KC at Twins. Royals 6, Twins 4.

Okay, Batgirl really doesn't want to talk about that game, because she's liable to say things she might regret. Just because Carlos picked absolutely and entirely the wrong time to suck does not necessarily mean we should find ourselves saying things we can't take back. And, really, maybe Carlos picked the right time to suck, because the last thing we would want—no, I know, I know it seems like his last two performances quite potentially costing us the division might seem the last thing we want, but I am here to tell you that that is not true—the last thing we want is Carlos to have continued his Jackal streak all through September, then get on the mound for Game 2 and suddenly be struck with the immense fragility of life. I mean, here, take this moment you have right now, drinking your coffee and eating your Trader Joe's Raisin Bran with a banana sliced on top, and try to grab it, try to hold it in your hands, try to tuck it away somewhere so you can always take it out and say, "This is the moment when I was eating Trader Joe's Raisin Bran and Batgirl told me to hold onto it, and I did, even though I'm not really sure why because it wasn't really that special, but the point is I have this moment forever and ever." Except you don't. Because you can't. Because life is like that, it slips through your fingers, and the next thing you know you're standing on the mound in Game 2 of the ALDS, because even though you'd pitched like complete and utter ass crap for the majority of the season, thanks to getting bitch slapped by a hot pool boy who looked like Taye Diggs you got your groove back, and your manager trusts you and your team trusts you and the fans trust you, and you think how beautiful that is, how amazing it is to have gotten this far, and now you're starting in Game 2 of the postseason and you just want to take this moment and hold onto it deep inside your heart and every once in awhile when all the leaves are brown (all the leaves are brown) and the skies are grey (the skies are grey) take it out and live it again, but you realize you can't, you can never have it back, in fact it's already gone because in the midst of your angst you've just walked the bases loaded and hung a sinker to Eric Chavez, and that just never ends well.

Such is baseball and such is life. One moment you are world series champions, the next your manager is calling you all sorts of names, one moment you are popping champagne and the next you’re getting whiplash from the home run hitting prowess of the Kansas City Royals. And what Silva did not realize during his entirely imaginary Game 2 existential meltdown is that that very fleetness is part of the joy of baseball, because tomorrow you get to get up again and play again, and Brad Radke is starting and he understands all you have is today and that is worth pitching your arm off for. So do not weep for the Minnesota Twins, do not weep for Carlos Silva, do not weep for yourselves or your raisin bran, just get up and go to the "park" and enjoy the day for what it is, and know that our Game 2 ALDS starter is named Boof and Boof wouldn't know angst if it bit him on the ass.

BatNotes: The Strib.com is looking for Twins fans in New York. Should you qualify, please e-mail Stribbb at gmail dot com. Also, if you need MORE piranha shirts, try here.