Tigers Update

I coined a nickname for the most recent Tiger, Aubrey Huff. It's "Half-Swing." I dubbed him this after watching last night's game in which he struck out three times on check swings. Half-Swing Huff.

It was nice to take two of three from the Angels in Anaheim. Not easy to do.

Fernando Rodney is only a little less roller coaster than Todd "Roller Coaster" Jones. I know because I haven't had to dip into my stash of antacids as much this season.

Stargazing

More sickening than vomit stench that's

slowly rubbed from carpet fiber;

Giant swathe of old black shirt now faded

by ten thousand washings;

Blacktop over-pressed and rolled into a

varied line of potholes,

As one piece, one smell, one color with the

City dirt

I'm sweeping from

My patio onto the gaps of

City concrete open for the

City trees to grow the

City leaves of dirt to

City sky that dirties now

my breath

until

I wheeze.

I hate it less for what it is

Than for my role in making it--

This scape-less glowing rot--

And more for what it hides from me:

Clear voids of death dark black.

Quotable Leyland

Manager Jim Leyland on the reason Ryan Raburn has been hitting better of late:

"I told him that I was taking away his entrance music if he didn't start hitting. That's why he started hitting."

Standing Tall in the Corner

My favorite thing to peruse during the baseball season is the mlb.com overall standings board. I would get into Baseball Prospectus but I already have enough black-hole-time-absorption machines in operation. The regular standings have just enough to keep me occupied for about 5 minutes, and then I can move on, satisfied.

Today's contemplation: Runs Scored and Runs Scored Againts. Now, the teams I root for: MN Twins (Land of My Heritage) in the AL and LA Dodgers (Land of My Birth) in the NL are a giving me very different feelings in my tummy.

The Dodgers have been on a tear. Everything is right. Manny Ramirez is "being Manny" to the tune of beating the living crud out of the ball (Boston, we thank thee). The young starters are doing things that make me giddy. And is all of the exuberance something we can continue to count on or should we trap our happiness in a jar and look at it longingly in July? Apparently, contrary to this man's existence, plan on repeated euphoria Dodgertown: our Runs Scored: 119; Runs Allowed: 82; Expected Win-Loss Record: 14-7. Actual Win-Loss Record: 14-7.

On the other hand, the Minnesota Twins. Now, the Twins have been having a lot of problems. Their All Star, 2X Batting Champ Catcher has been out, coming back Friday against the Royals {anticipatory giggling}. The rotation, also young, has been garbage except for the #5 pitcher; this can be expected to get better. So, we have accumulated these numbers: RS: 85; RA: 113 which should give us the diametric opposite of Dodger-lation: an 8-13 record. What have we actually managed to do? 10-11, with a chance at .500 against Scott Kazmir tonight (not likely, I know, but why can't the good times roll?). The culprit? Being 4-0 in 1-run games. {guilty chuckle}. The Twins hereby thank the world for allowing them to miraculously and inexplicably not trash their season already, and hope you will not mind when we go on another ridiculous run in August-September to steal the division from some much more "expected" (i.e., deserving) winner.

Next Year, We Can't Miss This

Why didn't I find out about the annual Grilled Cheese Invitational, which is held in L.A., until too late? Probably because God is looking out for my cholesterol levels. But next year . . . .

Snow Today

White felt flakes
feather the floor
with faerie down;
shimmering swirl of
moon mutes townly
murmur and hum;
tongue gone numb lungs
gasp in gaseous
iceblurred
parachuting prisms.

Art's dream is Nature's wish
and every sense knows
the promise that
if left long enough
in the blanketing first fall
still silence.

Normandy

When I visit Minnesota
I love driving through the corn
and watching it go by.
Centuries of sweat and science,
laid down rows of perfect stalks,
all the way to Grandma.
Three new paths in three directions
open up and flow on, by
appearing disappear
in the fields of Minnesota.

In the sand on Omaha
Edmund picks up rocks and shells.
He interrupts the work of time
and like the Angel of the Age
his method is a mystery:
some he throws into the surf
where they will wash away;
others cast on higher ground
await a latter day.

In the field above the sands
perfect rows of perfect crosses
open up in three directions:
every step makes three new paths
appear and disappear
in a field full of a nation.

Lucy pressed her tiny fingers
on a grave engraved:
William Adler
MN
1945
a sudden shiver
shook her fingers
Daddy let's get out of here
she turned and marched away.

Mary Sue stood by her Dad,
she talked about the men who died.
And though I could not talk with her
I held her
while I cried.