Do you hear me? DIVISON CHAMPIONS.

I—

I—

I am supposed to say something here, something profound, something revelatory, but I have no words for what I've seen.

Friday and Saturday it seemed we'd lost our groove. For several games, the Twins forgot you could actually score before the eighth inning, and when Punxsutawny Phil struck out with the tying run at third on Friday night it seemed like the magic had run out. And then Garza flailed and the Twins did nothing against the Sox pitchers, and we were left wondering what was going to happen in the postseason.

But we had hope, thanks to an improbable band of misfit Little Leaguers with hearts of gold, and no, for once I do not mean the Minnesota Twins, for the Minnesota Twins have the probable Cy Young Award Winner, the batting champion, and someone who should finish in the top 3 of MVP voting, and that, my friends, pretty much means you're not Little Leaguers anymore. I am referring to the Kansas City Royals who this weekend became the second best story in baseball merely by avoiding, by one win, being the worst team in the game. The Royals played a fairly decent second half and it seemed for awhile they might avoid another 100-loss season. But then Buddy Bell left the team with cancer and the wheels fell off. They lost their 100th game on Thursday against the Twins and Brad Radke, and faced the Tigers at home who had beaten them 15 out of 16 times that year.

It would be the last game they would lose. For three games at Tigers stadium, they played like a team with so much more to fight for than pride. They fought and clawed and every time it seemed they were out of it, they got back in it, and you know from his recovery bed their manager watched and is so proud of his boys.

The Twins went into today with a bit of hope, but such a very small bit. It looked like it could be so dark—Jeter just one point behind Mauer in the batting race, the Twins counting on not just a victory but the Royals to catch lightning in a bottle one more time. The Twins had looked so dead and suddenly all our hopes were riding on Carlos Silva, who cost the Twins a chance for the division lead in both of his last two starts. And before you could blink, Silva had runners on first and third with no outs and it seemed it was going to be another one of those days.

That would be his last jam of the game. I don't know what Silva did differently—perhaps instead of praying all night the night before the game he decided to sleep instead, but for 6 innings it was all Silva who seemed to want to show his team so desperately that he would pitch his arm off, too.

But was it even going to matter? The Tigers were leading the Royals 6-0, and the Twins looked as if they were going to continue their no-scoring ways. Suddenly, we were fighting to keep our tie—did we want to get this far just to lose a game in the standing at the end?

And then something wonderful happened. Yes, my friends, the bats woke up. It began, appropriately enough, with Chairman Mauer, who led off the 4th inning with a double, virtually assuring his batting title.

Cuddy, who had accounted for the only real offense the two prior games, struck out, but then the Doctor stepped up and, amidst the cries of MVP, MVP, hit a double, tying the game. Then it was Sweetcheeks' turn, and the freeswinger worked through seven pitches before launching the ball over the left field seats.

3-1, Twins. And thanks to Silva, they did not look back. The Jackal kept the Sox down, and after all that has happened this season, he was there when the Twins needed him most.

For a time, it seemed the victory would be more symbolic—an opportunity for the 40,000 fans to see the team off to New York in style. And it didn't seem to really matter, for suddenly the team was playing like themselves again, and that was enough, really enough. Plus there was this:

Except it wasn't enough. The Royals were showing they had some fight left in them—they went to 6-3, but then the Tigers got another run. 7-4 in the eighth inning. The Royals couldn't come back on the Tigers again, could they?

Yes, they could. Proving we have a friend in DeJesus, the Royals scored 4 runs in the eighth just as the Twins were coming back from the 7th-inning stretch and its Kirby Puckett tribute, and for a moment it all seemed possible. We couldn't get everything—winning the game, Mauer's batting championship, and the division, could we?

Maybe not. With one swing of the bat, Matt Stairs said the Tigers wouldn't be going down so easily. The ninth inning came and went and they were in extra innings again.

It didn't seem like the division would be there for the Twins this year at that point. For, let's face it, the only way this was going to happen would be if it were the perfect story. And for a little while it seemed it was all going to fall into place—the loss of those games combined with the Ligers' loss on Friday and Saturday suddenly seemed preordained, because it would, it should come down to the last game; it would, it should, follow some discouraging days. But of course the most perfect way to end the game would be the Tigers losing at the beginning of the ninth just as Joe Nathan took the mound, Joe Nathan striking out the side and the cheers rising in the Dome, and the giant hogpile on the mound.

It turns out it wasn't. No, my dears, that wasn't perfect enough for this team. What was perfect enough for this team was every single person in the Metrodome staying to watch the Royals and the Tigers on the Jumbtron, and the Twins—who could have watched in the clubhouse—popping back into the dugout to watch with the fans, everyone in the whole place watching the Tigers load the bases in the 11th with one out, watching Brandon Inge nearly end the Twins' season twice on long fouls, watching Joe Nelson strike him out and then giving Jimmy "Gobble" Gobble, who would not know anything of it, the biggest standing ovation of his life as he strode onto the mound and struck out Curtis Granderson. What was perfect was the whole Metrodome cheering the Royals' rally in the twelfth, Gobble striding back onto the mound, and somehow, magically, keeping the Tigers from coming back. And then:

Ah, well, and then. And then the Twins got to celebrate with their fans and every single moment of the game, of the series, of the whole damned miserable, wonderful, miraculous season was leading up to this:

Yes, my friends, the only way the Twins were going to win the division is if it had been perfect, and it was. On the very last game of the season, a season in which they were 9 games below .500, in which they were 10 games back of the division in August, the Minnesota Twins took their division crown back.

Now, let's get this straight: I do not care about match-ups—it was time for the Twins to get the Yankee monkey off their backs, and Oakland is going to be very tough. I don't even care about homefield—home games haven't made much a difference to the Twins the last couple of years. I care about this for what it is—after everything that happened this season, we won the best division in baseball.

I'm sorry for the Tigers and their fans—what they accomplished this year was truly extraordinary, as exciting as it was for us, this must have been excruciating to watch. But, of course, it could have been worse—they're still going to the postseason after all, so, my friends in Detroit, let's show them what the AL Central is made of.

I know we have a postseason to play now, I know it all starts again, I know Johan is tired and Boof is slightly less on fire and Radke may have to pitch with his left arm and you never know which Silva you're going to get, I know all of that, and no matter what happens, I don't want anyone to forget this moment. We could win the World Series, we could be knocked out in three games, but nothing can take this away.

BatNote:Almost as exciting as the game and the outcome: The Batfamily—Goober, BatMom, and BatDad were Wiener Winners. Yes, that's right, they were in the Hormel Row of Fame. Truly, it was a day scripted by the baseball gods.

Twins Rally, Peavy Plaza, 5:00. Donnalove wants to know who's going.