As a creature of habit, you don’t have to be Nostradamus to call what I’m going to order when I walk into a restaurant. So a few years back, I sat down for a meal with a friend Â and after he’s put in for his grub, I start going through my spiel when he decides, in a moment of failed sarcasm, to complete my order by informing our waitress my sides of choice.
She giggles, offers up a smile and an “OK, boys” as she walks off.
I wasted not a moment and matter-of-factly shared “You realize she thinks we’re a gay couple now, right? (not that there’s anything wrong with that).”
We go back to our conversation, enjoy the vittles and later I, and I alone, decided to order a little dessert. The waitress wandered off to retrieve an ice cream sundae andÂ upon her returnÂ — boom — two spoons.
My eyes darted from the double-headed dragon ever so gently placed between my friend and I up to him, who was valiantly fighting offÂ seizure-like laughter.
I tell that story to demonstrate things aren’t always what they outwardly appear.
The Bengals have three Cy Youngs, a Triple Crown-wining future MVP and the best switch-hitter in the game. Everything a team could possibly hope for with regard to impact players. What Motown doesn’t have is a playoff team.
The Tigers gave up 20 runs to the Twins on Friday, then 12 more in the front-end of a doubleheader on Saturday before Justin Verlander and company surrendered six more in the night-cap, but found a way to score two more in a narrow victory. Look, the Twins are performing well with the sticks this month, no question, and I am absolutely thrilled with PapiAllen Hill, but no team which was expected to coast into October should ever get thoroughly handled by Minnesota. Not this year.
One could bring all the spoons in the world to Detroit’s stretch-run table, but not unlike the particular sweet tooth I don’t possess, that dog won’t hunt.
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