The bats finally come alive

Justin Verlander had thrown everything he had, his fastball, his change-up, his curve, his arm, his heart, his lungs, maybe a couple of kidneys. His engine was sputtering, pushed to the brink.

And it was still the sixth inning.

The infield came in. The crowd inhaled. Verlander, with the score tied, had just walked the No.9 batter on four pitches to load the bases. His pitch count was far north of 100. There was only one out. Most other pitchers would be done. Out of there. You actually could hear gulping across Comerica Park. Is this it? Does the season end here?

Well, he’s not the best pitcher in baseball for nothing.

Not here. Not this night. No Tigers die in Detroit. If this team goes down, it will be in Texas, and only after a virtuoso performance by Verlander that now drags this American League Championship Series maybe further than the roster suggests it should go, and further than you imagined with that lump in your throat in the sixth.

Verlander stared down Ian Kinsler, then delivered an inside pitch that Kinsler could only hit meekly to third base. Brandon Inge snagged it, stepped on the bag, threw to first for the double play, and Verlander nearly flew off the mound and shook his fist – even though most other pitchers would be ready for a stretcher.

No Tigers die tonight.

“Fastball down and in, broken bat, roller ground ball to Brandon,” Verlander would explain Thursday night when this one was over, and Detroit had pushed the series to a Game 6 with a 7-5 victory. “Basically exactly how I would have drawn it up.”

Him and every Tigers fan in the joint. He walked off the mound, having done precisely what he was there to do – kept hope alive. And finally, like the united team these Tigers have been all season, the men with the bats picked up where the man with the pitches left off.

Just in time.

Justin Time.

The bats finally come alive

“We knew he was going to keep us in the game,” Miguel Cabrera told the Fox cameras after the victory.

And Cabrera followed suit. Here is what happened in the bottom of the sixth, after Verlander proved that it wasn’t just Houdini who could escape a wrap of chains:

Ryan Raburn singled to left. Cabrera did what he does best – hit the ball hard – and this time, luck joined hands with power. The ball hit third base, caromed over the head of Adrian Beltre, and rolled into leftfield, allowing Raburn to score the go-ahead run.

“I have that bag in my office right now,” manager Jim Leyland joked afterward. “That will be in my memorabilia room.”

Can you blame him? From that weird bounce on, karma was a done deal. The Tigers may not have a speedy, small-ball game like the Rangers, but they do know how to smash the pill. Victor Martinez tripled – after Nelson Cruz, who has done everything right this series, couldn’t catch it on a dive – and Cabrera scored. Then Delmon Young followed with his second home run of the game and fifth of the playoffs (and for a guy who has problems with his oblique, there is nothing oblique about his swing).

And just like that, minutes after you thought it was over, the Tigers were suddenly up, 6-2, the pilots were called for the team plane, Joaquin Benoit and Jose Valverde were immediately back in the conversation, and the season was going at least into the weekend.

Which gives us all more chances to talk about Verlander.

Justin Time.

Doing whatever it took

Because here was the story of the day, like watching sparking sand fall through an hourglass. How much left? How much further can he go? All game long there were two things being watched on the Comerica Park scoreboard – who had more runs, and how many pitches had Verlander thrown.

Let’s face it. The Tigers were trying to cross a desert and Verlander was the water in their canteen. They had no games to give and no relievers to spare – their star setup man, Benoit, and star closer, Valverde, were both too worn out to pitch, after long work the night before and pitching three straight days. Leyland had announced beforehand that it was Verlander until he passed out, and Phil Coke basically alone in the bullpen.

“People might not like it, but it was not a tough decision,” Leyland said afterward. “It was… a no-brainer for me.”

Maybe so. It still left Verlander to save the season. And that was fitting. If Thursday was the final leg of an incredible Detroit baseball voyage, who better than Verlander to steer it home?

And so all afternoon, as a peeking sun turned to misty clouds and misty clouds turned to darkness, watching Verlander required two sets of eyes – how much was he flaming, how much was he flaming out? Verlander reached his 40th pitch the third inning, his 60th by the fourth. How many more drops in that canteen? How long before the team was parched and dry?

Verlander had made magic all season, 24 victories, a certain Cy Young Award coming. But Thursday, with what he would admit was not his best stuff or his best rhythm, he was a man on a tightwire, juggling plates, riding a unicycle, mixing 100-m.p.h. fastballs with ridiculous dropping curveballs, trying to fool one more batter, then one batter more.

At times it seemed he was hanging by a thread. In the fifth, he threw three straight pitches more than 100 m.p.h. to Michael Young, then struck him out with a slow kabong of a curve. In the sixth, he had those bases loaded before inducing Kinsler’s double-play ball. He was riding through fire, dancing on hot coals, and the Tigers were hopping along with him.

On his 122nd pitch, he took a bouncer from Young right into his glove and threw him out effortlessly to end the seventh. You thought that was it. He couldn’t go further. But here he was, still out there in the eighth, chalking up one more strikeout victim, Beltre, before surrendering what seems to be a mandatory altar sacrifice for Tigers’ pitchers in this series – a home run to Cruz.

Didn’t matter. The Tigers had given him enough of a cushion.

And he had given them all he had.

Back to the heart of Texas

“Obviously, I knew the scenario,” Verlander said of Leyland’s reliance on him to get it done. “But you can’t let yourself think, ‘Oh, man, if we lose, we go home….’ You just have to go out there, and once you take the ball, pitch like you’re capable of doing.”

Here’s what he’s capable of doing: 133 pitches. A career high. Think about that. One hundred thirty-three pitches? Eight strikeouts? All serious fires extinguished?

If that is his final action of this series – or his final game of 2011 – it was fitting. He left nothing out there. He carried no fuel on his trip back to the dugout. The crowd positively roared when he walked off, and he gave a small wave in acknowledgement, but kept his eyes lowered and his feet moving steadily.

“A battle all day,” he would call it.

But no Tigers died Thursday night. If the Rangers want this, they’ll have to take it in their place, but not before witnessing the most emblematic performance of the Detroit postseason. All guts, even if there was no glory – summed up by a never-quit pitcher and a bunch of big boppers.

One hundred thirty-three pitches. Four home runs.

No surrender.

See you Saturday.

Contact Mitch Albom: 313-223-4581 or malbom@freepress.com.

Justin Verlander had thrown everything he had, his fastball, his change-up, his curve, his arm, his heart, his lungs, maybe a couple of kidneys. His engine was sputtering, pushed to the brink.

And it was still the sixth inning.

The infield came in. The crowd inhaled. Verlander, with the score tied, had just walked the No.9 batter on four pitches to load the bases. His pitch count was far north of 100. There was only one out. Most other pitchers would be done. Out of there. You actually could hear gulping across Comerica Park. Is this it? Does the season end here?

Well, he’s not the best pitcher in baseball for nothing.

Not here. Not this night. No Tigers die in Detroit. If this team goes down, it will be in Texas, and only after a virtuoso performance by Verlander that now drags this American League Championship Series maybe further than the roster suggests it should go, and further than you imagined with that lump in your throat in the sixth.

Verlander stared down Ian Kinsler, then delivered an inside pitch that Kinsler could only hit meekly to third base. Brandon Inge snagged it, stepped on the bag, threw to first for the double play, and Verlander nearly flew off the mound and shook his fist – even though most other pitchers would be ready for a stretcher.

No Tigers die tonight.

“Fastball down and in, broken bat, roller ground ball to Brandon,” Verlander would explain Thursday night when this one was over, and Detroit had pushed the series to a Game 6 with a 7-5 victory. “Basically exactly how I would have drawn it up.”

Him and every Tigers fan in the joint. He walked off the mound, having done precisely what he was there to do – kept hope alive. And finally, like the united team these Tigers have been all season, the men with the bats picked up where the man with the pitches left off.

Just in time.

Justin Time.

The bats finally come alive

“We knew he was going to keep us in the game,” Miguel Cabrera told the Fox cameras after the victory.

And Cabrera followed suit. Here is what happened in the bottom of the sixth, after Verlander proved that it wasn’t just Houdini who could escape a wrap of chains:

Ryan Raburn singled to left. Cabrera did what he does best – hit the ball hard – and this time, luck joined hands with power. The ball hit third base, caromed over the head of Adrian Beltre, and rolled into leftfield, allowing Raburn to score the go-ahead run.

“I have that bag in my office right now,” manager Jim Leyland joked afterward. “That will be in my memorabilia room.”

Can you blame him? From that weird bounce on, karma was a done deal. The Tigers may not have a speedy, small-ball game like the Rangers, but they do know how to smash the pill. Victor Martinez tripled – after Nelson Cruz, who has done everything right this series, couldn’t catch it on a dive – and Cabrera scored. Then Delmon Young followed with his second home run of the game and fifth of the playoffs (and for a guy who has problems with his oblique, there is nothing oblique about his swing).

And just like that, minutes after you thought it was over, the Tigers were suddenly up, 6-2, the pilots were called for the team plane, Joaquin Benoit and Jose Valverde were immediately back in the conversation, and the season was going at least into the weekend.

Which gives us all more chances to talk about Verlander.

Justin Time.

Doing whatever it took

Because here was the story of the day, like watching sparking sand fall through an hourglass. How much left? How much further can he go? All game long there were two things being watched on the Comerica Park scoreboard – who had more runs, and how many pitches had Verlander thrown.

Let’s face it. The Tigers were trying to cross a desert and Verlander was the water in their canteen. They had no games to give and no relievers to spare – their star setup man, Benoit, and star closer, Valverde, were both too worn out to pitch, after long work the night before and pitching three straight days. Leyland had announced beforehand that it was Verlander until he passed out, and Phil Coke basically alone in the bullpen.

“People might not like it, but it was not a tough decision,” Leyland said afterward. “It was… a no-brainer for me.”

Maybe so. It still left Verlander to save the season. And that was fitting. If Thursday was the final leg of an incredible Detroit baseball voyage, who better than Verlander to steer it home?

And so all afternoon, as a peeking sun turned to misty clouds and misty clouds turned to darkness, watching Verlander required two sets of eyes – how much was he flaming, how much was he flaming out? Verlander reached his 40th pitch the third inning, his 60th by the fourth. How many more drops in that canteen? How long before the team was parched and dry?

Verlander had made magic all season, 24 victories, a certain Cy Young Award coming. But Thursday, with what he would admit was not his best stuff or his best rhythm, he was a man on a tightwire, juggling plates, riding a unicycle, mixing 100-m.p.h. fastballs with ridiculous dropping curveballs, trying to fool one more batter, then one batter more.

At times it seemed he was hanging by a thread. In the fifth, he threw three straight pitches more than 100 m.p.h. to Michael Young, then struck him out with a slow kabong of a curve. In the sixth, he had those bases loaded before inducing Kinsler’s double-play ball. He was riding through fire, dancing on hot coals, and the Tigers were hopping along with him.

On his 122nd pitch, he took a bouncer from Young right into his glove and threw him out effortlessly to end the seventh. You thought that was it. He couldn’t go further. But here he was, still out there in the eighth, chalking up one more strikeout victim, Beltre, before surrendering what seems to be a mandatory altar sacrifice for Tigers’ pitchers in this series – a home run to Cruz.

Didn’t matter. The Tigers had given him enough of a cushion.

And he had given them all he had.

Back to the heart of Texas

“Obviously, I knew the scenario,” Verlander said of Leyland’s reliance on him to get it done. “But you can’t let yourself think, ‘Oh, man, if we lose, we go home….’ You just have to go out there, and once you take the ball, pitch like you’re capable of doing.”

Here’s what he’s capable of doing: 133 pitches. A career high. Think about that. One hundred thirty-three pitches? Eight strikeouts? All serious fires extinguished?

If that is his final action of this series – or his final game of 2011 – it was fitting. He left nothing out there. He carried no fuel on his trip back to the dugout. The crowd positively roared when he walked off, and he gave a small wave in acknowledgement, but kept his eyes lowered and his feet moving steadily.

“A battle all day,” he would call it.

But no Tigers died Thursday night. If the Rangers want this, they’ll have to take it in their place, but not before witnessing the most emblematic performance of the Detroit postseason. All guts, even if there was no glory – summed up by a never-quit pitcher and a bunch of big boppers.

One hundred thirty-three pitches. Four home runs.

No surrender.

See you Saturday.

Contact Mitch Albom: 313-223-4581 or malbom@freepress.com.