Twins at Yankees. Yankees 6, Twins 3.

It could!

We could have invented a whole robot race to do mindless labor and those robots could have decided to exterminate all of humanity and we could be the only survivors of a massive attack, running around on the last remaining Battlestar leading a rag-tag fugitive fleet trying to avoid the Cylons and perpetuate the human race even though we ran out of deodorant a frackin' age ago.

And if we were, I bet we'd say, "Man, what I'd really like right now is to see Joe Mays give up a three-run homer to Wiggle-Bat Sheffield. That would rock.

Or, hey...

We could be engaged to a young up and coming Jedi that we've known since he was just an itty bitty annoying little bastard and we could be pregnant with his twin babies and then that Jedi could get manipulated and turn to the Dark Side and hunt down and kill all the other Jedi, then get made into hamburger by Obi Wan Kenobi.

And if that was the case, when we are giving birth, literally dying from fear and heartbreak, we would think, "Gee, what would be super fun right now would be to see Aaron 'I'm Not So' Small, late of the Albuquerque Isotopes, retire 12 Twins batters in a row."

Oh, or, how about this:

We could be astronauts thrown through time and space and we could crash land on a strange planet. We could then be taken captive by a group of simians with British accents who treat humans like animals. The dirty apes would then torture and vivisect and lobotomize us and be really condescending, too.

And, if that happened, when we tried to make our escape and run to the "Forbidden Zone" only to discover the remnants of Lady Liberty, when we fell to our knees in horror, when we looked up to the heavens and screamed, we might say, "Gosh, what I'd like right now is to watch Joe Mays load the bases with a one-run deficit, and what I would further like is to see Robinson Cano then hit a single with the bases so juiced to put my team behind 6-3."

Oh, oh, I know!

We could be on a terraforming colony on some distant planet, and then the aliens invade the planet because the alien queen thinks it would be a really nice place to raise a family. And these aren't nice aliens, like ET or Gonzo, but really grody, aliens with acid for spit and they start kidnapping us all, one by one, and impregnating us with grody alien babies and then encasing us in these giant slime-cocoons.

And should that be our fate, when the alien babies start exploding out of our tummies, we might think, "Boy, what I'd really like to do right now is watch the Minnesota Twins lose two of three to the Yankees."

Or we might not. If we're lucky, when the alien Cylon Sith apes come to take us away and impregnate us and patronize us, we might think of happier things, like BatKitties or Blizzards or Johan Santana. Or we might be sitting there with the Sith babies exploding out of our tummies and we might look back on the last two weeks of Twins baseball and think, "Well, it could be worse."