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COPYRIGHT 2006 All rights reserved. Reproduced by permission of The Condé Nast Publications Inc.
Pity the Tigers. In an autumn when the Taurus died, when thirty-five thousand workers were laid off at G.M., and Ford losses for the third quarter came in at $5.8 billion, here was a famous old Detroit model almost mythically reborn in October as American League pennant-winners and a strong candidate to win the World Series. Nothing of the sort had happened in this town since the Impala. The team, which hadn't posted a winning record in twelve seasons and lost a hundred and nineteen games just three years ago, put up astounding numbers in the first half of the 2006 campaign, running off won-lost streaks of 12-2, 15-1, and 13-1, and by early August stood at forty games over the .500 level. Almost inevitably, there was a late-summer downturn, and the team slid miserably into second place in the Central Division, behind the Twins, on the last day of the season. Not much hope remained, except that the wild-card Tigers (as they now found themselves), after losing to the Yankees in the first game of the playoffs, reversed direction, unexpectedly eliminating the Pinstripes in three straight games and, in the championship round, the Oakland Athletics in four more. With their team in the World Series for the first time since 1984, and paired against another famous pre-expansion club, the St. Louis Cardinals, whom the Tigers had beaten in a seven-game classic in 1968, older local fans could be forgiven if they found a sense of restored American order in these turns of fortune. October names--Kaline and Freehan, Brock and Flood, Kirk Gibson and Bob Gibson--were heard again, and the thrilling heraldry, of course, had never changed: the thick Gothic "D" above the heart on the whiter-than-white home unies, and those perky visiting birds forever roosting on a slanted yellow bat. Forget Honda, forget the local housing slump, the boarded-up stretches of Woodward Avenue, and the closing of Emily's Restaurant--what could be bad, with the World Series back in town?
What was bad, as we now know, was the Tigers, who not only lost this Series in five games but batted a collective .199 in the process and committed eight errors; in four of the games a Tiger pitcher, firing wildly past third base or to first, committed gross comical breaches that allowed an unearned Cardinal run or runs (there were eight in the end) to come pattering home. Botched baseball like this was what you expected at Williamsport. For this watcher, and perhaps for the national audience as well (the TV ratings were the lowest in forty years), the disorders were a fresh reminder of the spareness and elegance that skilled defenses cast unnoticed over most big-league games, imparting a necessary sense of seriousness. This time, you wanted a recall.
Our mini-tour of the Series begins with the Kenny Rogers blot, a distraction that surfaced in the first inning of Game Two, at the Tigers' Comerica Park, when the Fox TV cameras spotted a glossy brownish smudge on the lower inside thumb area of the Tiger starter's left, or pitching, hand. Could that be pine tar, the announcers speculated, and home detectives who now stole a glance at their own hands could see that the lower thumb is exactly where the fingertips come to rest when the hand is closed. It was a chilly night in Detroit, making it difficult for the pitchers and infielders to get a grab on the ball, but such artificial aids, of course, are outside the law. Here was a looming little scandal, a byplay that also cast doubt on Rogers's unexpected shutout performances in each of his recent post-season starts, and one that might now turn as emotional and tabloidy as Roger Clemens's infamous fling of a broken bat at (well, actually not at) Mike Piazza in the 2000 World Series. But the Cardinals' manager, Tony La Russa, would have none of this. When the half-inning ended, word of the Fox sleuthing reached both dugouts, and Rogers, after evidently washing off the stickum, went back out to the mound with clean hands and shut down the Cardinals for the rest of his eight-inning tenure, allowing no runs and two hits. La Russa conferred briefly with the home-plate umpire, Alfonso Marquez, but only to say that he wanted the matter fixed. To the media, later on, La Russa said, "I wouldn't discuss it. A guy pitches like that, as a team we don't want to take things away from anybody."
The next day's sports call-in shows couldn't leave it alone, and, citing Rule 8.02(a)(4) of the Official Rules, pointed out that if the ump had paid a visit to the mound at the request of La Russa and found evidence of a substance on Rogers's hand the only recourse would have been to banish him from the game forthwith and impose an immediate ten-game suspension, effectively disqualifying him from the Series. Now, with the games moved to St. Louis, La Russa was pressed about this untaken opportunity but held his ground. "I have a decision to make," he said, "and I decided that I was not going to be part of the B.S."--euphemism his--"where I was going to ask the umpire to go to the mound and undress the pitcher." He added that he had gone over all this at a Cardinals team meeting, and admitted the possibility that...
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