Old Turkey

Yesterday was Canadian Thanksgiving, which is the second Monday in October. Curling generally begins shortly after that. I curl in Canada. You need to know these things. You just, need to.

Several years ago I went over the border for an organizational meeting for the upcoming curling season. As I tend to be notoriously early for things when left to myself (I got that from me Pops) I was way ahead of everybody else. And since the curling club had a restaurant, I thought I'd go ahead and have dinner. "We have this great turkey chowder I think you'd like, Marty," the waitress suggested. Well, all right. I ordered a bowl.

It was very good. When asked about the chowder I told the waitress it was outstanding. "Glad you like it! We make it from our leftover Thanksgiving turkey," she explained.

My jaw hit the floor. "You make this from leftover Thanksgiving turkey?"

Staring at me for one confused moment, the woman finally understood my surprise. "OUR Thanksgiving, Marty. Not your Thanksgiving," she said, with a pat on my shoulder.

Yep. I forgot where I was. I thought they were feeding me 11 month old turkey.

What We Need in 2025

I think that the 2024 Tigers give us hope for the future of baseball in Detroit. Detroit is a baseball town after all; the attendance records for the two home playoff games last week demonstrate that. But what needs to be done to see that 2025 is a worthy follow up?

We need to be brutally honest in any analysis. I begin this by saying that, as great as 2024 was, we were lucky. Sure, the Tigers had a great run in August and September, going 31-13 over their last 44 games. But if the Minnesota Twins and Kansas City Royals had played even .500 baseball during that time, had they each won half their last 36 contests, Detroit is outside looking in to the MLB playoffs by about six games. The Tigers were 55-63 when their run started, and were at one point ten games under .500. We can't do that in 2025.

In broad terms, they need to find some bats. Of the regulars, Kerry Carpenter, Riley Greene, and Colt Keith led the team with batting averages of .284, .262, and .260 respectively. That won't do. I especially think we need to find catchers who can hit. I'm tired of hearing how great a backstop can handle a pitching staff while he hits .197, a la Jake Rogers. We seem to have had more than our share of such catchers. I can't help believe we'd be better off with someone less capable with the hurlers who hits 50 points higher. I think it would be worth the tradeoff.

Spencer Torkelson may not be the answer at first base. He needs to show that 2023 and his 31 homers weren't a fluke. Likewise, Parker Meadows must keep his admittedly good numbers from August and September '24 steady. 

Good pitching may win a lot of ball games. But if all you have is good pitching, well, you leave 8 men on base in six innings, 5 in the first 4 when driving in a couple of them might have been huge, and lose a must win playoff game. So get some bats, Tigers, or figure out how to get better production out of what you've got. We hit .224 in the playoffs yet went 4-3. Imagine what could be done with another thirty points on team batting.

The pitching on the whole feels solid looking forward. If, and this is big, if you get more starters after Tarik Skubal. Folks can say all they want about bullpen games and pitching chaos, but going through six and seven pitchers a game won't work over a 162 game regular season. I think it only works in the playoffs because teams naturally press, naturally put more pressure on themselves, at such times. Unless you carry a staff of 17, that won't get you back to the show next year. Either develop or find at least three more starters, Tigers. Then a bullpen game once every five days isn't unthinkable.

In short, I believe we played over our heads and caught the breaks late in 2024. While it was fun, we need more than that to contend in 2025. I don't think the team of the future is in the Motor City yet. But despite the negative tone here, this is a team which has tasted winning. There is a solid core. It's time time build on that.

A Good Run

Well, it was fun while it lasted. My Detroit Tigers have been eliminated from the Major League Baseball playoffs. Yet I do not heavy sigh at the fact. It was a good year.

Jim Leyland, the team's former manager, once said something along the lines of the championship team isn't the only team which had a successful season. I disagree. The World Series winner in baseball, the Super Bowl champion in the NFL, and the team which hoists the Stanley Cup in hockey are the only truly successful teams each year in their sport. But I will say that doesn't mean lesser teams can't have memorable or special seasons. Or that those seasons can't perhaps be better than championships.

For me, the best Tigers year may have been 1976, and they weren't anywhere near the World Series. They couldn't even sniff at it. But they had Mark 'The Bird' Fidrych on the hill every fifth day, and man, old Tiger Stadium was raucous when he pitched. That young man was so completely sincere, so legitimate, so honestly without pretense that you had to like him. Check this short clip for a feel of things. That's what sports ought to be about. Not chest pounding. Not looking for a camera to tell the world how great you are after a play. Just a love of the game and modesty about your accomplishments. I was at Tiger Stadium five times that year when the Bird pitched. Each visit absolutely rocked.

The 2006 Tigers were a team which came out of nowhere to make it to the World Series. It was a good ride that year, not unlike the 2024 squad. They are memorable because they gave hope for the future. Even 1999 was fun in its own way, despite being the last season at a venerable old ballpark, Tiger Stadium. To watch Robert Fick's grand slam seal the win from my family's seats in left field at the finale still sends chills. The Tigers had to, they simply had to, win that last game. They did.

So 2024 was a fun year in Detroit baseball annals. It does leave me excited for 2025.

Calling A Bluff

I've been in sales for a while now, and I like to think I have an idea how the game is played. One piece involves discounts. I'm not opposed to them...if the volume is there. So, as it's said, show me the money.

One time a fellow did just that. And I still have his money.

Someone I'd never seen before came to me at the old barn about buying an Electric Eel, the snakes I sell. After going through all the early process, showing him a unit and what goes with it, we came to the real nitty gritty. We began talking cost.

"I'm going to be big, Cosgriff, real big," he was preaching to me. "I'll bring you all my business. Can you help me out?"

"Whaddaya want?"

"Ten percent. I'm gonna buy a lot of stuff off you, man."

I hedged. You can usually tell when you're dealing with someone who's putting you on, painting a grand vista; playing with cow cookies. Yet this time, instead of turning him down flat I thought I'd call his bluff. "What's your initial order?" I asked.

"Five," he answered without hesitation.

"Deal," I answered in kind. At the time the units sold for around two grand, so his total was in the area of $10,000. I'd go ten off for that.

"Write me up Cosgriff, and I'll give you a down payment," he says, with an unwarranted degree of self assurance. "I'll pay the balance when you get the stuff." So I wrote him up. 

He gave me twenty dollars.

As Mr. Going Big left, me Pops was staring at me with uncertainty. "You're taking quite a chance on someone you don't know."

"He ain't coming back, Dad. He's trying to play big shot." Pops shook his head gently and grinned.

I never even bothered to process the order. And here better than a decade later, I still have his twenty bucks.

Worst Ever? Nowhere Near

I'm not saying it wasn't bad. I know it was bad; lives were lost and tremendous damage done. But it was not apocalyptic, as we were being told beforehand. Hurricane Milton offers a prime example of why we should see the media and heed the climate prognosticators with watchful eyes and skeptical minds.

Milton was supposed to be off the charts, a generational storm of epic proportions, a spawn of human caused climate change, misery beyond conception, one up at the very limit of meteorological possibility. And then it wasn't, 48 hours later. Bad? Again, yes. An unmitigated disaster of unimaginable proportions? Um, no. Not anywhere near.

This is why I don't believe the media, the weather forecasters, the government, or any of the gloom and doomers. This is the attitude which brought us the draconian COVID lockdowns. These people thrive on our fear. We need to grow a spine and tell them where to get off. 

 

It Happened One Day

I remembered I was running low on coffee pods at the old barn when I happened to be at a Dollar General, which was fortuitous as they can be difficult to find. I happened to discover they sold coffee pods, so I happened to buy some. As they happened to be on sale, I happened to buy several boxes.

As it happened, one flavor I chose was 'donut shop blend'. But they didn't happen to say which donut shop. Yet as their happens to be this thing called the Internet where all of human knowledge appears to be kept in storage, most of it in very deep storage unless you happen to like cat videos or morally questionable entertainment, I decided to find out which donut shop blend Dollar General's happened to be.

It happens to be from Fred and Mary's donut shop and troll doll emporium in South Witchita, Kansas. Closed Mondays. You're welcome.

Chili Fries Betrayal

The old barn had had a series of break-ins back about 55 years ago. Me Grandpa Joe decided that a way to stop them might be to leave a dog in the place every night. He found a relatively imposing mutt for that purpose.

I don't recall much about the beast. It hung around the Shop all day, and Joe and the others who worked there at the time would play with the dog and so forth. Yet it was a reasonably menacing animal who seemed to be leery of and watchful of strangers, so it fit the bill.

One morning as me Pops and me Grandpa Joe arrived at work, they noticed a window broken in. Ha, ha, Joe thought, we'll see what a number the old dog made of those miscreants. That'll teach them to break into my place of business.

Opening the door and walking in, Dad and Joe saw the Shop was a wreck and found that a bunch of hand tools were gone. Over to the side and sleeping, fat and happy, was the guard dog, a thoroughly demolished plate of chili fries next to him. The dog burped as he slept.

"Sold out by chili fries," Joe remarked to me Pops.