Dear Batgirl,

I first heard Phil Nevin was a member of the Twins during a radio broadcast, and my immediate reaction was one of horrified disbelief. I grimly forecast a quiet, unassuming end to the Twins' playoff ambitions right there. My reaction came from three seasons spent watching Mr. Nevin perform poorly for an otherwise-mediocre Padres team. Phil's skillsets were manifold: like a less-gifted A-Rod, Mr. Nevin had a talent for solo moonshots when the run differential was nine-plus; an affinity for rally-killing double-plays; an omnipresent fondness for strikeouts; a penchant for the half-second-gasper, one of those bases-loaded-two-out marvels where for a split second you hear the crack of the bat and see the speed of the ball and your brain clenches in hope before the ball hangs and as it falls (not even near the warning track), you reprove yourself for your reaction, because this is, after all, Phil Nevin, and there is no hope there. I was by no means a Padre fan, but after attending 15 or 20 games over three years, I was a big non-fan of Phil Nevin.

How, then, to explain my sadness at his (doubtless season-ending) injury today? Glassy McFragilekins seems like no loss for a team packed with talented, scrappy infielders; for God's sake, today Mr. Nevin was replaced by Terry Tiffee, who has much higher returns on the cuteness-of-name front alone. But Phil managed to create a story for himself that spoke positively about the Twins. It helped that he had some very nice things to say about the club, but there was this sense that moving to a place with seasons and character and far fewer thongs and magic ass-unicorns and no recollection whatsoever of 1999-2001 gave Phil access to a very dilute fountain of youth, that he was able to lay down his own personal ass-bat and, if not be particularly good, at least be not so startlingly bad. The change to his surroundings, some quintessence of Twin, was what allowed him to raise his game, which in turn made the team better. It was a happier version of the tales of T-Fat and Booney, a story we all knew the Twins had in them because of the rampant coolness of their clubhouse. That the story ended (at least for the moment) in such an inauspicious way is very Nevin: his ways are not the ways of tragedy but rather of melancholy, of pointless, unremarkable sadness. But his very brief, very small arc was, from my perspective, worthy of note.

Searching, however, for the marks that his presence made upon the Batcave, I was sorry to see nothing but his cursory welcome and delighted descriptions of his gaffes and failures when playing for other teams. There's no doubt in my mind that issues larger than the Story of the Saddest Padre have consumed the Batbrain for the not-quite-month of Phil's tenure, but I would humbly request that some note of recognition be penned, if only because the appeal of Batgirl is that you not only worship at the godhead of Johan K, but take time to lovingly note the tiniest, the nerdiest, and the nakedest of Twins. Please make time to note the passing of this, the Nevinest one, as well.

With deep respect,

Boolio

Dear Mr. Boolio,

Batgirl can think of no better a tribute than your letter. She encourages readers to follow the link, too, to read about Nevin's joy at being a Twin. Baseball giveth and baseball taketh away. But fret not, Mr. Nevin's injury is nothing serious, he shall live to hump another day.

Sincerely,
Batgirl