This entry posted by Twayn, who is a big fan of Tim O'Brien.

The squad had been humping for four straight days, moving steadily away from base camp the whole time. They had run low on clutch hits with runners in scoring position, and needed a resupply. So they got on the radio, hunkered down for a day of R&R by the Charlie River, and waited for the choppers. The next day, they geared up and humped to Fenway, and the next skirmish.

Matt Garza carried the nightmare memory of his first major league start, a pitching line of 2.2 innings, 8 hits, 7 runs, 2 home runs, and a staggering 23.62 earned run average. He carried the weight of great expectations, of Liriano’s popped elbow, and of Boof and Baker’s recent examples. Torii Hunter carried the hellish vision of chasing a fly ball up that peculiar angle in the centerfield wall and falling to the ground, his ankle shattered, his season over, his frustration and pain on full display. Joe Mauer carried the burden of being the best hitter in baseball for more than half a season, excelling quietly, only to have the game’s media darling challenge him in the waning weeks. Justin Morneau carried his MVP bid into enemy territory, the house of the former favorite, and went toe to toe with a New England giant. Jason Bartlett carried the ignominy of playing the first fifty games of the season in the minors to learn leadership and urgency. Rondell White carried the stigma of being a designated hitter with a first-half batting average below the Mendozza line.

They carried sunflower seeds and Bazooka bubble gum to the bullpen. They carried baseballs and gloves and bats, pine tar rags, rosin bags, water bottles and Gatorade coolers to the dugout. They carried the hopes of a squad that had been beaten down early, but found a way to get back up and keep humping.

Matt Garza carried his team through almost six innings, posting zeros through four full, facing down Big Papi Ortiz himself three times and sitting him down three times on a groundout and two strikeouts. In the top of the second, Rondell White carried his team to an early lead, banging a double to the base of the left field wall to drive in a run. That same inning, Jason Bartlett carried his bat to the plate with two on and with two strikes fouled off three straight knuckleballs. Then he drove a fastball over the Green Monster for a four run lead. An inning later, Torii Hunter hit a home run over that same imposing wall, a shot that almost left the park, and carried himself around the bases like a man hungry for a championship. Later in the night, Hunter fouled a ball off his foot, the kind of wicked tip that makes everybody cringe when they see it, and went down in obvious pain. Then got up and walked it off. Because that’s what you do in a pennant race, you keep humping. Justin Morneau carried his Canadian cool into the batters box five times and stroked five hits, scored twice, and drove in one. He carried himself like an MVP.

With the monsoons coming early at Fenway, the Twins carried the threat of a shortened game and the need to keep their lead intact. The defense and bullpen carried them through the final frames, with only a minor threat from the Sox to put down. From the top of the lineup to the bottom, from the first inning to the last, they carried each other, like they have all year. If one stumbled, the others picked him up. They carried themselves like professionals, like a team with a purpose. And they kept humping, because this is a pennant race, and that’s what you do.