Notes from last night's Indians-Tigers game:
If the drunken Gambler look-a-like who terrorized the Club Seats last night was hitting, he's stroll to the plate to "Islands in the Stream."
*Breaking news: This Fausto Carmona fella's gonna be decent. Although he had a slightly rocky eighth
, he seems like one of those magical guys that the announcers always talk about who "gets stronger as he goes," like Curt Schilling or the great Atlee Hammaker
. As I watched Borowski in the ninth, I couldn't help but imagine Carmona in the dugout tunnel on the phone with some of his boys: "Yes, a silver Beamer. He's parked in the south lot. If he blows this lead, you know what to do."
*How is it possible that no baseball player ever decides, "Hey, you know what, I'm going to have a little fun with the song that plays while I walk up to the plate"? Are they required to have party-rap or hard rock? Doesn't any player ever just want to fuck around and, in the middle of an important two-out rally, stroll up to the plate with "Wide Open Spaces" blasting? It would throw the pitcher off at least, and maybe one of the two non-annoying Dixie Chicks would get wind and come sleep with you.
In order, my top-five strolling-to-the-plate in-the-bottom-of-the-ninth songs:
5. "All Night Long," by Lionel Ritchie.
4. "Wouldn't It Be Loverly," Julie Andrews and Rex Harrison
3. "Pachabel's Canon in D," Johann Pachabel
2. "Long December," Counting Crows
1. "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman," Britney Spears
* Whoever invented the Club Seats at Jacob's Field really needs a bust made of him or something. Free ice cream? Seriously?
* Whoever let the drunk-ass Kenny Rogers look-a-like into the Club Seats last night really needs to get hit in the face with the bust of the guy who invented the Club Seats. The Gambler (pictured above) sucked. He decided sometime in the eighth inning that the entire Club Section needed to stand. "It's a damn pennant race!" he slurred, flapping his arms like a drunken seagull that looks like Kenny Rogers. "Let's get Cleveland back what it used to be." He repeated some variation of these words until the yellow light on his liver came on, alerting him that it was running low on fuel, at which point he went looking for more beer. Praise Atlee Hammaker for that. -- Joe P. Tone