TIGERS WIN! TIGERS WIN! CLETE'S THE HERO ONCE AGAIN!

Bottom of the ninth. 6-5 Mariners. The Detroit Tigers, on the heels of a thrilling come from behind attempt find themselves down by 1, with a runner on third and two outs. Clete Thomas is up to bat. That's right Clete, as in the shoes baseball players wear, is up to bat. (spelled differently, but you get my pun or point or whatever) In the bottom of the ninth. With two out and the winning run 90 feet away. Thomas. A strong baseball name. The slugger and big man Frank Thomas another. And the other, older Frank Thomas. Though the younger and powerful White Sock is greater known than the elder journeyman, his elder namesake was a pretty decent player himself. (He once had 35 homers and 109 RBI's for the Pirates in 1958). O yeah, and don't forget about Ira, Frosty, Kite, Red, Pinch and good old Tommy Thomas. Classics. Classics yes. But only one small piece of baseball history - the game. The ultimate all-time classic. The game. How many Thomas' have been in the big leagues? 100? 178? 314? (actually, it's only about 35, a fair amount of Thompsons and one Thome). A prestigious baseball name by any means and this Clete can win the game for the home team. Pressures on. Because, not only is Clete fighting for playing time in right field with Magglio "I've cut my hair so now I have no strength" Ordonez, (or I've stopped taking steroids and I'm old) - but the Tigers are in a playoff race. In late August. First place nonetheless. This means something. Even if they are in the worst division in baseball. Crack. A low inside fastball that the left handed Thomas ropes into right field. (left handers notoriously have a natural off the shoe top sweet swinging uppercut swing, especially with an open stance like Clete has). Tigers win! Tigers win! Roarrrr!! goes the huge steel Tiger charging out of the massive left/center field scoreboard (Biggest in league, I believe) Roarrrr! Tigers win! That's right. Tigers are going to the play-offs. I'm sure of it. Hell, the Tigers might even win the World Series. I can feel it too. Tigers are... wait, wait a minute. Stop calling the call-in radio shows. The Tigers are flying out for a none too excited for West Coast road trip. Oh shit. Every thing is all game winning hits and ass slaps until the Tigers lose. And they're going on the road now. That means they'll lose. There goes our one game winning streak and 2.5 game advantage over the idol White Sox. The Tigers give new meaning to the home team advantage. Or rather the road team meltdown. Or the visiting void. Or the worst road team still in the playoff hunt. What's gonna happen when more than half of the playoff games (if the pussy cats, I mean Tigers make it, that is) will be out of town. A hostile, colossal evil Tiger snacking monster. Smiling t.v. colour guy Rod Allen and his supremo-homey 'tude is liking what he sees at Comerica. But what can explain this undeniable and undefinable mis-match of road loses vs. home wins. What's the fucking problem Rod? Can't you and your 78 career major league at bats come up with a winning formula for winning on the road? I got some ideas. Bring the giant Tiger everywhere. That's right, suspend the 65 foot steel beast from cables a helicopter, that which completely covers the road teams' scoreboard. Bring the home field with us and there's no way we'll lose. Just one example of many.