Weekend Round-Up. Chicago at Twins.

Game 1: Bitch Sox 5, Twins 1.
Game 2: Bitch Sox 8, Twins 5.
Game 3: Twins 5, Bitch Sox 2.

Batgirl was tired after the game Saturday night; the home opener is always so exhausting, what with all the rallies and media attention and the like. Batgirl's normally quite reclusive, and it's very hard for her to be in the spotlight like this.

But she couldn't go home. For Batgirl had witnessed the tragedy that was the ass-gloves, and something had to be done. On both Friday and Saturday, the Twins' once-vaunted defense managed to look positively mediocre—from Cuddyer trying to throw the ball before he actually caught it to Bartlett forgetting he's not terrible in the field anymore to Big LeRoy showing why his best defensive position is DH. I mean, we’re the Minnesota Twins. We catch the ball. We catch the ball because we can't afford players with big boom boom sticks. Plus, then we can make fun of all the other teams and their ridiculous ass-gloves, because we have the moral high ground. Because we are Minnesota Twins. We may not "hit home runs" or even "score," but we catch the damned ball. Or we did. Last year. If we don't catch the ball anymore, there's no joy in watching the Bitch Sox flub every second play, because we're doing it too. And then there's no moral high ground. BATGIRL WANTS THE MORAL HIGH GROUND!

*Sigh*

So, anyway, after the game yesterday, despite wanting desperately to go home and be with the BatKitties, who've been pretty stressed out with the lack of run production of late and now the girl BatKitties have KittyBlackheads and need a topical cream, and need Batgirl to come home and apply it and tell them they are good BatKitties and sweet BatKitties and the runs will pick up soon—despite all that, Batgirl went down to wait outside of the Twins clubhouse for the players to come out, for she had business with them.

They filed out slowly, moods dampened by the freakishly embarrassing losses of the last two nights. Most players couldn't meet Batgirl's eyes. J.C. Romero, who had some kind of great meltdown on the mound on Saturday, complete with projectile puking and rotating head, turned and ran in the other direction when he saw her. Bradke tried to hide behind Joe Nathan, and yelped as Batgirl murmured, "I see you, First Inning." Batgirl gave a half-smile to Shannon Stewart, who provided pretty much the only offense of the first two games with a three-run homer on Saturday, but Stewie would have none of it. "As goes the team, so goes my nation, Batgirl," he muttered. Batgirl could only nod solemnly. That's right, Stewie, that's right.

Well, when Cuddy came out, Batgirl glared at him and motioned him into the corner. Punto, too, and Rivas and LeRoy. Bartlett didn't quite know what was going on, but Cuddy whispered, "Better get over here or she'll call Sooz!"

Bartlett's eyes grew wide and he shuffled into the corner.

"Okay, boys," Batgirl said, staring down the infield. "Do you know why you are here?"

"Because we suck?" Cuddy said.

"No," Batgirl said. "It's because you suck."

"We know," said Big LeRoy. "We're sorry."

"Sorry's not GOOD ENOUGH," said Batgirl. "Now, listen. I don't mind losing two games to the Bitch Sox. It's April. It's no big deal. The Bitch Sox have so little joy, I feel it's important to give them something to live for. What I mind is you guys not FIELDING THE BALL. We look like the Yankees out there, without the damn homers. We don't have the moral high ground anymore. I WANT THE MORAL HIGH GROUND."

"Yes, Batgirl," squeaked Cuddy.

"What was that?"

"YES BATGIRL," they all said dutifully.

"That's better. Now let's get out there and do some fielding drills!" said Batgirl.

So, Batgirl and the A.G.G. (ass-glove gang) suited up and went back down on the field, where Batgirl proceeded to hit balls to them well into the night. At about two a.m., Johan Santana popped out of the dugout wearing a smoking jacket and sidled up to Batgirl.

"Hey, BG," he said.

"Hey, Jo. Que Pasa?"

"Just finished filming my show. You?"

"Fielding drills." Batgirl motioned to the soggy bunch in front of her, then yelled, "LET'S SEE SOME HUSTLE, DIMPLES!"

"It's about time. Want some help?"

Batgirl eyed him. "Shouldn't you be resting? You're starting tomorrow."

"I do not require sleep."

"Oh, I forgot. Thanks, Jo!"

Hours passed. Johan and Batgirl peppered balls all over the infield. Since Big LeRoy failed to field his position on Friday, Batgirl was sure to pay him special attention and after the rest of the players left, Johan bunted to him for another hour while Batgirl played pitcher. This proved detrimental when, in Sunday's game, Pablo Ozuna bunted to first and Johan ran to cover and LeRoy got the ball and tagged Johan instead of the runner. Afterwards, you could see LeRoy glance guiltily at the BatQuarters, and Batgirl could give him no succor, for truly he looked like a big boob.

Other than that, the late night fielding drills seemed to prove effective, although Jason Bartlett was so frightened by the whole ordeal that Juan Castro had to start in his place. But on Sunday, the Twins got by with just a passed ball (I'm looking at you, "Corky") though I do distinctly recall a Cuddy throw going somewhere into outer space, and there was that whole tagging-Johan-instead-of-the-runner thing, but it was a decided improvement. The Bitch Sox, well, there was some tripping and stumbling and bobbling and other assorted –ings, but we're still going to need a lot of improvement before Batgirl feels we have the moral high ground again. Did I mention I WANT THE MORAL HIGH GROUND?

Of course, who needs the moral high ground when you have Johan Santana? Sure, he spotted them a couple runs early—and how cute is it to have the Bitch Sox manufacture runs? It just makes Batgirl want to pinch their bitchy little cheeks. But somewhere around the third inning, Santana remembered that he was, indeed, Supernatural and proceeded to strike just about everyone out. Ah, it was a beautiful thing, watching that change-up go, watching the Sox go back to their dugout with their bats between their legs. Johan struck out eleven over all, including seven out of the last twelve batters. He went seven innings with 108 pitches—eighty-freakin'-two of them for strikes. That's the kind of thing that makes Batgirl's heart go pitter pat, I tell you what.

Pitching-wise, all was according to plan Sunday night—Johan getting through seven and hurting a lot of people's feelings, then Boo Berry and the Count finishing it up. Oh, and Torii Hunter made up for completely sucking offensively so far this year (didn't he get the ass-bat memo?) with a very timely dinger, and Joe Mauer maybe can't hit so much right now but he didn't hurt himself, and we didn't get swept by the Bitch Sox, and the Twins get a day off now to unpack and think about all they've done.

Bat Notes: I do not know who it is in the Twins front office who makes these decisions, but whoever you are, Front Office Man, Batgirl cannot tell you how nice it was to sit through this whole homestand without hearing any friggin' fargin' Lee Greenwood. Every time the 7th inning stretch comes, Batgirl gets all squiggly inside and has to sit in her chair with her hands over her ears saying "La la la la...I will not listen to Lee Greenwood...La la la la," and then she doesn't even get to stretch with T.C. Bear. I mean, stretching with T.C. Bear is what makes a girl proud to be an American, not freakin' Lee Greenwood. But this whole homestand, just as soon as Batgirl was hit with those familiar waves of anticipatory nausea as "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" ended, she was greeted with…no Lee Greenwood! Tonight when no Lee Greenwood played, the whole crowd was so happy it launched into a spontaneous chorus of "Joy to the World." Or maybe they play "Joy to the World (Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog)" over the PA system instead, but really, we all sang along, because, well, Joy to the World! And all the boys and girls, now. Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, and most importantly, joy to you and me. Keep it up, Front Office Guy, keep it up.

Also, I know we want nothing more than great attendance so the Twins have enough money to pay Justin Morneau's medical bills, and it's always great to see the Dome packed, but Batgirl can't help but look forward to the games when the only people who are there have come to watch baseball, as opposed to getting smashed and throwing things at people and doing the stupid bleepin' blargin' wave while BATGIRL IS TRYING TO WATCH THE GAME and poor JUAN RINCON IS TRYING TO PITCH and being lewd on the Kiss Cam and booing poor A.J. and yelling "Thow it back" ten minutes after someone ctaches a home run and being all-around gomers. Fortunately, the Twins played such lackluster baseball for 2 out of the 3 games that most of those people will never come to a Twins game again. But if they do—no more waves. Batgirl means it. Don't make me come over there.

Oh, and ESPN, stop interviewing the managers during the game. It's bad enough during the All-Star Game, but we are actually trying to play baseball here.

At least, we are after some late night fielding drills.