Just over two weeks ago, I wrote about the end to the Washington Nationals' season — a gut-wrenching conclusion so unpredictable, so cruel in its execution that it left me, and thousands of others inside the ballpark on the night their season came crashing down, stunned, listless and, frankly, heartbroken. That's what happens when you're twice a strike away from advancing in the playoffs but end up losing, giving up a 6-0 lead.
Last night, the Detroit Tigers also relinquished a lead — except that it was the only lead they had during a 37-inning series. They went from being absolutely dominant and unbeatable against the freakin' New York Yankees — turning the great franchise into an embarrassment and relegating $100-million man Alex Rodriguez to a bit bench player — to lifeless against a San Francisco Giants team made up mostly of no-name overachievers. The Tigers went from outscoring the vaunted Yankees 19-6 to being dominated by the third-best regular-season team in the National League, 16-6.
Manager Jim Leyland didn't mince words, grunting, "(They) kicked our ass."
Leyland couldn't have lauded the Giants more after the final nail had been drilled into the Tigers' coffin. You lose four in a row, you're not the better team, he said. Still, he added, "I’m flabbergasted."
So am I. So is Tigers nation. Not even heartbroken, to be honest. Rather, stunned, shocked, appalled, and ... flabbergasted.
How does a team anchored by Triple Crown winner Miguel Cabrera and Prince Fielder hit .159 over the course of four games and score six runs — the third-lowest output by an American League team in World Series history?
How does that Cabrera-Fielder tandem go 4-for-27 (.148), with Fielder hitting 1-for-14 and hitting into two deflating double plays in each home game of the series?
“We never find our game,” Cabrera said. “We never play our best baseball. … It was not the right way to finish. WE try to. WE try hard. But we never find our game.”
That's the cruel truth about our nation's pastime (sorry, football). You can play your absolute hardest. You can put forth maximum effort. You can watch all the film in the world. You can tweak your lineup a thousand ways ... but sometimes, you just can't hit.
The Tigers picked the worst, most tear-jerking time to stop hitting.
Think about this — in what other sport, do the best teams so rarely end up winning the championship? You would think a 162-game season would mean something come the playoffs, but it doesn't. The Nationals had the best record in the Bigs and blew that lead against the Cardinals. The Reds had the second-best record and couldn't win a single home game in three tries against the Giants. This is more the norm than an anomaly.
Can you imagine the Miami Heat doing that? The baseball postseason is as unpredictable and nutty as the NFL playoffs, except consumed in multiple-game bites. So even nuttier.
There is no doubt that it's easier to get over a sweep than losing a Game 5 or Game 7 in the ninth inning. It's easier to chalk up to, "They were the better team. We stunk." As Leyland reiterated in the Game 4 aftermath, if the Tigers had lost in a rubber game on some fluky play, they could have lamented, "We were the better team." They could have spent days thinking, 'What if.'"
There are 'What ifs?' to take from this sweep, such as: A) What if Fielder doesn't try for home in Game 2 with none out in the second inning?; B) What if Cabrera doesn't pop out with the bases loaded — after Quintin Berry struck out with the bases loaded — in Game 3; C) What if Jhonny Peralta's Game 4 fly ball isn't pushed back and made catchable by the winds? But I find myself uninspired in typing these questions, knowing that this was still a four-game butt-whoopin'.
Still, it's hard to move on. It's difficult to fathom that just 10 days ago Tigers fans were on Cloud Nine, having put a hitting clinic together against Yankees ace C.C. Sabathia. If the Tigers could put up eight runs in a game started by the left-hander with the dominant postseason resume, surely they could score three or four against the Giants' solid but not dominant staff, right? I was more scared of the Cardinals and their penchant for the impossible — after last year's World Series and witnessing first-hand the improbable comeback at Nationals Park.
The sense of excitement only grew when the National League Championship Series extended to six, then seven games. While the Tigers' starting rotation was set, the winner of the NLCS winner would have to start their series with the lower end of their rotation. Advantage Tigers, right?
But then the Series finally started, Justin Verlander couldn't keep Pablo Sandoval in the park, and the Giants seized Game 1, 8-3 behind rejuvenated Barry Zito. The Tigers' bats became even more silent the next night, and the result was 2-0. The score didn't change two nights later despite the location and time zone change, as the Giants notched the first consecutive World Series shutouts since 1966.
I didn't give up hope, though. Mainly because I had seen the Tigers finish off the A's in a must-win Game 5 and then seen them play so well against the Yankees, I tricked myself into thinking the first-ever World Series comeback from down 3-0 was possible. After all, "momentum" isn't as strong in baseball as it is in, say, basketball. One fluky play here, one dropped ball there, and a series can change instantly. One win would mean another start for Verlander, who you could tell was itching to get another shot at Pablo and the Giants. A Verlander outing like his Game 5 Oakland performance would return the series to San Francisco. And from there, you never know. Home-field advantage in baseball isn't much of a deal.
Late Saturday night, I wrote on my Facebook wall: "I know I'll sound redic, but I actually think the Tigers will come back to win four straight (yes, I'm insane)." Surprisingly, two friends responded. One even punched out this scenario: "max (Scherzer) throws 15ks tonight. verlander. furious after his last outing, dominates. fister does his thing ... and we're back in it" before adding, "yeah, i'm probably delusional too."
But that's the power of sports. It allows you to believe. It gives you hope that incredible things are possible. This belief, this hope, comes from the games, the series, the moments we've seen. If the St. Louis Cardinals could make that incredible, gut-wrenching comeback against the Nationals, why couldn't the Tigers make this a series?
In the end, my hope — our hope — ran up against a solid, brick wall exemplified by the Giants' defense. In the postseason, a misplay in the field can make the difference, and while the Tigers weren't bad defensively, they failed to make plays. Cabrera was handcuffed by a roller down the line. Austin Jackson let a ball roll past him in Game 3. The Giants, meanwhile, made every single play. When a ball bounced off pitcher Matt Cain's glove Sunday night, shortstop Brandon Crawford didn't miss a beat in bare-handing it and firing the ball to beat a sliding Berry at first base.
The Giants, as a team, were perfect on defense, were dominant from the pitching mound, and provided timely hitting. The Tigers were not.
That truth makes the outcome sting just a little bit less, not that it won't linger.
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