through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered . . .

i have no words

So I went to Best Buy to pick up an antenna for my TV, in hopes of getting more than just CBS, in hopes of watching the rest of the World Series in my house (as well as finally getting to watch Veronica Mars as it airs).

Guess what every single TV in the television section was showing?

Albert Pujols's fatal at-bat in Game Five of last year's NLCS.

Dozens of Pujolses, large and small, fouling off pitches. Dozens of Lidges, trying to get that last strike to win the series. The worst postseason moment I've ever experienced in every shape and size a TV screen can be. (Yes, I'm including Aaron Fucking Boone in that estimation. Yes, I'm serious. Aaron Boone, oddly enough, made me a Red Sox fan. Albert Pujols made me want to throw up.)

Luckily, I had time to flee. I hid amongst the computer games until I was sure the worst was over.

The baseball gods do like to torment me. I hope they're not trying to drop me a hint about the rest of the Series.

Or worse yet, to warn me off buying that antenna.

See, I'm superstitious. My superstitions dictate certain aspects of my behavior during the playoffs. For the first game of the Division Series this year, I stayed home to listen to the game, and dabbed myself with the BPALs I deemed luckiest (in case you care: Hungry Ghost Moon, because good things seem to happen when I wear it, and Bengal, because it's called Bengal).

We lost.

The next game I went out to watch - I was planning to minimize my game outings and the amount of money spent, but this was a Justin Verlander start, and every chance to watch Justin pitch on a big TV must be taken. The BPAL of the day (of course I wear a different BPAL every day, don't be silly) was Kumiho, which happens to be a favorite, and I paired it with Menthol lip balm, which is not but goes well with Kumiho.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the Division Series and the whole of the Championship Series in a bar, tasting Menthol and smelling of Kumiho.

But. A little thing I forgot. World Series mojo, it's a little different. I was in the bar with the Menthol and the Kumiho, and boy did we get clobbered. And . . . ugh, I hate to admit it, because I always try to stick around till the final out no matter what the score, but I had this Cardinals fan in my ear blathering alternately about Albert Pujols and my perfect skin (no, really), so I fled in the eighth. And Craig Monroe hit his home run sometime after I walked into my bedroom.

Okay, I can take a hint. So yesterday, I wore whatever perfume (a different company's Vaniglia del Madagascar dupe) and lip balm (Red Velvet Cake) I damn well pleased, and I stayed home and listened.

So I'll stick with the VdM and the Red Velvet Cake. And if this antenna works, I'll hope like hell that the clip of doom was not a hint from the baseball gods, and that being at home was indeed the key factor. Because I'd really like to watch this series.

Oh, and I'll probably mute the TV if I can get a radio broadcast, because from what I understand, being stuck with Joe Morgan last night was a stroke of luck. Now that's just sad.

On the agenda for today: Eating Chinese delivery (a rare indulgence) and working on my Veronica Mars season one DVD. Oh yeah, and at some point there will be algebra.

It's been a crazy week. Every time I try to post something, I get overwhelmed. Where do I even start? Game-by-game? An overview? An I-fucking-told-you-so?

Actually, let's go with that last one.

Check out my track record as a baseball fan.

In 2003, I take up baseball and the Red Sox. In 2004, the Red Sox take the wild card and go on to win the American League pennant and the World Series.

In 2004, I decide I need an NL team; when the Astros lure Andy Pettitte from the Yankees and get Roger Clemens out of "retirement," I am beside myself with glee at the shafting of my new nemesis, the Yankees, and adopt them on the spot. In 2005, the Astros take the wild card and go on to win the National League pennant.

In 2005, I make friends with evil influences who cause me to check out and become very attached to the Tigers. In spring training 2006, I run around explaining to them about my record to date and assuring them that the Tigers will be winning the pennant this year. Nobody takes me seriously. I try not to take myself seriously, since spring training is pretty early to be making that kind of prediction, but I can't help it.

The Tigers go on to take the Wild Card and win the American League pennant.

Told you guys.

I should take applications from teams desperate for that extra boost. (Note: Yankees, Braves, White Sox, Cardinals, and Twins need not apply.)

From here on out, though, the Tigers are on their own. My World Series record is 1-1, so I can't make any promises.

But they're on their own with Nate Robertson, Justin Verlander, Kenny Rogers, and Jeremy Bonderman as their starting rotation. They're on their own with Placido Polanco and Magglio Ordonez and Carlos Guillen and Craig Monroe at the plate, with Alexis Gomez and Ramon Santiago just waiting for their chances to surprise the hell out of the opposing pitchers. They're on their own with Brandon Inge's glove and Joel Zumaya's arm and Ivan Rodriguez's pickoff move. They're their own with Jim Leyland and his Marlboros making inexplicable moves that win games.

I'm not sure they ever really needed my help.

Damn, am I glad I let myself get talked into skipping Psych for this game. (I was actually considering going for about ten minutes before I left the bar last night, but the Yankee fan next to me was like, "Dude. 1987. Come on.") I would have cried if I'd missed this one to sit through one of the worst classes I've ever taken.

I had an interesting time finding a place to watch it, though. Apparently there's only like one sports bar in town that opens before four. I spent the first hour in some random place where I met up, also randomly, with an old friend from middle school, then I migrated down the street to a sports bar called Rivalries.

Where I was the only Tigers fan amidst Yankee fans. It was odd. I'm accustomed to Yankee fans being the minority around here, but then I'm usually out watching Red Sox games.

What a game. Love to Justin for getting himself out of trouble so many times. Love to Carlos for that homer. Love to Grandy for putting us ahead. Love to Thames for making with the hits. Even love to Jonesy for getting through the ninth, though he did it with so much drama I thought I was going to throw up. And for once, that is not hyperbole. I think probably the subpar nachos didn't help.

To Comerica with the split! 4-3 Tigers, series tied at one! GO TIGERS! ♥

I'd just like to thank piney61 for being the only damn one who can give the Tigers a little love. Barring links that prove I overlooked something, the rest of you all fail.

I'm so nervous I could puke, but that's not the point.

Well. There had to be icons. I am hardly the first, but here you go.


Gank as you please and I don't need any credit. Cropping and resizing is hardly a chore.