Mariners at Twins. Twins 7, Mariners 3.

Last Wednesday during the Twins' 14 inning marathon against Seattle, (oh! It seemed a marathon then, didn't it? How naïve we were then! What babes in the extra inning woods!) when they were trying to salvage a game from the last place Mariners, when they were trying to leave SafeCo with some shred of the last pathetic remnants of their tattered dignity before they faced the obstreperous Athletics and the nefarious Bitch Sox, when it seemed we had not scored a single run since the All-Star Break and might sink below .500, Batgirl took a bold, and some might say slightly eccentric step—she prayed to Tony Gwynn.

And Tony Gwynn, in his infinite wisdom, in his omniscience and omnipotence and omnivorousness, chose to hear Batgirl's prayer—yes, my friends, he heard and he answered, and the offense exploded and the Twins won the game.

Now, Batgirl thought that that was it, that Tony Gwynn had granted his grace on her and on the Twins for one glorious night. She had not asked for anything else...no, she did not dare to expect anything else! The Twins, surely, would be on their own from now on, raging, raging, against the dying of the light—

But, no, my friends. I am here to testify. I am here to tell you when you ask something of Tony Gwynn, well, he answers. A lot. For that cold dark night in Seattle, Tony Gwynn looked down (or, probably up) at the Twins, he saw them, and he said, "That's good." And he said, "Let there be an end to the Sucking Time." And he said, "Let there be Brent Abernathy, let there Joe Mauer, let there be—oh yes—let there be Johan Santana." And he waved his wand and said, "Let there be winning. Let there be joy and rejoicing in Twins land."

And there was. And it was good.

My dears, since that game in Seattle, the Minnesota Twins have won seven of their last eight games, and have gone from eight games back in the wild card to—are you ready? Are you sitting down? Are you sure? Because you want to be sitting down for this—three and a half.

I know what you are saying, for Batgirl says it to. You stare at the computer and you tilt your head and you say, "Three and a half? Why, that doesn't sound like a lot. That sounds almost, well, doable."

And I am here to tell you that it is.

The Twins cannot do it alone, of course. They need the Angels to kick the holy crap out of the Athletics—or vice versa, Batgirl does not care—and the Yankees to perform with their usual grace and aplomb against the freakin' Devil Rays. They need Toronto to remember they are Toronto, and for the Bitch Sox to conduct themselves the way they usually do in August and September (Good start, guys!). But they need more than that my darlings-- they need Tony Gwynn. So I want you to get out your Tony Gwynn baseball cards, your bobbleheads—both mini and regular-sized, your Tony Gwynn posters and commemorative Tony Gwynn Dairy Queen Blizzard cups, your Tony Gwynn mobiles, your Tony Gywnn thongs; I want you to take all of these things and put them in a prominent place—no, no, not there, a dignified one, please—and every time you pass this place, I want you to stop and bless Tony Gwynn for all he has given us.

The power of Tony Gwynn compels you.