Boston at Twins. Weekend Round-Up.
Friday. Twins 12, Red Sox 0.
Saturday. Twins 4, Red Sox 3.
Sunday. Red Sox 11, Twins 7.

Something crazy happened on the way to the Twins' loss this afternoon—and I'm not referring to the aliens that borrowed Shannon Stewart's brain and forgot to return it by game time. (And, really, it isn't nice not to return things on time. This isn't Netflix, you know. We have needs here, people.) And I'm not referring to Joe Mays pitching like my four-year-old next door neighbor in the first inning. (Clearly he was emotionally scarred by ChacarronGate--Mays, that is, not my neighbor, who has come to expect duplicity from his heroes.) Nor am I referring to Soy Cheese Romero's ass-arm antics, for, alas, there is nothing crazy about those these days. That's what happens when you're made out of soy.

No, no, the craziness had nothing to do with any of that. The crazy thing was in the 9th inning Jacque Jones came out with two outs and the bases loaded and I suddenly thought, "You know, we just might win this thing."

We didn't, of course—Schilling struck Jones out to end the game and the Twins' rally. But it was a beautiful rally—three runs in the ninth inning, all scored with two out, one that ended with the tying run at the plate. And I know that ending the game with the tying run at the plate isn't usually a good thing—but I say when you can get there from being down 11-4 at the bottom of the ninth with two outs and no one on, it's pretty impressive. Especially when you consider where we've been.

The point is, somehow the Twins got a little mojo back this weekend. Somehow every scoring opportunity didn't seem like it was created just to taunt us. Somehow every lead the other team got didn't seem insurmountable. Somehow it seemed like we might actually score runs.

And score we did—twenty-three over three games, which I think previously was about the total of runs we've scored since the All-Star Break. Granted, we were helped extensively by the Boston Red Sox defense, which made Shannon Stewart's brain fart in the first inning today (he caught a foul and threw it into the stands when it was only the second out, allowing a run to score) look like coming up with the theory of relativity.

I don't know what happened to BoSox starter Bronson Arroyo on Friday—maybe he just doesn't get a lot of oxygen to his brain way up there or maybe he wore his white-boy braids a little too tight last year and the effects haven't quite worn off or maybe he just gets so distracted by having to correct people on his name all the time ("That's Bronson. Bronson, I say!"), but I haven't seen such bizarre play in the field since—well, you know, the Twins at Fenway last week. Arroyo's mishaps allowed the Twins to score four beautiful runs in the first inning, and they didn't stop scoring the rest of the game.

That momentum carried on to Saturday, where the Twins came back from a three-run deficit to tie the game in the 6th (Joe Mauer even got a hit with the bases loaded) and we were all taken back to a time when the Twins did things like rally and, you know, score.

Yes, there was a resurgence of mojo this weekend, and yes it was beautiful to see. (My goodness, we won a series! We had a winning streak!) Oh, yes, my friends, Batgirl is italicizing rampantly and without remorse—that's right!—for her team has gotten their heads out of their ass-bats and are having fun. She cannot promise it will last, of course, but our boys have allowed us to watch a game and hope again. And that is a beautiful thing.

Chacaron, my friends, Chacaron.