BATGIRL'S NOTE: The following is Batling Kafumbly's report of her expedition to the Great Northland to watch the Twins in Toronto. Entry and pictures by Ms. Fumbly. Thank you to her for sharing their adventures with us.
It was Tuesday.
A 30-something female sat at her desk, staring forlornly at her computer screen. Something was tugging at her insides, making her uneasy and restless - and it wasn't the burrito she'd had for dinner the night before, although that wasn't helping. Suddenly, it came to her.
"I have a dream," she proclaimed. "I have a dream that I shall drive to Toronto with fellow Batlings - and my cat, Tumbleweed - and cheer on the Minnesota Twins."
She shared her dream, looking for companions. Many were willing, but only one was able. And so it was that kafumbly, heraldguy, and Tumbleweed began their journey across five states and a country in search of truth, honor, and baseball.
What follows is the account of their trip. Everything that you are about to read is true.
Day One
We set off on our trip under cloudy skies, but with uplifting thoughts of Joe Nathan and Shannon Stewart and Little Nicky Punto dancing in our hearts. The drive through Wisconsin was uneventful, but upon entering Illinois, the world seemed strange, as if something were sucking the joy and soul from the Earth itself. Birds dropped from the sky in mid-flight. Raccoons and deer collapsed at the side of the road in droves, as if struck by some unseen evil force. What could cause such devastation? What entity could be foul enough to display such utter disregard for Nature?
The answer came as a stench, rotten and overpowering, filled the air. We looked to the West and beheld the rotting carcass that is home to the Chicago Bitch Sox: US Bitchular Field.
Indeed, it loomed ahead of us, seeming to block our way, as though sensing our desire to cheer on our Minnesota Twins.
"None shall pass," it bellowed, its voice hollow and forbidding. "Bow before the mighty -"
But we didn't wait for the end of its message.
"Take off, hoser!" heraldguy said, and we slowed down to give that awful place the full dose of mental mooning. (We wanted to give it a good, old fashioned actual mooning, but, just having met the day before, thought better of it. "Hi, nice to meet you, I'm going to show my butt to that building over there." Um... no.)
"Take that!" Tumbleweed shouted.
"I shake my fist at you!" I said, shaking my fist.
US Bitchular Field shrank in fear and cried out, "You Twins fans are so mean!"
And we drove on and chuckled at the slowly fading sobs of the Bitches.
The mood brightened considerably as we passed into Indiana, and by Michigan, we had all but forgotten the ugly scene in Chicago. A rousing chorus of "We're Gonna Win Twins" took care of the bitter aftertaste for good.
Soon, however, edginess of a new kind took us over - the game between the Twins and Blue Jays was just beginning, and we were not yet within radio distance.
Who was in the lineup? Was it Kyle or Lyle on the mound? Would the Doctor break his slump? But most important: has Torii Hunter found his spoon?!
The minutes seemed like hours, the hours like days, until we passed through Flint, Michigan, and picked up an erratic signal from London, Ontario, Canada.
"... 4-1 ... Cuddyer ... bottom of the ninth ... errant throw ... 4-3 ... Joe Nathan ..."
Oh, my! It seemed as though our Twins had the lead, but just barely. The signal weakened and crackled and hissed, causing our poor hearts to thump madly in our chests. Radio feed, come back!
And then: "... Twins have taken the first two games of the series..."
Hooray!
We listened to the postgame show, chukling at the many replays of Hinske's error at first - the dropped double play ball that helped the Twins to victory. And as we passed into Canada, the sun shone for the first time all day.
Day Two
We headed into Toronto Sunday morning in high spirits. The sun was shining, the Tim Horton's downstairs in the hotel was freshly-stocked with donuts, and we were going to see our Twins. Tumbleweed, especially, was thrilled, as she hadn't seen Little Nicky Punto or Boo in a week.
The gates weren't open yet at Rogers Centre when we arrived, so we took a look around. We walked behind the stadium, beyond the CN Tower, and saw an armored car pull up to the loading dock. The driver looked familiar, but his skewed cap covered up his face. He got out and, glancing furtively around, unloaded a large, heavy package, which he handed off to the Jays' loading dock guy. They nodded at one another, and the armored car pulled away as the Jays' guy brought the package inside. I could have sworn I knew who that armored car driver was...
When 11:00am rolled around and they opened the gates, we skipped into the stadium The roof was open! Yahoo! (But they closed the roof just before the game started. *sigh*) We hung out on the visitors' side of the field for most of the pregame, but the Twins didn't come out for batting practice. The pitchers came out, though, and Tumbleweed ran out to say hi to Boo, and she stood by as Johan signed autographs, to make sure no one got out of hand.
The best part, though, was when Shaggy and The Vulture were walking past, and Shaggy signed my program, and heraldguy made a comment about my deep respect for Jesse Crain. Shaggy whispered something to The Vulture, perhaps something like, "There's a hot chick over there who loves you." ;-) And Jesse The Vulture Crain walked over and signed my program.
"Hi, boyfriend," I said. "You're the best pitcher, ever, and we drove 15 hours from Minneapolis just to see you."
"Really? Wow," he said. "You're the best fans, ever." Emotion overtook him, and we embraced.
"There, there, honey," I said, "You just go out there and pitch your best if you're called upon, and I'll be in the stands cheering for you."
"But what if I go out in the 8th with a runner on third and give up a base hit and the runner scores and then I walk a guy? Will you still love me then?"
I looked him in the eye.
"Jesse, dear, these things are going to happen from time to time. You're going to give up runs, and you're going to walk guys. But you'll always be my favorite bullpen pitcher next to Joe Nathan, because you kick ass. Now you go out there and pitch your little heart out."
"Thanks. Okay," he said, and bounced off to the dugout.
Little Nicky Punto was amazing in the top of the first, with a bunt single and a stolen base, but after a couple innings went by with some pretty wacky at-bats, I became suspicious. I sent Tumbleweed to the Twins dugout to check on the bats.
She made her way across, sniffed the bats, and sent a signal with her tail: Suspicion confirmed! The Twins were using ass bats!
How did they get ass bats?! I made double sure that they wouldn't clear customs. Something was amiss. And then I remembered the armored car from before the game, and I realized who was driving: none other than Captain Cheeseburger. That dirty Toon was trying to sabotage the Twins! I'll get him later...
I signaled back to Tumbleweed: Where are the real bats?
Tumbleweed disappeared for a few minutes and signaled back when she returned: The Jays have them!
I signaled back: Switch them up!
So she went to work gathering the ass bats, but it was clear that the Jays' first base coach stole our signs: Tumbleweed was thwarted at every attempt to sneak the ass bats to the Jays dugout. There was no way around it - the Twins were stuck with ass bats, and at the worst possible time, as "Doc" Halladay was pitching a hell of a game.
Tumbleweed spent the rest of the game in the dugout, but her encouragement and playful antics weren't enough to inspire the boys to overcome the lethal combination of lights-out pitching and ass bats.
And with the final score Jays 4 Twins 0, heraldguy, Tumbleweed, and I made our way out of Rogers Centre. The loss was tough, but we felt sure that this game belonged to Roy "Doc" Halladay, ass bats or no. At least we got to see some spectacular pitching, even if all of it didn't come from Twins pitchers.
And we got circled!
After a series of unfortunate hotel room injuries - heraldguy had the coffeepot explode as he was trying to brew some Fine Arabian Decaf and had to hold his pinky finger under cold water for ten minutes; I got a hangnail trying to adjust the fan; and Tumbleweed, still half asleep, tried to jump to the bathroom counter and missed, landing in the garbage - we headed for home.
Our feelings were mixed. Sure we had driven fifteen hours to watch the Twins get shut out by the Toronto Blue Jays. But in the process, we got to see and do some very cool things.
We found the NHLPA offices in downtown Toronto and shook our fists at it. heraldguy saw some great architecture. I got to meet Jesse Crain, he smiled at me. We cheered for our Twins in Toronto. Tumbleweed got to spend some time with Boo and LNP.
We ate at Wayne Gretzky's and saw some very cool Wayne Gretzky hockey stuff. And I got to watch the Memorial Cup game between the London Knights and Rimouski Oceanic and watched Sidney Crosby do some amazing things with the puck.
The trip was definitely worthwhile, but next time, I think I'll just teleport. It's much easier that way.
"I just gotta catch up with those guys!"