LA at Twins. Twins 6, Dodgers 3.

On the Metrodome Plaza before the game, best friends Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau sat on a bench eating grilled corn and talking intently.

"Joe, man," said Morneau to his friend. "You have an attitude problem."

"Huh?"

"I mean, you don't have enough of an attitude. You're third in All-Star voting but you’d be first if you just acted the part a bit. You can’t just get national headlines by being good, you know. You've got to be a showman."

"Oh, well, if I make the All-Star team, it be will a real honor, but I can't really control that, I mean—"

"Oh, cut the crap, Joe. You are so hot right now."

"No, man, I'm just seeing the ball really well. It's a pleasure to help the team."

"Don't give me that Minnesotan crap, Joe. Say it. 'I'm hot.'"

Mauer sighed. "Justin, I'm not going to—"

"And it's not just hot, like, baseball hot. You're hot hot, dude. Come on, it's not enough to wear those sideburns, you've got to own them!"

At that point, Juan Rincon and Carlos Silva walked by. "Hey guys!" called Mauer with a wave. But the two were so deep in conversation they didn't notice him.

"Man, I sure am tired from staying up all night making those fireman outfits!" Silva said, his voice carrying down the plaza.

"That's right," replied Rincon. "I haven't seen such balls to the wall sewing* since the night before Little Nicky Punto's Sondheim revue."

And with that, the pitchers disappeared from view. Mauer turned to his friend, puzzled. "What was that about?"

"Dunno," shrugged Morneau. "Anyway, Joe, the point is you're one hot dude. I mean, here—" he pulled a compact out from his man-bag and opened it. "Look at yourself."

Frowning, Mauer studied his image. And then slowly, something came over him. He drew himself up and smiled at his friend.

"You know what?" he exclaimed. "I am hot!"

"That's right, Joe."

"I'm batting .932. I'm dating a former Miss USA. I'm the exclusive local spokesperson for the excellent Grip N' Go brand from Land o' Lakes."

"Damn straight."

"It's hip because it’s portable!"

"Sing it, Joe."

"I am hot!"

"That's right. There's nothing hotter than you! Name one thing hotter than you!…Hey, what’s that siren?"

From off in the distance, a siren came wailing. As the ballplayers listened the sound came closer and closer. And then from around the corner appeared a big yellow fire truck.

"What the—"

The truck pulled up in front of the two friends, and Johan Santana climbed out.

"Buenos dias, my friends," said Santana. "This is for my home village. They cannot afford a fire truck. I decided to get them a fire truck because I am Johan Santana. Now I am going to take this fire truck to the parking lot and give it a good washing. I hope that I do not get too soapy and wet."

And with that, Johan climbed back into the truck and drove off.

Mauer and Morneau sat silently for awhile as the bright yellow truck and shirtless Cy Young award winner disappeared down 6th street. With tight lips, Mauer folded up the compact mirror and put it back in the man purse. Then, Morneau sighed. "Okay," he said. "Well…that was pretty hot."

*Props to Ysolla for this term.