Kansas City at Twins. Twins 6, Royals 1

Was it going to be different tonight? Did Johan's performance last night restore all balance to the universe and give the pitching staff permission not to suck? (Which, really, Batgirl would have done ages ago, if someone had only asked.) We couldn't tell as Bradke took the mound tonight. We prepared to watch as we watch all of his first innings, with our hands in front of our eyes, ready to gouge them out at the first sign of trouble. And the first two batters worked him and worked him good, but Radke won each battle. Then there was the single and, oh yes, we had danced this dance before. Next would be a double, next a home run just past the right field foul pole, ba ding ba dang ba damn, a 3-run deficit. But not tonight, ladies and gentlemen, because tonight Brad Radke had a plan. Pitching Inside the plan was called. Clearly, his mother watched the game on Friday night and clearly she heard Bert Blyleven ranting about the Twins sissified treatment of the inside corner and clearly she called up her son and said, "Bradley, Snookums, Bert says you are being a big pussy." And clearly Brad did not take well to his mother calling him a pussy. And so, when Matt Stairs strode up to the plate with one on and two out, he cast a glance over to the dugout and meet El Presidente's eyes, and El Presidente nodded at him steelily and Bradke nodded back and then—one, two, three strikes you're out. Sit down, bitch.

The next inning—and, oh, this year when the first inning doesn't kill you the second does—and Douglas Mientkiewicz and his luscious long locks lined a 1-2 pitch for a double, and our hands slowly crept up to our faces again. But no, no, because Brad Radke is Pitching Inside and Emil Brown is sitting down and Mark Teahan is sitting down and suddenly there is fire in Radke's eyes. Yes, yes it says, This is how it should be. Yes, yes, it says, tonight I am in command.

Every inning, the fire burned more brightly, every inning he strode on and off the mound with utter surety, utter clarity, utter focus, utter kickassedness. Smoke is coming off of him by the fifth inning and Rick Anderson wants to douse him because surely that can't be healthy but Wayne Hattaway says, "No, son, there is nothing we can do for him now." And when it is finally over, when Radke has pitched inside to the tune of 7 innings, 4 hits, 1 run, 7 strikeouts, when he is in the clubhouse and the lockers around him burst into flames, melting all of Lew Ford's Star Wars guys, Brad Radke calls up his mother and says, "I am Brad Radke, and I am not dead yet."