Twins at New York. Yankees 5, Twins 3. Yankees 5, Twins 4.

Batgirl has gotten several letters from BoSox fans asking her if the Twins would be so kind as to sweep the Yanks in this series. And Batgirl understood, she really did, and she felt their pain. The unceasing, brain-splitting pain, like someone has stuck a screwdriver right inside your eyeball and pushed really really hard, so it goes right through the eyeball, making a kind of squelching noise, and you think that hurts, like, a lot, but then they just keep pushing the screwdriver, and it's a Phillips head and you would think that that would hurt less but in fact it hurts more, probably because of all the little divets, especially when they just keep pushing and it goes through your eyeball and pierces some membrane and then just goes right into your brain. Just right there. Like that. And by this point, you're rolling around screaming for dear life, and it sounds something like, NOOOO! NOOO!!!! YANKEES, YOU ARE NOT MY DADDY, but then they start twisting, and they twist the thing around real good and say, "I am your father," and then they laugh maniacally and start stirring around your parts with the Phillips head.

Like that.

So, anyway, dearest Boston fans. Batgirl feels your brain. I mean pain. She is so sorry for everything you have had to go through; it's just not fair. The Twins get to triumph over evil (Bitch Sox brand) year in and year out, whereas Boston faces evil all the time and evil generally slaps them around a bit and calls them its bitch.

So Batgirl would like to help. She would. And she thought of calling up the Twins and saying, "Hey, Twins, the BoSox really need this one. All those nice fans, they're suffering, and they're asking you to make the miracle happen. Can you do that, my darlings?"

But then Batgirl thought about it. And she looked at herself. And she looked at the BatKitties. And she said, "You know, Boston had a good chance on their own of catching the Yankees. And they didn't do it."

And Batgirl sighed, and she shook her head. For Batgirl cannot do the Red Sox's work for them anymore. Again, oh, how she would love to help—did she mention the screwdriver? That sounds way painful. Batgirl is highly sensitive to pain. But, my darling Boston, you need to take care of your own business. You do. And when you're three games back and you've got six games left in the last two weeks of the season, you're really going to have to do more than split. I know it's hard, but it's a cruel world out there and there are Yankees everywhere, and you have to be able to face them on your own. It's time. You guys are a terrific club, thanks to that Manny guy and the whole David Ortiz thing, not to mention that whole Pedro and Schilling bit. You don't need anyone else to fight your battles for you. You don't need Batgirl! You guys are your own masters! You can do it! Come on, boys, self-reliance!

So, Batgirl didn't make the call and while it was tough on Batgirl spending six hours of her life watching the Yankees beat us, she decided it was really for the best. For what would happen if the Twins did sweep the Yankees, and Boston backed into first place? What would they have learned?

Besides, it was total Twins B-Team action out there today, with Stewie benched and most of the regulars sitting at least one game out (except for "I, Robot" Morneau, who apparently does not require rest.)

Augie Ojeda: "I feel a little overmatched."

Never mind that our B-Team players (Jason Kubel) did a lot better than our A-Team players (JC Romero, assorted others). JC seems to be going through another one of his phases, and Batgirl, for one, questions his timing. Like, it was really cute in, you know, May, and then we could send him down to AAA to get his groove back, and then he got that groove back, and how it was all really really good for a while, with that whole scoreless streak, until, well, suddenly, it wasn't. And there's just something a little less adorable about losing it at the end of September with the postseason next week

Now, see, dearest JC. Batgirl adores you. She adores your red shirt and your sexy accent and your fierce fastball and she just adores that you like to read. I mean, who on earth says they like to "grab life by the horns" by reading? Well, you do, JC, and Batgirl thinks that's just so great. But sometimes she's afraid you read a little too much—not that you can read too much, that would be like saying Johan could smile too many times or the Bitch Sox could collapse in September too many times. An hour spent reading is an hour in paradise, as the poets say. But the thing is, Batgirl's afraid you've got too much on your mind, what with the whole Gatsby accident and Jude the Obscure's deal and the tragic ending of The Mill on the Floss, and those things on your mind, well, they sometimes interfere with your job, which is throwing the baseball over the plate really really fast and making the batter swing wildly at it and miss. I want you to pretend you're a really dumb guy for the next few weeks. Try it. Look in the mirror, stick your lower lip out a little bit, slump your shoulders, and say, "I am a really dumb guy." Make your voice lower and don't focus on things so much. Hang out with Koshe for a while, then you'll get it. Big guy not worry about human condition. Big guy throw ball fast. Big guy strike out batter! Wheeee! Do it again! Do it again!

After game seven of the World Series you can pick up where you left off in the collected works of Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

Okay, plus there's the whole thing with Lew Ford's facial hair. You warned Batgirl, you did, but she was still not prepared for the horror before her eyes. It made Morneau's look good. Sort of. Unless it's just some sort of rash—it really is hard to tell—like Ford maybe got a little too excited on his off day in New York and went out and bought, like, a hot dog from the street vendor and the guy dropped the hot dog on the sidewalk and Ford said, "Oh, it's okay! Just like Mom used to make!" and promptly swallowed the thing while the street vendor looked on in horror, clasped his chest, and then muttered, "I have seen some horrible things in my country, but this…this…"

You can get all kinds of rashes in New York City, as I'm sure our boys found out!