Minnesota at Chicago. Twins 8, Bitch Sox 2.

Excuse me. I mean, excuse me. Excuse my giddiness, my exuberance, and most of all, please, excuse whatever pettiness and immaturity I might exude in the comments that follow. I mean, Batgirl believes that the game of baseball is a civil and dignified one and should be kept that way. Respect the players, respect your opponents, respect the game. She is never for shoving losses in the face of the opposing team, for cruel taunting, for wishing sorrow upon a team or its shirtless father and son team fans. With one itty bitty exception. So tonight, forgive Batgirl as she turns toward the south side of Chicago, smiles sweetly, and says:

Ha-ha!

I repeat:

Ha-ha!

I three-peat:

Ha-ha!

Or, in other words, Stick it, Sox. Even, dare I say, Shove it. Take all your petty, bitchy, whining comments and shove it squarely up your below .500 bums. I know, I know, it's all a great tragedy, and circumstances have conspired to keep you in second place for the past three years, I mean it can't have anything to do with your completely inferior play, and the Twins are the luckiest team in baseball, plus they're full of cheating with that whole CheatDome, and you have your best players on the DL and it's just not fair because you don't have any prospects, who said you needed prospects anyway when you have stars, I mean the Twins don't have any stars, I mean there's Radke and Santana but that's it, after that the roster can't really do much, so how can they possibly beat you so soundly year after year, and the Cubs get all the attention and Freddy Garcia didn't save your team like he was supposed to and neither did Everett or Alomar—and really, who saw that coming?—and the world is full of uncertainty and life just isn't fair. And shouldn't it be? I mean, of all things that should be fair, weather and home runs and Valley Fair and all things in love and war, shouldn't life be fair? Because you’re such a great group of guys, terrific role models for the kids, full of hustle and heart and a good attitude, full of class and shouldn't that be worth something? I mean, shouldn't it?

Alas, it's not. Not when we're just so damned much better than you are. We haven't just beaten you, we've kicked your bums back and forth and up and down a few times and diagonally and counter crosswise and a few directions you didn't even know was possible. Oh, and I know you won a few games early in the season, but we won the ones that count.

Oh, Batgirl could go on and on. And in fact, she has. And she probably will, later tonight, when Jeb and the BatKitties are fast asleep, she will snuggle her bear close to her and tell him all about how the Bitch Sox weren't that good when they had their stars, how the Twins never strayed more than 2.5 games out of first even when they totally sucked. I might even mention that Carlos Silva, for being one of those players on the "rest of the roster" than just can't cope in the postseason, sure outpitched Mr. Buehrle but good in their last two confrontations. I might mention the performance of Sweetcheeks Hunter today, or I might mention that while it would have been nice to clinch at home yesterday, there was something really really sweet about turning to the Bitch Sox and saying, "Ha-Ha."

The BatQuarters erupts in wild celebration.

But enough. The Bitch Sox are no more, and we have postseasons to worry about now. We are the division champions for the third year in a row and we have never looked so good going into the postseason. We are even, dare I say, beginning to get just the littlest, tiniest bit of respect nationally. Not a lot, mind you, but a little.

There is a moral to this story, and the moral is: always listen to Batgirl. There were some dark times during this season, like black hole dark, and there was some panic and some hurt feelings and some things said. And Batgirl said, "No, my Batlings. No. Do not worry. It's all going to be fine. For, despite all evidence to the contrary, the Twins are not a mediocre team, and soon we will stop playing like one.

We did.

We're a great damn team. We survived a MASH unit's worth of injuries, slumps by our best players, erratic pitching one month, erratic hitting another. Every time a player got hurt, a new one sprang fully-formed from the head of Terry Ryan. And we got really hot when it counted, and right now I'm ready to face anyone--Boston, New York, Oakland, Anaheim; I'd like you to meet the Minnesota Twins.

Now excuse Batgirl, after she extricates herself from this Jeb-and-Batkitty-dog pile, she's got a case of champagne to drink. Let's get ready for October.

And to all the players, the Twins execs, and especially to the BatLings, thank you all. I love this team.