Twins at Texas. Twins 8, Rangers 5.

There was a time when things were all very globalist in the Twins dugout. You had Dominicans and Canadians playing cards, Venezuelans and guys from wherever the hell Matt LeCroy's from sitting side by side. It was a whole pan-American love fest, a model UN, North America and South America holding each other close, whispering about NAFTA and other indoor sports.

That was before the Olympics started, and keyed off a patriotic frenzy in the Twins clubhouse. Somewhere between synchronized diving and the handball tournament, the whispers started. "Hey, nice Dressage, Canada; you sure pissed all over your piaffs," chuckled a voice in the clubhouse. "Oh, yeah?" came the retort. "Your rowing eight sucks coxswain."

Clearly, the harmony had ended. The global bonhomie had been replaced by separatist acrimony that threatened to tear the Twins apart. Flags started popping up in sections of the clubhouse, from Venezuela, the Dominican Republic, Australia, Canada, and wherever the hell Matt LeCroy's from. Pointed notes were left in lockers with the results of the previous night's competition. Looks like you blew it again in handball, blared a message on Corey Koskie's locker. Was that your mother weightlifting yesterday? inquired a missive scrawled on Juan Rincon's jock strap.

No longer are the Minnesota Twins playing as a team. The roster has now devolved into a lose collection nationalist factions determined to garner glory for their home nations. No longer are the games about the Twins versus their opponents, or about the standings in the AL Central; no, now they are an intra-western hemisphere battle between the forces of Canada and the forces of Venezuela. Only one will survive. That's right, today it's time for the first edition of:

Now, all the Americans are caught in the middle, forced to either take sides or, like Shannon Stewart and Michael Cuddyer, don a beret and try to become a humanoid Switzerland. Then, of course, they all started rooting for the Swiss team in synchronized swimming, and matters got totally out of control.

In today's game, it seemed the Canadians were going to prevail early. The undynamic duo were responsible for two of the first inning's four RBIs, an inning which ended on a Henry "Mango Face" Blanco double play. Then in the 4th, Dr. Morneau gave Kyle Lohse an insurance run, which he sorely needed, by hitting the ball in the general direction of Venezuela. His point was clear.

Meanwhile, one Venezuelan was quietly hitting his way into national folklore. In the second inning, Luis Rivas led off with a double, then in his next at bat he hustled for a triple, shouting as he rounded second base, Victoria para la gente! In the 8th, Rivas added a homer to the mix, causing Carlos Silva and Johan Santana to wrap themselves in the Venezuelan flag and jog around the bases with him.

By the time Juan Rincon came in to pitch, tensions were higher than when Carly Patterson accidentally sat down next to Svetlana Khorkina on the Olympic shuttle. Boo's job was to get the last out in the eighth—which he did, after giving up a double and a walk. Call it a draw.

In fact, no country had clear supremacy until the ninth inning, when Joe Nathan looked as if he were going to continue his week-long meltdown. Nathan walked the lead-off runner, then gave up a single to David Dellucci, then proceeded to strike out two, then walk the bases loaded. Two outs, Laynce Nix up to bat, and Henry Blanco approaches the mound and says one word to Joe Nathan. What that word was, I do not know, but it caused Nix to fly out to deep center for the game's third out. And that gave Team Venezuela the win—in addition to the Minnesota Twins. La Victoria!