Tampa Bay at Twins. Devil Rays 7, Twins 3

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Actually, scratch that first part. With the exception of the reemergence of Brad "Rad" Radke as our ace and the sheer awesomosity of Joe "MamaTor" Nathan, this whole month has been more on the worst-of-times end of the scale. Sure, there was that heady five-game winning streak the second week of the month, but other than that this has been the age of foolishness, the epoch of incredulity, the season of Darkness, the winter of despair. Yes, we had everything before us, and then suddenly we had nothing before us.

The whole affair was aptly exemplified a couple key innings in today's game. Take the first: Seth Greisinger began by striking out Carl Crawford on three pitches, then retiring Rocco Baldelli and Aubrey Huff quicker than you can say "Martin Chuzzlewit." The home half of the inning began by Rob Bell beaning Lew Ford on the bicep (only because Lew was holding his bicep up in front of his face). Bell then struck out Cuddy and walked Mientkiewicz, and it seemed this game was going to go our way. But after a couple pitches sailed by Torii Hunter's head, Bell had clearly scared the Dickens out of the batters so much that they spent most of the rest of the game ducking for dear life.

But we had great expectations; we thought the first inning showed the promise of things to come, in a good way--we didn't realize it simply revealed the Twins' utter inability to convert on things like a hit batter and a walk in a third of an inning. And so the game went. For some inexplicable reason, the Twins couldn't do a thing against Rob "David Copperfield" Bell and his grand illusions—with the exception of Henry "Slumpin'" Blanco who smashed one of those over the fence.

So we get to the ninth, with the Twins behind 5-3. We had had a chance in the 8th with the bases loaded and no outs, but these are hard times, and Dougie hit into a double play and Corey struck out. Please sir, may we have some more? So, Terry Mulholland comes in for Aaron Fultz, and Jose Cruz hits a teeny weeny nubber off the end of the bat that slowly rolls right between home and the pitcher's mound. Mulholland and Blanco both "run" toward the ball in something that looks like our mutual friend Jim Souhan's specter of the foot race between a glacier and continental drift, and you know the thing with glaciers and continents is once they get started moving they are very, very hard to stop. So Cruz got to first, and before you knew it, the score was 7-3. Then, in the bottom of the inning, Hunter, Jones, and LeCroy each came up, and each hit the ball very, very hard…right at the outfielders. One, two, three.

And there we were. A nubber costs us two runs, and our hard hit balls go right to the fielders. It's all a bit Dickensian, really. We gave the freakin' Devil Rays only their 4th road win of the season, and we closed out a bad month badly.

It is hard to keep one's spirits up during times like this; even the BatQuarters has been a bleak house these days. And while it is important to remember that we need never be ashamed of our tears, we must also know that this is just a slump. Remember: tomorrow is another month. God bless us, every one.