Thoughts After Another Tigers’ Collapse

Yesterday, my Detroit Tigers quest for a World Series ended as they were eliminated from the playoffs by the Baltimore Orioles. The series was a disaster; an embarrassingly swift three game sweep. The MLB Postseason is cruel in the way you can watch your team die a slow and painful death over the course of a series. This is what happened to me, and all fans of the 2014 Detroit Tigers. Three games of frustration, pure anxiety, and torture.

Sorry Oakland fans, you gloated too much about picking up Lester.

Sorry Angels fans, I feel no sorrow for you. You paid this guy too much money.

The loss and depression for this post will be limited to my Tigers.

I can barely stand to watch Tigers playoff baseball. I can feel my hair turning grey with stress and anxiety during each pitch. The pit of my stomach turns, and I clench up as if I’m about to be t-boned by a semi-truck. Mentally, it is probably the worst feeling, and yet here I am thinking of how much I will miss it.

The unique, and sometimes the most painful, part of baseball is that it feeds you the smallest bit of hope, every single inning.

Unlike most sports, scoring is not limited to a set point total. The offense in Football is limited to 3,6,7, and 8. Basketball, while having a lot of scoring, is still usually limited to put up 2 or 3 points each time down the floor (unless you’re the Pistons *Sigh*). Soccer and hockey with only 1 point per score, operates on a totally different level, offense cherished for its rarity. Yes, there are some variations here (a safety, free throws, etc.), but for the most part, scoring is confined in other sports.

But when your team is up to bat in baseball, the possibilities are endless. From 0 to 10 runs, the possibilities of a big inning, or a ridiculous comeback always linger in your mind. It gets even worse when players get on base, with the tying run up to bat, or the go ahead run on deck. As fans, we talk ourselves off the ledge with these during the game, looking for that glimmer of hope, feeding off that possibility of your team being the one to pull it off. Really, it’s torture, and only makes everything that much worse when everything falls apart.

During game one, or the “bullpen slaughtering in Baltimore” as I like to call it, I was very angry. And that’s probably an understatement. Stringing together a loud orchestra of swear words that would put the Dad in A Christmas Story to shame. Throwing things. Screaming at my TV. The whole nine.

That night, I couldn't sleep because I was still furious. In addition to the anger over our bullpen, Ausmus managing, or the bad ABs, I kept thinking, “why do I take this so hard?”

I know it’s just a game. I know I have no influence over the outcome. But then why do the Tigers bring out a reserved joy and anger that can make me seem fit for a strait-jacket.

If you look at, we as baseball fans spend an insane amount of time following our team. Just with the regular season alone, it is a 6 month investment, playoffs only adding onto that. With only a few days off every month, checking the box score is part of our daily routine. We cheer, yell and rant with fellow fans on Twitter. We watch it at home, at the bar, at airports. We listen to it in your car on a road trip or during work. There’s a rhythm to it, the day games at the end of a series, the late starts of a West-Coast trip. As baseball fans, we sync ourselves to this cycle. Or at least I do. It is an incredible amount of time to spend on anything, especially something that on paper is only an interest or a hobby.

Fans know that it is always more than that. For me personally, and emotionally, the Tigers are linked to so much of my personal identity. They are a way for me to feel connected to the past. They make me feel part of something bigger than myself that can make a mark on history. They are a part of my relationships with friends. They are part of my childhood, like picking Tony Clark’s number on my little league team. They are a part of my summers, whether I lived in Chicago or Los Angeles, sitting in the stands,eating way too many hot dogs (something I still do at age 26). They are a part of my relationship with my Dad. All of this is tied into my passion for this team. And when they lose, it hurts in a way that only those who identify with them similarly can understand.

And yet, here I am a day later, already talking myself into next year. Considering the Tigers have gone to either the ALCS or World Series the past three years, I have little to complain about.

But I want that ring.

Maybe a full offseason workout plan is what Verlander and Miggy need to get back to 100%. Maybe the young guys will take that next step. Maybe JD Martinez continues to be a revelation and avoids the sophomore slump. Maybe Dombrowski works his offseason magic one more time.

Even after devastation of a playoff sweep, baseball still finds a way to keep me hooked and feed me hope.