Take the unfortunate incident in Italy, for example. MG and I travelled to Italy on our tenth anniversary. One of the cities we visited was Rome. In my defense let me assure you that the Colosseum and the Forum were already in ruins when I got there. I was not responsible for their condition. We went to an outdoor papal audience at the Papal Palace of Castel Gandalfo. The Pope blessed us and the others gathered in the crowd beneath his balcony. I held up my wedding ring to be blessed so the hounds of hell would hunt MG down if he ever left me. It was very spiritual and uplifting.

We were scheduled to leave for home the next morning but there were flight delays at Leonardo da Vinci airport. It seemed the nation was mourning the death of Pope Pius XII.

I assure you I was not to blame. His death was not my fault. It was mere coincidence that it happened after my visit, that’s all. I am not a jinx.

Another unfortunate incident occurred when we went camping out west one year. We visited Yellowstone National Park. We went on nature hikes, visited the falls and Old Faithful, and cooked hot dogs that kept falling off the skewers into the fire pit. The day after we broke camp and were homeward bound, we heard on the news that a huge fire had swept through the park burning several acres of woodland.

I assure you I am not to blame. The fire was not my fault. It was mere coincidence that it happened after my visit, that’s all. I am not a jinx.

Recently, I was present at another unfortunate incident. MG and I decided to spend a couple of days in Detroit. We drove over and visited the Detroit Institute of Art and then spent the night in a hotel. The following afternoon, MG and I went to our first ever Detroit Tigers baseball game. We had good seats on the third base line close to home plate. The game was a humdinger. Players were hit by pitches. Players shoved each other around and punched each other out. Brawls broke out—the benches cleared three times during the game—one melee after another. Managers and players were ejected. Wow!

I couldn’t believe I was watching baseball. I kept looking around for ice, skates, and hockey pucks. I posted about it on Facebook, and one of my dear cousins scolded me. According to him, “Both teams were well behaved until you two showed up. Trouble makers. ;)” Apparently, my reputation preceded me.

I assure you I am not to blame. None of those melees was my fault. It was mere coincidence that three brawls broke out while I was at that game, that’s all. I am not a jinx.

You believe me, don’t you?

Take the term “barrel up” for example. It makes no sense. How is it possible to barrel up when there are no barrels anywhere on the ball field? All I see are baseballs, bats, and bases. Someone please point out the barrels. Even Macho Guy, my in-house translator, is out in left field on that one.

Every time I hear the sportscasters say, “punch out,” I expect the dugouts to clear and a brawl to break out between the opposing ball clubs during which they punch out each other. Now this term is deceptive. It raises false expectations. It implies that civilized, mild mannered baseball is as macho as rock’em, sock’em hockey. Nothing could be farther from the truth. When I inquired, MG informed me that the sportscasters were referring to a strike out. Well, why didn’t they just say so?

Then there’s “the dish.” The first time I heard the sportscasters use that one I thought they were discussing a beautiful woman they spotted in the stands. Nope. They were referring to home plate. Seriously, fellas, home plate doesn’t resemble a dish in any way, shape, or form. You wouldn’t eat off home plate, would you? Eww. Gross. No way. So it’s home plate, not “the dish.”

You won’t believe this one. I actually heard one of the sportscasters refer to the pitcher’s mound as a hill, as in [insert pitcher’s name] will take “the hill” for tonight’s game. Talk about exaggeration. A pitcher’s mound is just a tiny pile of dirt. The only way that hill jargon would work is if he called it “the molehill.”

It may be a side effect of engaging in the profession for sportscasters to ignore commonplace baseball terms and replace them with cutesy terms of their own invention. Maybe they do it for fun to keep from becoming bored repeating the same terms game after game. Whatever their reason for doing it, they are bucking baseball tradition.

It’s sacrilegious, I’m against it, and I want to put my thesaurus away on game day.

Wow! All right! Hot damn! League championship, here we come! World Series, look out! This will definitely be our year to bring it home. Yay, Tigers!

Perhaps we were just a bit optimistic. It’s July now, and things aren’t looking all that great after all. The Tigers have a 46-46 win/loss record and are ranked third in the American League Central Division. It’s as if the Body Snatchers invaded Detroit and replaced our fierce Tigers with Pussycat pod people, because they sure are playing like pussycats.

Detroit has some of the best hitters in baseball—the very best in Miguel Cabrera—but the team hasn’t been able to capitalize on all the talent on its roster. If our offense manages to produce hits, they strand men on base scoreless inning after scoreless inning. They can’t bring them home, and they’ve grounded into double plays—ninety-eight so far—more than any other team in the league this year. What’s going on with that?

Then there is Detroit’s pitching, which is nowhere near what it was last year. We lost Max Scherzer to a bigger paycheck from the Washington Nationals. Justin Verlander hasn’t been as effective as he was before, now that he’s off the injured list. Whatever you do, don’t get me started on the bullpen. I stare in disbelief each time starting pitchers put in stellar performances only to have the relief pitchers in the Tigers’ bullpen snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Macho Guy turns the air in his vicinity a bright shade of blue.

Performance malaise must be catching because the Tigers’ normally consistent defense has made several uncharacteristic unforced errors this season. It’s one more nail in the season’s coffin. Meh.

So where does the buck stop? Are you there, Brad Ausmus? It’s me, a disgruntled Tigers fan. When a pitcher is in trouble, why would a manager wait as long as you do to take him out of the game? Oh, right. The bullpen sucks. So why doesn’t the team make a trade or call up some fresh talent from the minors? Any pitcher would have to be better than some that we have now. Think about it, Brad. We can’t go on like this.

As I write this post, I’m watching the Tigers play the Mariners at Comerica Park on July 20. I won’t hold my breath expecting them to win. I want to live.

Whoa! Ian Kinsler hit a solo home run in the first. Okay, so we lead 1-0 early on. Big whoop. The Tigers will find a way to lose eventually; just you wait and see.

And there it is. Seattle’s Mike Zunino hit a two-run double in the top of the second, putting the Mariners ahead 2-1. ::sigh::

Hold on. After Seattle pitcher J.A. Happ walked two in the bottom of the second, Tigers catcher James McCann hit a two-run double that gave Detroit a 3-2 lead. Things are looking up again.

Oh, no. Zunino hit an RBI single in the sixth putting the Mariners back on top. Dang. The Mariners are still ahead 4-3 in the eighth. It’s only a matter of time now. Did I call it?

Yikes! Al Albuquerque just tried to catch a line drive with his bare pitching hand. Owie-wow-wow! There’s a confab out at the mound. It appears that he’s all right. Whew!

I did that once—and only once—when I played fast pitch softball in high school. I was one of the pitchers and I had trouble getting used to catching with my gloved left hand. I tried to stop a line drive with my bare right hand.  Owie-wow-wow! The ball’s impact bent the middle finger back and sprained it—didn’t break it, fortunately—but it still had to be immobilized with a splint (I think the school nurse used half of a tongue depressor). For many days, I walked through the halls of the high school and into classrooms with an erect middle finger on my right hand. My male classmates envied me my ability to flip off our high school’s administration and faculty with impunity. But I digress.

Holy $#1%!! Kinsler just hit a two-run homer in the bottom of the eighth! Unreal! We’re ahead! We might win this one! MG is hyperventilating. Easy now, don’t go getting your hopes up. Joakim Soria still has to close out the ninth without giving up any runs. Can I stand the strain?

OMG! Soria struck out the last batter! MG is breathing again. Yay, Soria! Yay, Kinsler! Yay, Tigers! We win! We win! We Win! I knew you could do it, Detroit. You’re the best.

Um, please disregard all that nonsense I wrote earlier. I love you guys! #DetroitTigers #baseball #baseballfans #TigersFans