showing love, and Milwaukee is just riding out their last few games like a bunch of assholes. Makes me sad for Tony Plush though. I am always sad for Tony Plush though.

Tigers 5, Blue Jays 3; Tigers 3, Blue Jays 2; Tigers 3, Blue Jays 2 (F/11): Muck/Shit/Despair

brooms of woe

In the opening game of this fine series against the Tigers, poor, poor Ricky Romero issued bases-loaded walks in consecutive innings en route to losing his tenth-straight decision (you will recall that he was nearly as bad when he was winning). Game two ended yeah that's right ended with Omar Vizquel thrown out attempting to steal second in a tactical decision so egregiously dumb that it was singled out on the Baseball Today podcast, a fine institution but not one that goes out of its way to let you know what happened for all of the last-place teams the previous day, you know? What I am suggesting to you here is that the Blue Jays forced their hand at ESPN by ending a game so foolishly. Then, finally, today, after beautiful, sweet E5 put the Blue Jays out in front 2-0, it all melted away into nothing more than a 3-2 walkoff loss and a sweep. 

I like the Tigers; they are respected AL East foes of yore. I occurred to me the other day, with another disastrous game on the radio, that if the Toronto Blue Jays for some reason ceased to exist tomorrow in some kind of Twilight Zone-style occurrence, I would defy the century-old tradition of my homeland and turn to the Tigers, not the Red Sox, as the team I would watch and then get sad about. When the Detroit Tigers make the playoffs, they are the team I want to see come out of the AL, and thus the team I want to see win the World Series (because National League baseball is smug and I will not stand for it). I wish them every success. But holy cow I wanted the Blue Jays to win one of these, man, just one. Why should that matter at this stage of a pretty spectacularly lost season? I have no idea.

KS 

Blue Jays 8, Tigers 1; Blue Jays 5, Tigers 1; Tigers 4, Blue Jays 1: I Am Not Even Going to Front Like I Caught These

Say what you will about Rajai but the man has a look

Look man I am genuinely glad the Blue Jays were able to take two out of three against the recently-looking-like-they-were-finally-good-but-I-guess-maybe-not-exactly Detroit Tigers, but I didn't catch more than a little bit of the Sunday game on the radio because the Olympics are just generally the best to begin with and then they go ahead and air like seven hours of judo online everyday and I mean what is one guy with even a few actual responsibilities to do? Watch less baseball than previously, is the answer to that age-old question.


KS

Rangers 15, Tigers 5: Neil I Am So Sorry

Yoink.

Clearly there's no good way to lose game six of the American League Championship Series and end your season, but taking an early two-run lead only to go behind for good after a fourteen-batter, nine-run raging, vengeful butt of a third inning has got to be among the worst possible ways. Let it be said that I have absolutely nothing against the Texas Rangers: Jon Daniels has put together an impressive roster of largely non-contemptible guys who can hit, pitch, and catch the ball. The Rangers have gone long enough in their history as winners of absolutely nothing that it is entirely acceptable that they are now a team with back-to-back pennants and a great shot against whoever emerges from the NLCS (almost certainly the loathsome Cardinals, regrettably). Nelson Cruz hit six home runs in this series, which is bananas, and is rightly rewarded with victory. 


But it is really hard not to like the Tigers, even in the abstract, when all you're thinking about is that beautiful park, or those truly classic uniforms, or your childhood memories of Detroit being the great natural rival to your beloved Blue Jays (clearly I am writing in the mode in which "you" equates to "me" and either you are in or you are out, baby). That's a lot of affection before you even get to the particulars of, say, Miguel Cabrera, greatest baseball drunk of his generation, or Justin Verlander, game fireballer struggling to recover his unstoppable midseason form, or Jim Leyland, oldest and smokiest man to ever live. 


I will miss these 2011 Tigers of Detroit. With regard to their thrilling dispatching of the New York Yankees, I thank them for their service. With regard to Neil, let us pray for him in this time of loss and sorrow.


KS

Tigers 7, Rangers 5: Baseball Is The Weirdest

Home Run King Delmon Young

If Adrian Beltre had gotten around on Justin Verlander's 102 MPH fastball the merest fraction of a second earlier with two on and two out in the fifth inning, and curled it just inside the foul pole down the right field line rather than just outside it, the Tigers are probably finished for the season. If, in the bottom of the sixth, Miguel Cabrera's tailor-made (like, we are talking bespoke) double play grounder hadn't bounced off of third base itself and hopped over the head of the sure-handed Beltre, the Tigers would not have hit for the first natural cycle in postseason history, capped by Delmon Young (of all people)'s second home run of the day. But all of these things happened, because baseball is the weirdest. And also the best! 

Jim Leyland came into the game saying there would be no Benoit and no Valverde, so it was going to be almost entirely up to Justin Verlander, who had not yet been sharp in this postseason. But Verlander lasted a borderline heroic 133 pitches, packing it in midway through the eighth inning, after Nelson Cruz hit a two-run shot, his record fifth home run of the ALCS. Phil Coke made things somewhat ticklish in relief, but nevertheless sealed the deal, which is all that can be asked of Phil Coke in my view.

And so now it's back to Texas, and while I've kind of got a bad feeling about this, I also kind of can't wait.

KS 

Rangers 7, Tigers 3 (F/11): Rangers Cruz to Another Eleven-Inning Win Amirite?

Bless you and your two-RBI double Miguel Cabrera but it was not enough :(

To begin, let us all acknowledge that Rick Porcello did a great job, as did Alburquerque and Benoit in relief. And let's hear it for Brandon Inge, whose solo shot tied the game in the seventh. But man, Nelson Cruz; what can you say. Between throwing out Cabrera by a mile to end the eighth, and hitting the three-run home run that put the game out of reach in the eleventh -- his second eleventh-inning home run in as many nights -- that's just a hell of a game. Sure, nobody wants to get picked off first to end the top of the ninth in a tie game, but I am reasonably confident that nobody will remember that or care at all. 


And now a couple of pictures from the rain delay.

KS

Tigers 5, Rangers 2: Miguel Cabrera Continues To Be The Best

Pickin' machine

It's not that he's the only one who had a great night for Detroit: Doug Fister pitched an admirable and vital seven-and-a-third; swift Ajax struck three hits in the leadoff spot; Victor Martinez homered on a swing that clearly injured him; and Jhonny Peralta overcame the handicap of a perplexingly spelled name to add a solo shot of his own. But Miguel Cabrera, with his RBI double, towering home run, and fine diving stop in the ninth, was the man of the hour, because he is the man of every hour, because he is the finest fat drunk to play the game in at least a generation. Neil has already told you everything you need to know, think, and feel about Miguel Cabrera, so I won't belabour the point, but we love him. You should too, if you don't already. Love him more because of his failings, not less. Miguel Cabrera. Love him. 


Also, here is a rad picture of Yoshinori Tateyama sidewinding one in there! 

Ty Cobb predates both (i) numbers and (ii) not hating all races. 

KS

Rangers 7, Tigers 3 (F/11): I Don't Know, Nelson Cruz

Exciting, but somewhat gauche.

Really, Nelson Cruz? A walk-off grand slam? Not a seeing-eyed ground ball, or a little flare the other way? A crisp single to left, a lined shot into the corner, or even a ball to the gap would have been perfectly acceptable, but a walk-off grand slam, the first officially recorded in the history of postseason baseball, there is a certain muchness to it that is almost indecorous, unseemly. It is more than the moment demanded; I guess that is the nature of my grievance. Also I kind of want the Tigers to win this thing, so that is another aspect of my grievance.


Good for Cruz and everything, with his second home run of the night to win it (his first drew the Rangers even in the seventh after Ryan Raburn's three-run shot had put Detroit ahead in the early going). But what really stands out about last night's game for me was the pretty incredible ninth, in which both teams loaded the bases, but neither scored. There's a great video recap of the inning here (I apologize for linking you to so much Joe Buck, but my hands are tied on this one). Do you think Tigers third-base coach Gene Lamont wishes he'd sent Ramon Santiago home on Don Kelly's double with two away? With two outs, the general rule would be to send the runner from first on that ball, but Nelson Cruz got to it quick and got it in even quicker, so what can you do? After a cowardly (not really) intentional walk to Cabrera, Victor Martinez, who has been money all year, popped up to very shallow centre. It nearly dropped in, and then really nearly dropped in as Elvis Andrus bobbled the ball. He jogged off the field grinning, fully aware that he'd just gotten away with one. 


Then Valverde came out and kind Valverde'd around a little: a lead-off double to Beltre that was smoked high off the wall; an intentional walk to Napoli; and an extremely hit batsman in the person of Nelson Cruz to load the bases with nobody out. After David Murphy's shallow fly ball to left for the first out, Cabrera and Alex Avila turned Mitch Moreland's broken bat grounder to first into a beautiful 3-2-3 double play to end the inning, the kind of unlikely play that everybody would be talking about today if the Tigers had gone on to win it, but they totally didn't, so . . .


KS

Rangers 3, Tigers 2: Maybe Justin Verlander's Arm is An Affront to God

if you do not enjoy a brick backdrop behind home plate then we are very different people

What if Justin Verlander is like a quilt without a flawed stitch, and comes too close to perfection, which offends Him, and so He, in His infinite wisdom, makes it rain as though He were Jim Jones featuring Lil' Wayne, and compels Tim Welke to squeeze him (as opposed to Him) on the corners? Am I wrong? Almost certainly, yes. I admit that I went to bed at the beginning of the second rain delay, and so was not witness to the remaining several innings in which no runs were scored, and so I am just a guy with a box score and a video highlight package from MLB Advanced Media, so rather than attempting any kind of analysis here I would instead like to show you pictures of both managers from last night's game that kind of capture the essence of the respective dudes, in my view:

Not pictured: cigarettes between every finger on either hand.

. . . high five high five high five high five high five high five high five high five high . . .

And here's a picture of Leyland and Washington hanging out at the cage:

Ron Washington: Oh yeah, you saw it?
Jim Leyland: Yeah man I really liked that one scene where you were at Hatteberg's house and Brad Pitt was like "it's not that hard; tell 'em, Wash" and you were like "it's incredibly hard" and I was like lol

This one is maybe even better:

Above: baseball managers

I also really like these two of Cabrera and Josh Hamilton -- imagine, if you dare, the shenanigan/monkey shine potential of this pairing--about to head in at the start of the second rain delay:

rainin' hard or hardly rainin' lol

seriously though let's get together

Something I am always on the lookout for is photographs of pitcher's follow-throughs -- I can't explain why -- and this game did not disappoint:

Anyway, I could spend all morning showing you photos from a baseball game I didn't watch all the way through, but eventually you just have to start your day, you know? Even Sundays.


KS

3-2

I know, right?

It’s easy to forget just how fucking intense the playoffs are when you don’t have a team in the fight. Well, I mean you can understand it because the tension is palpable regardless of who’s playing but when it’s your team, the team of your youth, the team who first introduced you to the idea that sports fandom was an actual thing, involved, that tension goes to another level entirely.

Look, I have an incredibly hazy memory of Lance Parish hitting a grand slam against the A’s in 1984 at Tiger Stadium. It’s one of those memories which was formed so early, which so predates any understanding of the world that isn’t purely instinctual, that it almost feels raw and animalistic. It’s just a memory, pure and undiluted by something so profound as reason. It’s hard to explain what reason does to the mind, to memories, how it twists and taints and colors and bends the mind to the needs and wants of right now. But without it, there is a primal purity that is hard to explain.

I only bring this memory up to let you know that my fandom predates even basic reason. Sure, sure, by that age I was starting to read and obviously understood how to think things through on a simple, basic level but as a sports fan, I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. All I knew was that this dude who played for a team that I loved even though I didn’t understand what the hell was happening or why I was supposed to love that team, had just hit a ball really fucking far and people around me were freaking out.

It’s not a memory connected to anything other than the moment, to the actual raw footage which lives inside of my head. Shit, the colors even look different, hazy and yet vibrant at the same time, like some Technicolor treated old newsreel, artificial and real at the same time. I’m not sure what it is I’m even trying to say here other than this series made me think of that moment, of that newsreel which somehow survived all the massive rewrites my brain has undergone since then, and I think it’s because it touched that same nerve center which has allowed that memory to live.

I’m not a goddamn brain surgeon (although I play one on the internet from time to time) so I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about but that’s fine because honestly, when it comes to this series, there’s a part of me that doesn’t know what the hell it just watched. All it knows is that there were moments when it felt like my heart was going to pick itself up and drive a fucking van straight out of my mouth and it knows that there were other moments when it felt like I could shoot lightning out of my fingers or resurrect the dead.

Obviously that is ridiculous but then again, so is fandom. What I’m left with are impressions more than actual thoughts, of memories and ideas which make me smile like a mongoloid, of Jim Leland getting choked up just because he was so, so happy for Don Kelly, of Papa Grande coming through even while the whole world was making fun of him, of dancing when he danced, of laughing at Alex Rodriguez and cursing the announcers on TBS just because they weren’t saying the right things, man. Sometimes rationality is beside the point and sometimes all you’re left with is a childish connection to the events taking place before your eyes and when this happens it can be both devastating and absolutely wonderful.

There were times when I felt like the whole universe hated both me and the Tigers, when I was envisioning Bud Selig in a trench coat screaming at his underlings to fire up some super-secret weather satellite to ensure that Justin Verlander was kept from ascending to his proper place in the heavens. These were not rational thoughts, but I still felt cheated somehow and honestly, to the fan in me, that’s all that mattered.

But there were other times when the world seemed like it was made just for me, when I felt charmed and in possession of some brilliant secret that left me giggling like a fool and wanting to sing songs with my friends. Every time the Tigers took the lead in this series my whole body began to buzz and I began to dream of bigger, better things, even while a team made up of mega-millionaires wearing the baseball uniform equivalent of some terrible Nazi SS getup were waiting to tear it away from me.

I’d be lying if I said that the fact this came against the Yankees didn’t magnify all of this – all the good and the bad – and I have a feeling that the sort of elation this series drove me to just wouldn’t be the same had it involved, say, the Rays. This was a goddamn Holy War, a fight between good and evil and combined with my own intense desire to see my team move on in the playoffs the effect was something more like watching the US Hockey Team take down the Soviets in 1980 at Lake Placid than just another baseball series.

Obviously that is hyperbolic as hell, and yet, there it is. Every moment, every damn pitch of that series felt bigger than it normally would have just because it came against the Yankees. There is a part of myself that hates that, that doesn’t want to give the Yankees and their insufferable fans even that much credit because this moment didn’t belong to them. It belonged to me and it belonged to people who remember stupid things like Lance Parish hitting a grand slam even though they didn’t even know what a grand slam was at the time. But I can’t lie either. I can’t sit here and pretend that because the Yankees were involved that the stakes didn’t feel extraordinarily heightened. It would have hurt worse to lose to the Yankees just because, well, fuck the Yankees, you know? But it feels so much better to beat the Yankees than some other team because, well, fuck the Yankees.

I’m still having a hard time translating my baseball feelings into baseball words here and I realize that I haven’t even talked about many of the particulars of the series but that’s because I’m not sure I can without devolving into a gibbering mess of HEY REMEMBER WHEN THAT HAPPENED foolishness. The Tigers won and all three of their wins were tense, Here Take This Paper Bag For When You Hyperventilate kind of games. Going into the 9^th last night I tweeted that I was going to throw up. I didn’t, but goddammit, I felt like it. Meanwhile, both of the losses felt like some deleted scene from one of the Saw movies or something, just a gory shit show that refused to end and left me questioning not whether or not I believe in God, but whether or not God believes in me. Or, you know, hates me.

Kendall has already written about that moment in the bottom of the 8^th when Jeter almost hit that ball out, but I’m going to talk about it anyway for a second. When he hit it, and that crowd of infernal beasts went wild with the glee they so maddeningly believe is their birthright, I closed my eyes and said, for just the briefest of moments, that I was never going to watch baseball again and I fucking meant it. But then the ball landed in Don Kelly’s glove, the crowd’s joy died in their throats and . . . well, Kendall has already done a fine job explaining the symbolism of the moment, but for me it was more than just the feeling that the Yankees were finally beaten, it was the feeling that this whole damn thing might work out after all. I think, until that moment, the weird energy which has accompanied this whole season for Tigers fans felt like it was just a tease, something vaguely surreal that could evaporate – and would evaporate – at any second. But after that catch, it felt somehow more solid, somehow worthy of the attention and belief that it was demanding of all of us. It wasn’t just that the Yankees were dead, it was that the Tigers – my Tigers – were, and are, unquestionably alive. And so is that little kid who remembers Lance Parish and remembers a time when things were simpler, unclouded by anything other than the flight of a simple ball into a sea of screaming people.

Tigers 3, Yankees 2: Our Long (Inter)National Nightmare is Over

shucks

When Derek Jeter hit a fly ball to deep right field with the tying run on and two outs in the bottom of the eighth, and the Yankee Stadium crowd reacted like you would expect the Yankee Stadium crowd to react in that moment, I was sure it was gone -- just for a second, but sure, absolutely sure. That it settled easily into Don Kelly's glove a few feet in front of the wall was, to me, more surprising than the Yankees leaving the bases loaded twice, more surprising, even, than the back-to-back home runs from Kelly and Delmon Young in the first inning. It just seemed like here was Derek Jeter, in the playoffs, in Yankee Stadium, and that was it, the Tigers luck had run out, and the natural order of the universe was about to reassert itself. When Jose Valverde came out in the bottom of the ninth, as is his custom, to face Curtis Granderson, Robinson Cano, and Alex Rodriguez, that weighty-as-all-hell task seemed lighter to me (no doubt not to him) because Jeter's ball had stayed in the park, suggesting that the usual yet intolerable rules that govern all things Yankee might not hold. If there is a sweeter way to dispense of the Yankees than by getting Alex Rodriguez swinging to end the ninth, I don't know what it could be. 


Bless you, 2011 Detroit Tigers. You have done us a gracious service, for which we thank you with all sincerity. 


KS

Yankees 10, Tigers 1: Good A. J. + Granderson's Treachery + The Existential Fact of Rick Porcello = Bad Times Man Bad Times

Shades of Eric Davis in the 1990 World Series (except Granderson totally caught it)

I am not about to praise Granderson for that first catch, the one in the first inning where he totally misread the ball and started in before realizing that was totally not the thing to do. Yes, his recovery from that error of judgment was impressive, and it saved a bunch of runs, but that was a bad read, and if you think I am about to sit here on my couch with a bag of Hickory Sticks and a Dr. Pepper and laud a man for a bad read, you are sorely mistaken (and you can't have any Hickory Sticks), but man, oh man, that second catch was pretty tasty. Sticking with our snacking motif, I will suggest to you in closing that Granderson's two big catches last night combined with his RBI double to produce a Hertz Doughnut that might spend but a moment on the lips of Detroit baseball fans, but, could potentially last a lifetime on the hips. 


Also, phooey. 


KS

Tigers 5, Yankees 4: Verlander Not At His Best, Strikes Out Only Eleven

Swing and a miss.

Justin Verlander wasn't sharp early, and allowed two runs in the first. He wasn't sharp late, and gave up another pair in the seventh before stranding a runner in the eighth to wrap up his evening. But in between, he kind of lit it up, hitting 101 MPH on the radar gun and throwing a curveball that was simply unfair and probably wrong. C. C. Sabathia pretty much walked everybody and relied on the double play to get out of it, which is one approach, granted, but he didn't make it out of the sixth. With the game knotted at four in the home half of the seventh, it was Rafael Soriano on the mound for the Yankees in relief, which is almost certainly the right move, but the right move didn't work: Delmon Young yeah Delmon Young lofted one over the right field wall to put the Tigers in front for good. It was . . . so awesome. Equally awesome: Jose Valverde -- who is at once worse than his fifty saves in fifty opportunities might imply, and better than those internet baseball nerds (no dis; they are my people) who fall all over themselves to tell you that he is much, much worse than that statistic suggest would have you believe -- striking Derek Jeter out swinging (a pitch after striking out Derek Jeter looking, if you know what I am implying when I say that to you) to end the game with two runners aboard. 


In closing, let's all look at this picture of Jim Leyland looking like the most lovable Muppet.

KS

Tigers 5, Yankees 3: I Kind of Love Balks

Boone LOLgan, imo

Look. Sunday's game was amazing. Max Scherzer, of all people, was utterly magnificent; Miguel Cabrera continues to build his legacy as one of baseball's all-time great drunks; Victor Martinez is unstoppable with runners on. I am not going to expand on any of those topics here, though, because whatever baseball feelings I could muster on those subjects could only ever be but the merest droplets of rain compared to the raging ocean of baseball feeling that is washing over our dear Neil with every pitch. I wouldn't even presume to presume. Those things are his. They are his.


But I would like, for a moment, to talk to you about Boone Logan's balk, because it was an amazing balk, one of the best, in my view. At first, everything was cool, which is of course always the case before a balk, but is notable all the same, I feel. Then, Derek Jeter begins to yell at him, as though there were some kind of play on that he just hadn't picked up on, which is entirely possible. Also, it would just be upsetting for Derek Jeter to yell at you at all, ever, for any reason, probably. And so Boone Logan just kind of stopped what he was doing, Boone Logan did, and then totally balked. 


I mean, just look at it. It is a tremendous balk.


KS

Yankees 9, Tigers 3: How About Everyone Ease Off Jim Leyland A Little

somewhat gone

"Did MLB issue an edict forbidding use of LH relievers in obvious spots today?" Keith Law asked on Twitter last night, and certainly wasn't the only one questioning Jim Leyland's decision to bring in Al Alburquerque to face Robinson Cano with the bases loaded. As you can see from the above photograph, it is not a move that paid off for the Tigers. Had Leyland gone with a lefty, few would second-guessed the move, regardless of the result, because of the widespread, slavish adherence to lefty/righty that is, in fact, quite dumb. You've got to actually look at the splits; you really shouldn't bat Simpson for Strawberry because there's a lefty on the hill. Possibly a bad example, that, because there's a move totally worked out, but what I am getting at here is merely that Alburquerque, in addition to having the best name ever, is murder on lefties, and Cano hits lefties better than righties, so how exactly is bringing in Alburquerque the wrong move? Yes, it is too bad Cano homered, this is true, but everyone needs to ease of Jim Leyland a little, if for no other reason than that Jim Leyland is super old. Tom Gage of The Detroit News, in particular, should shut it. Here's Gage:


Why did he bring Al Alburquerque, a right-hander, into Game 1 of the Division Series on Saturday night instead of a left-hander to face Robinson Cano with the bases loaded in the sixth inning?


Cano made it a hot topic because he hit a grand slam off Alburquerque in the Tigers’ 9-3 loss to the Yankees, the first home run Alburquerque has allowed as a Tiger.


“To me,” Leyland said, “that’s one for everyone else to second guess. Obviously, that’s one people could talk about. But to me, that was really a no-brainer.


“Alburquerque also has had a tremendous ratio of swings and misses. He had faced Cano one time and had struck him out. He’s been one of the best in all of baseball in swings and misses.


“Left-handers (of which Cano is one) are hitting .177 off Alburquerque. Cano is hitting .320 against lefties and .295 off righties.

“That’s the reason.” 

Correct, those were the reasons. 


A lot of them, in fact. But numbers are just that, numbers -- and they can't overcome the risk of a hanging slider, which Alburquerque threw to Cano. 

That last sentence is truly a miracle. 

I leave it to Neil to bemoan the rest of this rain-suspended first game that suggested -- to me, at least -- that God probably hates Detroit.

KS

95-67

Man Alive, What an Evening

Wow.

Bruce Bochy fielded his best white-flag team yesterday and the Giants got trounced 6-3 by the Rockies, exactly as expected. But who cares? Yesterday was possibly the most thrilling single day of regular-season baseball in history. Certainly in my lifetime. Four games with final postseason slot implications. The possibility of two separate 163rd games.

The Red Sox and Rays entered the day tied for the AL Wild Card Lead, and the Braves and Cardinals entered the day tied for the NL Wild Card. The Red Sox were in Baltimore, the Rays were hosting the Yankees, the Braves were hosting the Phillies, and the Cardinals were in Houston.

The Red Sox went into a 7th-inning rain delay leading the Orioles 3-2. The Rays fell behind to the Yankees 7-0 going into the 8th inning. The Braves were leading the Phillies 3-2 into the 8th. The lone uneventful game was the Cardinals, as expected, simultaneously mauling and shutting out the Astros (the worst team in baseball).

The Braves coughed up a Phillies tying run around the same time as the Rays put together a 6-run bottom of the eighth. The Cardinals game wrapped, ensuring them at worst a playoff game against the Braves the next day. The Red Sox game resumed and the Sox failed to score an insurance run that was gunned down at home plate. The Braves game headed into extra innings as a Rays .108 pinch-hitter -- who hadn't hit a home run since April -- bounced a line drive off the net of the foul pole with two out and two strikes in the bottom of the ninth inning to knot the score at 7 and send that game into extra innings as well.

The Braves got runners in scoring position for Martin Prado, who offered the worst swing I have ever seen in a pressure situation and ended the inning. The Phillies got a go-ahead run off a Hunter Pence BABIP Special, and the Braves bounced into a double play to give the Cardinals the NL Wild Card.

Back in Baltimore, Carl Crawford was unable to grab what would have been out number three as the Orioles got three consecutive two-out hits off of Jonathan "huck it down the middle" Papelbon, and stunned the Red Sox by winning the game, 4-3.

Three minutes after the Orioles dogpiled one another on their rain-soaked home field, Evan Longoria hit his second home run of the game, a laser beam that just cleared the fence inside the foul pole along the left-field line and clinched the Wild Card for Tampa Bay.

There are moment in baseball -- key moments, indelible moments -- that you know, as you are watching them, that they will be part of baseball lore forever. That you'll be seeing them on replay for the rest of your life. Aaron Boone's 2003 ALCS homer. Kevin Mitchell's barehanded grab. Dave Roberts' stolen base. Kirk Gibson. Bill Buckner. Carlton Fisk. Now we can add Longoria's home run to that elite group. He raced down the first base line, knowing that the ball might not clear the wall, but that he was going to have to try for extra bases if it didn't. Just before he got to the bag at first, both arms shot straight up in the air. The look of elation on his face matched that of the stunned and exultant crowd. His teammates flew out of the dugout as if shot from a cannon, and everyone watching could scarcely manage to come up with a sentiment any more profound than that of, "BASEBALL. OH MAN, BASEBALL."

This is why we watch. Baseball simply does not get any better than this, and no other sport on its best day can ever hope to match moments such as these.

So now we move beyond 2011 and into the postseason. Let us root for the Brewers. Let us root for the Rays. Let us root for the Diamondbacks and the Tigers and the Rangers. Let us root for baseball at its most glorious, at its most profound and affecting. Let us enjoy these next few weeks, for the winter is long and devoid of this glorious game. We will continue to be here talking about the feelings that the postseason and the hot stove and all that malarkey will bring, but baseball is now entering its yearly twilight.

This is going to be one hell of a postseason, my dear friends. Let's all be baseball fans together, for there is surely no greater thing.

93-67, 94-67

90-66, 91-66 ,91-67, 92-67

89-65, 90-65

I'm just going to post pictures of happy monkeys until the playoffs start. Yes, I have already grown complacent. Let's just do this shit already.