This is so cool! Before she left town, Batgirl left a set of keys to the blog under the side doormat and gave ol' RD a 10-day gift card for free postings. There was something on the back, in reallllllllly tiny print, about not mentioning Doug Mientkiew... so we'll live within the spirit of said guideline. DID YOU SEE JUSTIN CREDIBLE SMACK THAT THING OVER THE WALL IN THE FIRST INNING!?! (And did you hear Blyleven's speech afterward? For a hot moment, I thought I could close my eyes and see Sen. McCain.)
RD likes three things from tonight's 8-to-5'er over the Rangers:
1. Boo picked up Joe Closer after the VP-to-be got that 11th-inning boo-boo on his finger. Didja see that, Adam Kennedy?
2. Torii Hunter's walk-off homer. (I've never said 'walk-off homer' before and it feels good.) Those are the at-bats when some cynics expect Torii to go wand-waving at sliders in the dirt. For some darn reason, his swing selection has certainly improved since being moved to the No. 3 spot in Gardy's "let's-try-THIS-to-break-the-damn-losing-streak batting order" he created on Mulholland Day back in Cleveland.
3. Augie Ojeda. It's just a cool name. RD knew a guy named Augie once, whose distinguishing characteristic was that he frequently wore an orange sportcoat.
RD also likes catcher Pat Borders coming to town. It's nice to have another Borders in town and not have it take away from the remaining independent booksellers. As Twins fans, we liked Borders during the 1991 playoffs against the Jays, where he was their catcher, because he seemed to have a problem with blocking the plate -- and the Twins exploited that several times. Then, in 1992, those of us who like Things Canadian liked Borders because he batted .996 or something in the World Series and was the MVP. So what if he's 82 years old. We're only renting him.
One final question: Didja think it was worth it for the Clevelanders to keep pace with the Twins since the 'Toons did it by beating the Yankees 22-nil? (For the record, YoungRD played in a soccer game over the weekend in which the final score was 16-nil.)
Enjoy!
My dearest Batlings,
Team Batgirl has been called suddenly to a remote village in Newfoundland which is entirely devoid of sass. We hate to leave, but our work is needed. We will be gone until Sept 10, but Batgirl has arranged for her brilliant and beloved associates el diablo and Ron Davis to take over the Bat-reins while she is gone. Also guest blogging will be some of the dear BatLings (Skorch, frightwig, arrScott, bubblemint, and mmmarkiep) who have been with Batgirl since her humble origins--when she blogged from a log cabin, using an internet connection powered by the BatKitties and an exercise wheel. Be good to them, and to each other. You will be in Batgirl's heart, every moment.
Love,
Batgirl
We have a few readers confirmed for Friday's campaign rally in section 141 (Lower General Admission) during the game. Please attend, wear your campaign gear, and show your support for Victory '04!
Beloved and talented reader Randall susses out some of the other tickets that might be popping up as campaign season heats up...and finds them wanting...:
I guess I would have to note that the Jeter-led Yankee ticket, with its policies of tax cuts for the rich, deportation of non-elite members of society, and Hussein-like stacked deck elections veer so far to the right as to approach despotism.The Red Sox seem to espouse a brand of Stalinism though, since they are really making a grab for totalitarian government as well, yet are posing as righteous have-nots trying to overthrow the established capitalists.
The As and their left-wing Beaneball approach...overly intellectual government just can't work. Plus I get this image of Stephen Hawking in the White House and even though that's not really precisely analogous, it kind of makes me want to leap from a moving vehicle.
Santana-Nathan, however, is a feel-good embodiment of the American dream, committed to the future in the minor leagues, and devoted to giving the Nicky Puntos of the world a voice. Perhaps they are the only ones who can make the world safe for democracy?
Batgirl found these pictures from the website of a Minnesota school; it's obviously a Twins school visit with Dazzle, Supernatural, and TC.
Readers, what on earth is TC saying to Johan to make him laugh so?
From the Strib:
Gardenhire was eating dinner with his wife in an Anaheim restaurant Saturday night when he saw outfielder Lew Ford dining with two guys.Gardenhire assumed they were former teammates, but Ford introduced them as "guys I met on the Internet."
Gardenhire quickly left.
Sunday, Gardenhire brought Ford into the coaches' room to explain. Ford said he met the guys playing the video game "Doom" on the Internet.
"Lew's always entertaining," Gardenhire said.
Team Batgirl, of course, knew it all along.
Twins at Anaheim. Angels 4, Twins 2.
Okay, there's a school dance, right? And there are three buddies going to the dance together in a Ford Focus, bragging to each other about all the pretty girls they're going to pick up tonight. In truth, their record has been spotty lately. One of them has had great potential as a ladies' man coming up through school and was really expected to break out this year. The other recently moved here from another state and, as the new kid, seemed like he might really be something at first, but then his luster faded as he proved to be just as inept as the rest of the boys. The third has been forced to repeat grades any number of times and is now as old as some of the teachers, with more facial hair. He's logged more dating hours than anyone in the history of the school, but his age is starting to show.
So the guys have all primped and zhuzhed. They smell fantastic; they're young (two of them, anyway), their cocky, they haven't a care in the world, and they're ready to get their groove on. They burst through the gym doors and pose in the doorway for a moment, announcing their arrival with authority. All the girls look them up and down and wonder what kind of stuff they have. For the girls are lonely; it must be said. It's fall, and they're ready to meet somebody. All they want is someone with maturity, perseverance, and three solid pitches.
So the trio struts into the room sizing up all the fine ladies, talking about how studly they are, yadda yadda, while in the center of the room a beautiful junior dances all by herself. She looks pointedly at the boys, but they just don't seem to notice her; instead they saunter over to the refreshment table, grab some fruit punch, and lean against the wall.
The girl, let's call her Minnie, is still watching them, grooving to some Kelis, and waiting for one of them to ask her to dance already. For we are getting so close to the Big Dance, and she has two really great dates for it—but you need three for the Big Dance.
The boys have certainly noticed her. "She's hot," says Kyle who once had promise. "Smokin'," agrees Carlos the new kid. "That's one foxy lady," adds Terry the geezer.
And then one of them says, "Do you think one of us should ask her to dance?"
They stand there, frozen. I mean, it's one thing to get all zhuzhed and to smell good and stuff, but it's something all together different to step up and ask a girl to dance. Right there! In front of everyone! And they've tried it before, each of them, and sometimes they danced all right for a little while, and then the next time they'd fall on their face and all the girls would point and laugh. But not Batgirl. Batgirl would only weep.
So here we are, just a few dances left before the Big Dance, waiting pointedly for either Kyle, Carlos, or Terence to step up and say, "Dammit, lady, let's groove."
And today, I dare say Carlos stepped up. He was no MC Hammer, mind you, but he didn't embarrass anybody by doing the robot or anything. Now, we mustn’t get too excited; he's stepped up before, only to split his pants the next time to reveal Batman Underoos. And generally, with these guys, each time we go through the rotation, one of them busts a move while the others basically let out a big fart on the pitching mound—so if all holds to form, things might get pretty stinky the next couple of days.
Silva pitched five reasonably solid innings, allowing one run and four hits. He was greatly helped by some fine defense—particularly that of Octavio "Augie" Ojeda—and his abbreviated start allowed the bullpen to give up three runs, but look, we're basically just looking for adequate at this point. Won't someone give me adequate? Please? That's all I ask.
The Twins are off tomorrow, and Batgirl, for one, could use an off-day. On Tuesday, they return to the Dome to play the Rangers, who really like to hit the ball lots and lots. So we'll have a chance to see whether Kyle or Terry wants to dance, or whether they're content to sit on the sidelines wearing a fruit punch mustache, zhuzhing in the shadows.
Twins at Angels. Twins 7, Angels 1.
I have no idea why anyone ever let the Fox network get their hands on baseball. I mean, despite the best efforts of Bud Selig, baseball is still basically an understated game, full of tradition and, dare I say, dignity. Fox wants football, that's fine with me; take the pituitary cases ramming into each other and put as many lasers and sound effects and computer animated football-playing robots as you want on the broadcast. I don't care. But can't you leave Batgirl's pastime alone? Fox has already turned the All-Star Game into something akin to the Miss America pageant, minus the swimsuits and breast amplification, and every time I watch one of their Game of the Week broadcasts I transform into the Incredible BatHulk and start swearing violently and throwing things around the BatQuarters. Batgirl smash!
Like, for instance, Scooter. Have you seen Scooter? Scooter is an animated baseball that explains to us that a slider is a pitch that slides. And while Batgirl greatly believes in making the game accessible, does it really have to be with a f----in' smiling animated baseball? And why is it called Scooter? Why not Zippy or Booger or Billy or, for that matter, Goober? Or how about Ass-face? Ass-face the animated baseball. Want to know what a change-up is? Just ask Ass-face! Hello Ass-face! (Batgirl makes high squeaky voice) Hello Batgirl! Would you like to learn about a split-finger? Thank you, Ass-face! No problem, Batgirl, it's my job to teach alllllll the childrens about baseball.
But it's not even Ass-face, nor the relentless, shameless advertising—which Batgirl, alas, has become used to thanks to Fox Sport Net's visionary whoring of every aspect of the game. Pretty soon, they're going to start sponsoring the sponsoring, so the next Dodge Game Reset will be brought to you by Cambria countertops—that really bothers Batgirl.
No, the real problem is that the Fox national announcers are just utter and complete boobs. I mean they seem to have a sense of the basic principles of baseball, undoubtedly thanks to Ass-face, and really, they should be commended for that. But still—call Batgirl crazy—she believes that if you are going to cover a baseball team on national television, it is incumbent on you to spend ten minutes before said game reviewing the basics of how to pronounce the names of at least the starting line-up. I mean, no one's expecting you to do the whole twenty-five man roster—that's crazy talk.
I mean, yes, we're the Minnesota Twins and most national announcers don't know anything about the team beyond "Torii Hunter catch good." And why should they, really? We're in the Midwest, flyover country, a small-market team, destined to go back into baseball oblivion just as soon as we stop winning so much. And could we cut that out, please, because Frank Thomas sure makes good copy.
Yes, Batgirl is irritated. First they kept referring to Johan K. Santana as "Joanne." Then they informed us that "Crist-yan" Guzman's nickname was "Goozy." They actually had it written out. And I just wanted to ask, "Hey, Fox Sports guys, this guy's last name is Guzman. G-U-Z. So if you hear the nickname Guzie, how do you think it's spelled? When Jacque Jones made a spectacular catch in the second inning, one of the announcers called him Shannon Stewart. Later, they referred to Hunter as Jones. Now I know it's hard, but if you're confused, try looking at the names on the back of the uniforms. That will help. We were also treated to a game's worth of Henry "Blank-o," which is fine because it's not like he's been in the major leagues for any amount of time.
And this is when they talked about the Twins at all. Mostly we got a very informed and impassioned lesson on the Angels, on their history and influence, their agony and their ecstasy. We heard about ten minutes of orgiastic discourse on the fielding of converted first baseman Darin Erstad. Apparently, he's a shoo-in for the gold glove, because nobody's ever seen a first baseman who can field! It's like a miracle! Can you name another first baseman who really can field? I sure can't.
Anyway, Batgirl started smashing things at about the third inning, and could be heard screaming things at the television like, "If you call Johan Santana 'Joanne' one more time, I'm going to come over there!"
Well, they called my bluff, that's for sure. Later the announcers started talking about Mr. Santana's first name, about the unusual nature of the hard "J" in a Latino name, and one guy said, "It's just one of those universal names! Joanne is Joanne is Joanne, wherever you're at!"
I guess the bright side is Batgirl had time to focus on smashing things and announcer-related rage because of the terrific performance of Johan Santana and his merry band of ballsmashers. Santana pitched seven complete innings, only allowing four hits and one run. Bartolo Colon didn't fare nearly as well, giving up four runs in the third inning, thanks to an RBI single by Stewart, and a 3 run homer by Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones also distinguished himself admirably in the field, making two dazzling catches, one of which he was actually given credit for.
The Angels' win streak has stopped at nine, which is probably a good thing, inertia wise, while the Twins' has started at one. We remain at least 7 games up on our nearest rivals, and Johan Santana continues to motor toward his Cy-season. Now, if we could just get someone to pay attention…
Twins at Anaheim. Angels 9, Twins 6.
It's 12:00 am. Do you know where your kitties are?
Mine are sleeping. BatKitty One is curled up in a chair, drooling happy, and BatKitty Two is passed out on the bed like a cheap whore after too much malt liquor. I mention this because it is the last West Coast road trip of the season, and the very last day Batgirl has to be up well past her bedtime trying to digest and synthesize the baseball-related program activities of the evening for her beloved Batlings, and Batgirl just doesn't have anything to say tonight. I mean, we lost. Radke went all Lyle Koshe (that's Kyle Lohse's evil twin) on us, Shannon Stewart went all t-ball, and Justin Morneau had about as much success in his final at bat as Justin Guarini did in his post-Idol career. What's more to say than that? But instead of helping Batgirl, the kitties have retired for the evening. Bastards.
Batkitties, flaking out.
Tonight, Batgirl is attempting to do said synthesizing while watching a re-broadcast of the Olympic Tae Kwon Do women's flyweight competition. A very small Spanish woman is trying to kick the ass-crap out of a very small Thai woman, and the announcers keep calling them the "Spanish fighter" and the "Thai fighter." Batgirl finds the latter extremely amusing, and keeps breaking out in giggles each and every time he says that. She expects said Thai fighter to start making laser-blaster noises at any moment. Pitoo! Pitoo! Pwoom! Pwoom!
I have you now, Spanish fighter.
None of which has anything to do with baseball. But the truth is, Batgirl's been off all day. Not off to the extent Brad Radke was off tonight, but, off nonetheless. Food didn't taste right, babies looked at her askance, and she referred to her beloved BatKitties as cheap whores. Was it general ennui or yesterday's loss that enervated Batgirl so? Batgirl thinks it was the latter; there was something about the nature of the ass-kicking that seemed particularly harsh, as if the Texas Rangers were just trying to get Batgirl back for implying that their home state doesn't have good public transportation. Don't mess with Texas. 'Cuz it'll come back and kick your ass.
"Who's got maple leaves coming out of their ass now?"
Usually, when your team has chances early, as the Twins did yesterday, if they don't convert you think it's just a harbinger of offense to come. Like if you get the bases loaded in the first inning with one out, you don't then expect to spend the rest of the game watching your batters go down one, two, three, one, two, three, like a really sad scoreless waltz.
"My love, perhaps next time we should try hitting into a double play!"
And you certainly don't expect it to happen two games in a row. Batgirl returned from her evening visit to the multiplex to find the game tied 2-2, but the Twins had the bases loaded with just one out and Corey Koskie was at the plate. Oh, Aaron Sele, Corey Koskie's going to hit the ball so hard that you're going to need to borrow an appendix from Chan Ho Park's sister, and… Oh, you get the drill. Suffice to say Koskie lined the ball to Adam Kennedy, and the rest was silence.
You couldn't score, either?
Except of course for the expletives muttered by Cordel when Curtis Pride slid into third—or rather slid into Corey's leg, which was placed handily between the oncoming Pride and the base. Dick and Bert then played a montage of Koskie's various injuries over the season, set to "The Way We Were."
There's not much else to say, except that if I were a betting person, I would place a good deal of money on Ron Gardenhire having a little talk with Justin Guarini after the game about striking out on three pitches with two outs in the ninth inning.
Sorry, Skip!
Oh, and one more thing:
See you tomorrow!
The Strib delves into the Twins' musical tastes. The results may surprise and disturb you:
We asked several famous folks at the Metrodome to name their dream double-bill for a concert in a ballpark:"Incubus and Audioslave. Because everything they do doesn't sound the same. They have heavier stuff and more mellow stuff. They have variation."
Justin Morneau,Twins first baseman"Eric B & Rakim. I like old-school music. And 2Pac. That's my dream. I don't like the music today."
Torii Hunter, Twins centerfielder"I don't listen to much mainstream. I listen to some Christian. Mercy Me -- and Bon Jovi. Mix 'em up."
Lew Ford, Twins outfielder/designated hitter"Stevie Wonder. He's my favorite what-do-you-call it? -- musician. Of the new age stuff, [Justin] Timberlake. I like the way he dances and entertains."
Matthew LeCroy, Twins catcher/designated hitter"I'd have to say Mr. [Bernie] Williams of the Yankees, and bring back Count Basie with Sinatra. That's major league. Sinatra was my favorite of all time. Nobody brought America together like he did. I bought Bernie Williams' album. I was really surprised he was that good. Good rhythm, good tone. I do like that kind of music."
Bob Casey, Twins stadium announcer
"Willie Nelson and [the cast of the musical] 'Cats.' That's a good combination. And Mickey and Minnie, too. George Strait. Pure country. Him instead of Willie."
Bert Blyleven, Twins TV announcer
"You have to have the Rolling Stones. And Dylan. And Elton John. Only two? Give me all three and I'll take the rest of the year off."
Chris Berman, ESPN broadcaster
Twins at Texas. Texas 8, Twins 3.
Okay, the bad news is that the Twins lost. Well, that's not really the bad news. The bad news, really, is that our starters numbered "three," "four," and "five," are continuing their seaon-long pattern of being as consistent as Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Sucky-Pitcher Pants. I mean, if you're going to ingest some scary drug that transforms you into a completely different person, can't you become, like, Tim Hudson? Please? I mean, look at Chan Ho Park; whatever part of the season he hasn't spent in Triple A he's spent in various emergency rooms and other medical care facilities. And it sure looked like he might have to go quickly back to one of those in first inning today, what with loading the bases with one out. Sure, he then struck Lew Ford out, but then he was about to get a taste of something I like to call Corey Koskie. How do you like them apples, Chan Ho? Parlez-Vous Canadian? You're going to wish you did! Koskie's going to hit the ball so far you’re going to be put on last year's disabled list! He's going to hit the ball so hard it's going to give your mother whiplash! He's going to burst your other appendix and then you won't have any left and your sister's going to have to donate an appendix to you, and then she'll be missing an appendix, and it'll be your fault! He's going to stuff your mouth so full of maple leaves they're going to start coming out of your ass! And then you're going to have to go to the emergency room, and they'll say, "What happened this time, Chan Ho?" And you'll have to say, "I have maple leaves coming out of my ass!" And they'll say, "Oh, because Corey Koskie hit the ball so far it hired a pilot and two flight attendants?" And you'll say, "Yeah, that's right, ha ha, now can we stop talking about it so you can get these maple leaves out of my ass?" And they'll say, "I'm sorry, we just don't have that kind of technology. There really hasn't been much progress in the field of maple-leaf-ass-removal since Wayne Gretzky scored five goals off the Flyers in '82. We operated for two weeks on goalie Pete Peeters." And you'll say, "You fixed him?" And they'll say, "Well, let's just say Mrs. Peeters always knows when it's fall." And you'll say, "You mean I'm supposed to just walk around with maple leaves coming out my ass? I'm a major league pitcher!" And they'll say, "No, actually, you're not. You've been put on the DL again until someone can stop those maple leaves from coming out of your ass." And you'll say, "What? That's not fair! I can still pitch." And they'll say, "Yeah, but Buck Showalter doesn't want any pitcher of his walking around with maple leaves coming out of his ass." And you'll say, "That's patently absurd. Let me talk to Buck." And they'll say, "That's not wise, Chan Ho. I don't think you'll want to leave this room. We're in Texas, and you don't want to walk around with maple leaves coming out of your ass. People here don't truck with that Frenchie shit." And you'll say, "Well, what am I supposed to do now? I have maple leaves coming out of my ass!" And they say, "I suggest learning some Canadian, Mr. Park. I think you might be very popular in Canada."
Or else Corey would fly out on the second pitch to deep left field to end the Twins' last scoring chance for six innings, and then Terence John Mulholland would pitch like he had maple leaves coming out of his ass. Either way.
Batgirl isn't concerned about the loss, really, and she's glad that Mr. Park doesn't have to suffer the same fate of Mr. Peeters, really, she is. And the Twins have managed to build up a commanding division lead even with a rotation of Radke, Supernatural, Mr. Sucky Pitcher, Mr. Sucky Pitcher, Dr. Jeckyll, Radke, Supernatual, Mr. Sucky Pitcher, Dr. Jeckyll, Mr. Sucky Pitcher. God knows how. And if we knew who exactly was drinking the sucky juice at any particular time, then we could plan accordingly. But, assuming this triumvirate of trepidation doesn't all drink the Kool-aid at once and drop us to .475, we'll be heading to the playoffs. I'm not asking for five good starters, or even four. I'm just asking one of you—yes, that's you Carlos, and you Kyle, and you Terence John, to put a string of good starts together so we can count on you for October, otherwise Batgirl's going to have to stuff maple leaves in her own mouth just to stop the pain, and we know where that leads.
Twins at Texas. Twins 8, Rangers 5.
There was a time when things were all very globalist in the Twins dugout. You had Dominicans and Canadians playing cards, Venezuelans and guys from wherever the hell Matt LeCroy's from sitting side by side. It was a whole pan-American love fest, a model UN, North America and South America holding each other close, whispering about NAFTA and other indoor sports.
That was before the Olympics started, and keyed off a patriotic frenzy in the Twins clubhouse. Somewhere between synchronized diving and the handball tournament, the whispers started. "Hey, nice Dressage, Canada; you sure pissed all over your piaffs," chuckled a voice in the clubhouse. "Oh, yeah?" came the retort. "Your rowing eight sucks coxswain."
Clearly, the harmony had ended. The global bonhomie had been replaced by separatist acrimony that threatened to tear the Twins apart. Flags started popping up in sections of the clubhouse, from Venezuela, the Dominican Republic, Australia, Canada, and wherever the hell Matt LeCroy's from. Pointed notes were left in lockers with the results of the previous night's competition. Looks like you blew it again in handball, blared a message on Corey Koskie's locker. Was that your mother weightlifting yesterday? inquired a missive scrawled on Juan Rincon's jock strap.
No longer are the Minnesota Twins playing as a team. The roster has now devolved into a lose collection nationalist factions determined to garner glory for their home nations. No longer are the games about the Twins versus their opponents, or about the standings in the AL Central; no, now they are an intra-western hemisphere battle between the forces of Canada and the forces of Venezuela. Only one will survive. That's right, today it's time for the first edition of:
Now, all the Americans are caught in the middle, forced to either take sides or, like Shannon Stewart and Michael Cuddyer, don a beret and try to become a humanoid Switzerland. Then, of course, they all started rooting for the Swiss team in synchronized swimming, and matters got totally out of control.
In today's game, it seemed the Canadians were going to prevail early. The undynamic duo were responsible for two of the first inning's four RBIs, an inning which ended on a Henry "Mango Face" Blanco double play. Then in the 4th, Dr. Morneau gave Kyle Lohse an insurance run, which he sorely needed, by hitting the ball in the general direction of Venezuela. His point was clear.
Meanwhile, one Venezuelan was quietly hitting his way into national folklore. In the second inning, Luis Rivas led off with a double, then in his next at bat he hustled for a triple, shouting as he rounded second base, Victoria para la gente! In the 8th, Rivas added a homer to the mix, causing Carlos Silva and Johan Santana to wrap themselves in the Venezuelan flag and jog around the bases with him.
By the time Juan Rincon came in to pitch, tensions were higher than when Carly Patterson accidentally sat down next to Svetlana Khorkina on the Olympic shuttle. Boo's job was to get the last out in the eighth—which he did, after giving up a double and a walk. Call it a draw.
In fact, no country had clear supremacy until the ninth inning, when Joe Nathan looked as if he were going to continue his week-long meltdown. Nathan walked the lead-off runner, then gave up a single to David Dellucci, then proceeded to strike out two, then walk the bases loaded. Two outs, Laynce Nix up to bat, and Henry Blanco approaches the mound and says one word to Joe Nathan. What that word was, I do not know, but it caused Nix to fly out to deep center for the game's third out. And that gave Team Venezuela the win—in addition to the Minnesota Twins. La Victoria!
B.O.D.-worthy performances from lots of quarters, tonight, with Luis Rivas going a single short of the cycle. (Typical of Rivas to miss the easy one.) Shouts out, too, to Joe Nathan for putting himself back together again after putting the first two on. Lew Ford for being his huggable hustling self. 3rd base coach Steve Smith for teaching Batgirl some new words in the ninth inning. And all the boyfriends, who comported themselves quite nicely, with Justin Morneau getting his daily dinger and Corey Koskie switching things up with a run-scoring double. (And I'm sure Joe Mauer helped, too, by sitting on the bench and looking cute.) And then there's Shannon Stewart, so easy to forget what with his constant and steady hitting. He got another lead-off hit today, smashing the 3rd pitch of the game for a single and setting the table for our four-run first inning. He hit another single in the second, and another in the eighth for a 3-5 day, giving the Twins what they missed for so much of the season—runners on base. He only got hit in once, but he kept the pressure on the pitchers and gave us ample opportunity to expand the lead. And that, Shannon Stewart, makes you the Boyfriend of the Day
Field/Readers 16, Corey/Jeb 12, Shannon/ Sooz 10, Dr. Morneau/Goober 9, Chairman Mauer/Batgirl 6.
Batgirl is excited to announce the first campaign rally for Santana/Nathan '04. The rally will be held on Friday, Sept 3 at 7:10 pm in section 141 of the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome.
Twins at Texas. Rangers 5, Twins 4.
Yesterday, Batgirl, with the help of Johan Santana, staged an intervention for Kenny Rogers and his gambling problem. Loyal and perspicacious BatLing arrScott asked Batgirl to stage an another intervention, one for all of the Twins, one to help rid them of another harmful addiction—winning.
Yes, the Twins have a winning problem, except of course when they have a losing problem. Our guys simply are not capable of playing steady baseball; they're streakier than Goober's glasses, streakier than when Batgirl works blue, streakier than the Soy Bomb guy at the Superbowl.
Perhaps haunted by the specter of the sucking-time(s), the Twins seem to feel a pathological need to win every game, because as they've seen already this year, losses feed off of each other like the angel fish Goober and Sooz bought once. Pretty soon, you've got a six-game losing streak and one well-sated fish in your aquarium. As arrScott put it so well, "When they don't win, instead of saying, 'Well, that's that; can't win 'em all,' they blame themselves and get all tense. The toxic mix of anger, shame, and tension creates a feedback loop of suckiness."
The problem, I think, is that the Twins are more emotionally fragile than a group of seventh grade girls during the swimming unit at gym class. I mean, first they had to hear about how terrible they were for years, and Tom Kelly was so distant and never told them that he loved them, and then Bud Selig told them they looked fat in their uniforms and they're an aberration anyway, plus they play baseball in a giant Teflon dinner roll that everyone makes fun of, and all the marquee players are being outgunned by a freckle-faced idiot savant and a Canadian stoic with a bad perm.
But, my dear Twins, take Batgirl's hands, all of you. Come on, Boo, that means you, and you too, Guzie. Here's what you must know: Baseball teams lose. They do! (Except for the Cardinals.) And it's okay, it really is. The sun still shines, birdies still sing, fish still cannibalize each other, and Batgirl lives on to blog another day. The important thing is to shake it off, okay? Stand up, right now, and shake it off—are you shaking Corey? Good.
And speaking of feedback loops, Batgirl fears that her beloved Joe Nathan is in one right now. Dearest Count Chocula, you are our very Nathanest of Joes, our vice-presidential candidate, the cream in our coffee, the fudge on our sundae, the exclamation point in our sit down bitch. And it was really fun when you were absolutely utterly perfect, but, you know, we'll take just being really good. I'm okay, you're okay. It's all right to cry.
Yes, our cereal mascots were not at their best today. Neither Boo nor Chocula could get the job done for Silva, who'd pitched very well after having quite a bit to shake off in his last couple of starts. And despite some Canadian heroics, today's game was not ours to win. Tonight, we curl up snug in our beds, teddy bears at our sides, put Joe Nathan's drawers in the freezer, and get ready to win the series.
Twins at Texas. Twins 7, Rangers 4.
The BatFamily had a pretty substantial record collection when Batgirl and Goober were growing up. The records lived behind the yellow and green tapestry patterned couch, under the sofa table, and Batgirl and Goober could often be found playing the albums and memorizing the songs. We forsook such totally square artists as Mozart and Beethoven for hip compilations like Sesame Street Fever, which included such disco classics as "Doin' the Pigeon" and "C is for Cookie (Dance Remix)" and Disco Mickey Mouse . As they grew older, Batgirl and Goober went deeper into their father's collection, and for reasons that Batgirl now cannot parse, BatDad had a sizeable country music collection, including a Kenny Rogers greatest hits album. Batgirl and Goober became quite fond of the song "The Gambler," and Batgirl soon knew all the lyrics.
But eventually, the junior members of the BatFamily grew into teenagers and began to develop their own tastes; Goober discovered Pink Floyd, Batgirl discovered Sting and her Kenny Rogers days were over. "The Gambler" went deep into the recesses of her mind where in ensuing years it was to be joined by everything she learned in high school science classes and the principles of basic mathematics.
Unlike science or math, though, "The Gambler" lyrics were eventually returned to Batgirl's consciousness when Terry Ryan signed Kenny Rogers last spring training. The move kept Johan Santana in the bullpen for a few more months, but as the song goes, "Every hand's a winner and every hand's a loser, and the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep."
Eventually, enough Twins pitchers found ways to drastically injure themselves last year that Santana found his way into the starting rotation, and to the hearts and minds of voters everywhere. It was no gamble for the Twins; Santana's bullpen prowess only hinted at the starting pitcher he was to become. Rogers, meanwhile, had a season filled with the euphoric highs and wretched lows of any addict—some nights winning big and others coming home completely broke and having to pawn back-up catchers for extra cash.
By the end of the season, Rogers was out of the starting ro' and Santana was our first starter in the playoffs. The Twins told Rogers to walk into the sunset, and he walked straight on to Texas.
In an odd coincidence, before tonight's game Johan Santana found himself sitting across from Rogers as they made their way to the ballpark on the commuter train, just one of Texas's myriad and progressive public transportation options. It was a quiet ride, and the two pitchers found themselves sizing each other up. After a long period of silence, Rogers looked at Santana and said:
son, I’ve made a life out of readin’ people’s faces,
And knowin’ what their cards were by the way they held their eyes.
So if you don’t mind my sayin’, I can see you’re out of aces.
For a taste of your whiskey I’ll give you some advice.
"Sure!" Santana said, handing over his flask and lighting Kenny's cigarette. Rogers took a long drink, drew on his cigarette, exhaled languidly, and then the night went deathly quiet. Rogers' face lost all expression and he said, "If you’re gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right."
You got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table.
There’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done.
At that point, Rogers put out his cigarette, rested his hand against the window, and fell asleep. Johan Santana shook his head, grabbed Rogers by the shoulders, and began to violently shake him. "Don't you know gambling is bad for you?" he yelled. "It's addictive and you'll ruin your life. Think of your family, man! When I am president I will stamp out gambling addiction! I will make halfway houses to try to bring people like you back to respectability! Snap out of it, man!"
But Rogers merely slept on, and Johan was forced to take his campaign rhetoric to the pitching mound. "It's a disease, man!" he yelled, striking out two in the first inning. "The addiction controls you!" he proclaimed, striking out two more in the second. "You must reclaim your life!" he encouraged, striking out two more in the fifth. "Oh, and sit down, bitch."
Rogers, meanwhile, couldn't control himself. He took a chance on the second pitch of the ballgame, and Shannon Stewart proceeded to hit it deep to center field. For a few rounds, his luck turned, but again he went one step closer to rock bottom, allowing Henry Blanco to take him yard. By the sixth inning, Rogers refused to admit he was powerless, allowing two doubles, a single, and a walk to give the Twins a 6-1 lead. Clearly, the man had not yet made a fearless and searching inventory of himself.
"Do not worry," said Johan, striking out two in the seventh. "In the Santana administration, Joe Nathan and I will provide treatment programs to help you get back on your feet again. I have learned the value of public service and I am here to serve you and America. Now, please, again, sit down."
Certainly, there has never been a more convincing campaign speech, and one cannot help but think Rogers was more than a little moved. While encouraging Rogers to face his addiction and become the best self he could be to better serve his family and his country, Supernatural also managed to pitch another terrific game, giving up one run and striking out eleven through eight complete innings. The Rangers score became inflated when Santana's proposed ambassador to Australia put two on with two outs in the ninth and then gave up a three-run homer. Whoopsie! Looks like Santana might have to have a talk with somebody about fastballs down the middle, but that is another intervention for another start.
Here's to Victory '04!
With only two boyfriends in the line-up, today's B.O.D. will be an honorary one—though no less meaningful to the recipient, of course. And after much weighing of the evidence, the B.O.D. Supreme High Commandress has decided to honor one Henry "Crahnko" Blanco for his offensive performance. Blanco gave the Twins their second run of the game in the second inning by launching a 2-2 pitch deep to left field, then in the third inning he doubled in Guzie with two outs for the Twins third run. He singlehandedly gave Santana all the run support he needed, plus he's been a warhorse all season. And that, Henry Blanco, makes you the honorary Boyfriend of the Day.
There is talk of having a Santana/Nathan '04 night at the dome for Supernatural's next home outing. That looks, right now, to be Friday Sept 3rd at Kansas City (unless they skip the Mulholland start?) . While Batgirl herself will be out of town, nothing would make her happier than a group of Batlings showing their Campaign '04 pride. Perhaps lower GA 141 or Upper Reserved 224 or 225?
Dearest Batgirl,I have a question for you. During this season, I have become intrigued by a certain question. During May, I wondered why the good Doctor Morneau wore a red shirt under his jersey. I mean, everyone else wears blue. Then, Morneau got recalled and conformed to the blue rule. Now, I have noticed Mr. Romero sporting the red shirt as well. Does Batgirl or any of her dear Bat readership have any idea so I can stop studying shirts and start putting complete attention back into the game?
Thanks Batgirl!
~Stacy
Cleveland at Twins. Twins 7, Extremely Offensive Cartoons 3.
In the sixth inning today, after Torii "Sweetcheeks" Hunter cleared the bases with a long double, C.C. "Big Boi" Sabathia beaned Dr. Morneau in the wrist. Morneau was obviously in pain, and when trainer Jimmy Kahmann came running out of the dugout, as is his wont, it looked as though he might be running right for the mound…and Sabathia. It would make perfect sense; a few months ago Batgirl called Kahmann the hardest working man in athletic support, and that was about 35 injuries ago. Kahmann's logged a lot of miles this season hurrying to various injured players on the field, and Batgirl has watched, trying to determine exactly what his stiff-backed running style reminds her of. Today she decided it is something between an ostrich and a carp.
Anyway, you couldn't blame Kahmann if he did totally lose his shit today and charge Sabathia. Morneau is really the only healthy player we have left. Batgirl imagines him falling into some kind of berserker rage, spinning around like a psychopathic top, with teeth gnashing and fists and legs flying everywhere. "This is for Torii Hunter's neck," he'd shout. "And this is for Little Nicky Punto! Here, this is for Joe Mauer, do you like that? Well do you, !@#$*&?"
Alas, Kahmann was only ostrich-carping to check the health of Morneau, who did indeed survive the injury. Sabathia, however, was quickly dispatched to the showers by Cleveland manager Eric Wedge—though were you a Cleveland fan…
well, first of all, hi! How are you? How's second place treating you? Good? Oh, I'm so glad. Remember all the taunting and boasting you bestowed on us last week? Oh, you don't remember? Well, I can't blame you. Gut wrenching seven-game losing streaks do tend to mess with your memory. A little ginkgo biloba and you'll be just fine. See you next year!
...where was I? Oh, yes; were you a Cleveland fan you might think that Wedge might have considered pulling C.C. a tiny bit earlier. Like, say, maybe in the 5th, when the game was tied 2-2, and Shannon Stewart led off with a ball that went about 407 feet to dead away center. C.C. then walked Lew Ford and gave up a single to Sweetcheeks who advanced Luscious Lew to 3rd. Justin Morneau hit a sac fly (hitting the ball about 406 feet), then LeCroy singled in Torii. Advantage, Twins.
C.C. was cooked, but he strutted out in the sixth inning anyway, hat sassily askew, and proceeded to load the bases, thanks to a Guzie single, a Blanco beaning, and an intentional walk to Shannon Stewart. Lew Ford popped out, and then Torii came on with two out and worked Sabathia for a 76-pitch at bat. Torii fouled off more pitches during this plate appearance than he's taken all season. It was as if he had suddenly been possessed by the ghost of Shannon Stewart—all the more strange since Stewart was standing 90 feet away at first base. I know walks are supposed to haunt, but that's a little silly.
Eventually, Torii found his pitch, which he hit to the very top of the baggie, driving in three runners and sending Sabathia into some kind of roid rage, which he took out on poor Morneau's wrist.
Morneau will heal, with some rest and a little ice, but will Cleveland? They were so happy last week, so excited, so positive they were going to overtake the Twins and win the Central. Now, even Chief Wahoo's smile looks a little forced. The Twins were one game up on Sunday, and today they're seven up. In this series, the Twins outscored Cleveland 20-5. Now, if we've learned anything the past couple of weeks, it's that fortunes rise and fall very quickly—but it's hard not to look at the Twins right now as a team still rising.
Today's game recap will be delayed, as Batgirl and Goober will be attending both the game and the rummage sale, where they hope to pick up some of Lew Ford's old comic books--if he'll part with them!
AL CENTRAL
| TEAM | W | L | PCT. | GB |
| Twins | 68 | 54 | .557 | -- |
| Indians | 63 | 61 | .508 | 6 |
| Bitch Sox | 60 | 60 | .500 | 7 |
Cleveland at Twins. Twins 8, Offensive Cartoons 1
About an hour before today's game, Corey Koskie and Justin Morneau could be seen huddling in the clubhouse. This is not unusual; as has been well-documented, Corey has taken little Justin under his oft surgically-reparied wing since his call-up from Rochester (despite the unimpeachable divide formed by their tremendous philosophical differences over the merits of the Edmonton Oilers v. the Vancouver Canucks). Koskie's given Morneau fielding advice, kept the big boys from picking on him too much, and taken him out to paint the town red and white—all without either of them ever making a facial expression.
But today, their conversation—which one couldn't call heated, really, given the two participating; perhaps we could say it was "lukewarm,"—was not, as observers thought, about how to get Grant Balfour back for the things he said about the Canadian volleyball team. That would come later. They had more serious matters at hand. And as the discussed continued, they motioned over to today's starting pitcher, one Terence John Mulholland, and asked him to join them.
"What's up, guys?" asked Terence John.
"TJ, Justin and I were talking…and, well…" Corey gulped stoically and nodded to Morneau.
"Well, Mr. Mulholland, Justin continued "You’ve taught us so much, you've been like a grandfather to me, and today's an important start. So, well…" He gulped stoically and nodded back to Koskie.
"You were so great last week, you really inspired us all when we needed it, and, well…We'd like to make you an honorary Canadian."
Mulholland's eyes bugged out. "Guys, I'm so flattered! That means so much!" He reached his arms out and leaned toward the two infielders.
"Woah!" Koskie put his hands up. "No hugging!"
Mulholland nodded "Well, guys, thanks a lot. I'm really touched. We'll do it for the motherland, eh?" he winked.
Koskie and Morneau exchanged a glance. "Hey, TJ, we don't say 'eh' all the time, you know?" Koskie said quietly. "It's not aboot that, eh?"
"Okay," said Mulholland. "Um, how about…Go Toronto Maple Leaves!"
"Oh, no man, the Canucks are your team," said Morneau quickly.
"Don't listen to him, TJ, he's too young to know whereof he speaks. It's all aboot the Oilers. Trust your Canadian brother!"
So, anyway, the three Canadians argued through the morning, while Luis Rivas played cards, Torii Hunter simonized his head, Lew Ford practiced counting to three, and Juan Rincon got his braces tightened.
Was it any wonder Terence John pitched so well today? A man who once bled red, white, and blue suddenly only had to bleed red and white. He spent much of the first couple innings trying to remember the lyrics to "O Canada," or at the very least to "God Bless Canada", which put him in a zen state similar to that of Eppy Calvin "Nuke" LaLouche in Bull Durham when he was wearing women's underwear.
In the 3rd inning, when Mulholland realized he couldn't actually get past the part in the anthem that goes "O Canada," he faltered a bit, giving up singles to Ronnie Belliard and Omar Vizquel…but then Torii Hunter threw a perfect strike to Koskie to get Belliard out at third. Hunter had singlehandedly created a run in the second inning, getting on first on a fielding error, stealing second (You can't catch him. You can't even see him! Don't even try!), then hustling to third on a Koskie fly, and home on a Guzie sac fly. All in all, very impressive, and after the Belliard out Morneau looked at Mulholland who looked at Koskie, and all three of them nodded at each other, as if their minds were one. "You're next," Koskie mouthed languidly to Hunter, who started to back away slowly.
But the sentiment only grew as Hunter followed Morneau's typically-long bomb to right with a pretty impressive shot to left, giving the Twins and Mulholland a 3-1 lead, and that's all Canada needed. In the clubhouse, the twin towers of the Northland looked meaningfully at Hunter, who said, "No, man, get your Canada-lovin' ass away from me!"
No matter. The Twins still added four runs in the fifth inning using classic American small ball; you know, getting hits and walks and slowly advancing the runners around the bases. In the eighth, Corey Koskie showed how much more efficient the Canadian method was, hitting one over the baggie for his 18th home run in the last 7 games. "I do it for my country," he said in the dugout later. "Damn straight," added Mulholland.
Now, I've given Terence John Mulholland a Canadian Rockies-sized mountain of crap this year, largely because of his tremendously advanced age, not to mention that whole Oakland game over which Batgirl held a grudge for a good week. But that is one classy freakishly-old dude. He's pitched in just about every kind of situation this year without once complaining; you never hear him spouting off in the press about when he gets pulled from games or what kind of run support he gets. He just goes out there and pitches, and frankly, often he's pitched quite well. Plus he's been like a grandfather, not just to Morneau, but to the other players on the team, mentoring them through all the vagaries of a baseball season—and his facial hair in no way resembles chin pubes. That is certainly worth the honor and respect of Batgirl, not to mention the whole nation of Canada.
Lots of boyfriend-worthy performances today, from Cordel Koskie's barbaric yawp to Torii Hunter's homer, baserunning, and fielding, to Lew Ford's timely single to Guzie's single/sac fly combo, and of course there's Terence John's second heroic bakbal performance in a row.
But Team Batgirl has a very exciting announcement. After much contemplation, and after looking deep into his heart, after searching his feelings, Goober has selected his new boyfriend...one Justin Morneau. Yes, Morneau has taken from Dougie his position, his condo lease, and also Goober's heart.
Goober and Morneau making the announcement at a pre-game press conference.
And in honor of that, as well as Morneau's 4th inning shot that was only a few moose antlers shy of his usual spot deep in the second deck, you, Justin Morneau, are the Boyfriend of the Day.
Field/Readers 16, Corey/Jeb 12, Dr. Morneau/Goober 9, Shannon/Sooz 9, Joe/Batgirl 6.
Cleveland at Twins. Twins 5, Hubrists 1.
Batgirl would like very much to know what Kyle Lohse did differently before this start. Did he change breakfast cereals? Did he, on a whim, substitute Wheaties for his Hilary Duff Crispy Crunch X-treme? Or perhaps was it Count Chocula? Did he take a Centrum Vitamin, now with St. John's Wort? Did he spend an hour walking in the park, watching the flowers bloom, thinking of nothing but the beauty of the world and what a gift it is simply to be alive? Did he pass the quiet hours reading some George Eliot, or perhaps Virginia Woolf…or even some Gertrude Stein? Did he put the book down and contemplate the simple beauty of a sentence, the delicate dexterity of the subject-verb dance? Did he then shake his fist at the heavens and cry, "A rose may be a rose may be a rose, but a fastball is a fastball is a fastball, and I, Kyle Lohse, am sick of pitching like ass-crap!"
Perhaps he spent some time meditating, or doing some simple stretches, or watching Olympic women's judo—or perhaps he played catch with a fresh-faced neighborhood youth before the game and was mentally transported back to a time when baseball was just a game, and he did not pitch like ass-crap. Perhaps his pre-game meal was full of spinach, or completely devoid of spinach, or perhaps it had just the right combination of salty and sweet to make it a culinary sensation that caused him to aspire to greatness, or at something above mediocrity. Perhaps he went to his doctor and asked about Cialis. Or perhaps he simply sat down at his computer before the game, with a cat on his lap and a dog at his feet, and read Batgirl.
We cannot know. But whatever it was that Kyle Lohse changed in his pre-game ritual, whatever minor modification he made, whatever he ate, whatever pills he took, whatever he did with those Wheaties, it worked. For perhaps the second time this season Kyle Lohse looked like he belonged on the pitcher's mound, and not just as the rosin bag.
I don't want to cause any pain, I don't want to induce any flashbacks, I don't want anyone to make an emergency call to his therapist, but last week Kyle Lohse gave up 74 runs in the first inning against Cleveland. The Twins tried to rally, but the six-dozen-run deficit proved to be too much even for them.
But that was the old Lohse. The sucky, tantrumy, chin-pubey Lohse. The new version, well, it still has the chin pubes, but it also has command of its pitches, and it doesn't seem to be suffering from some kind of vague nervous disorder. Lohse 2.0 gave up three hits and one walk through seven complete innings today, and if he could just keep that up through September and the post-season, Batgirl's nervous disorder's going to get a lot better, too.
It doesn't hurt that the Twins have suddenly remembered that the goal of the game of baseball (or bakbal, for that matter) is to accrue more runs than the other team. You get a run by getting people on base through hits, walks, or opponents' errors, then advancing them around the bases until they touch home plate, or "score."
The Twins accomplished this feat five times in tonight's game. In the first inning, Jake Westbrook seemed to be pitching like Lohse 1.0, before the manufacturer even designed the patch, giving up a single and two walks to load the bases with one out. The Twins only managed one run then, off an Offerman ground-out, but the act seemed to inspire them enough that they decided to try for more of these "run" things. Westbrook calmed down, but in the fifth Jacque Jones hit a double to score Michael Cuddyer. Then, in the sixth, Cordel Koskos did that thing that he's so fond of doing lately, that "hit-the-Canadian-snot out of the ball" thing, to give the Twins a 3-1 lead.
That was all the run support Lohse needed, as he pitched a 1-2-3 7th. But then Lew Ford, Dr. Morneau, and Jose Offerman decided they might as well add a couple more runs, just for fun. Because it is fun. Scoring runs is fun. Winning games is fun. And setting the Cleveland Hubrists back five games, well, that's worth eating your Wheaties.
Dearest Cordel Koskos,
You are so hot right now. I can't even stand it. You hit balls almost as far as Justin Morneau does. Really. It's pretty close. How do they measure things in Canada, anyway? Moose Antlers? You're just, like, 30 moose antlers behind Justin, which is pretty amazing, since they clearly fixed all the manufacturers defects when they made him. He doesn't have as many parts falling off of his body as you do, but really, that makes your achievement all the more spectacular. Overcoming adversity, and all that. Anyway, I can't tell you how much I appreciate you picking this particular time to go all chair-bashing mad. I mean, we've won four of our last five, and when Shannon Stewart isn't hitting doubles willy nilly, you're launching the ball toward the giant Kent Hrbek…thingy. Banner. Whatever. That's not the point, the point is you launched an 0-1 pitch to the upper deck today to give Kyle Lohse a two-run lead, and anything that makes Kyle Lohse feel better makes Batgirl feel better. So you, Cordel Koskos are the Boyfriend of the Day.
Love,
Batgirl
New York at Twins. Yankees 13, Twins 10.
It was like coming this close to your dreams, and watching them brush past you, like a stranger in the crowd. Oh, Batgirl could taste it, the three-game sweep, the fantastic comeback, the total and beautiful humiliation suffered by the dastardly Yankees as they left town with their tails between their legs (not that Yankees have tails, really, unless you count the long forked thing coming out of George Steinbrenner's pasty bum, but otherwise pretty much no). Batgirl could taste it, and, my friends, it tasted so very, very sweet—like a glass of honey lemonade on a hot afternoon, like a scoop of Sebastian Joe's Pavarotti ice cream after a long bike ride, like one of Batgirl's Happy Happy Fun Drinks during a Kyle Lohse start. Oh, so very delicious, it all was, Batgirl's salivary glands are going into hyperdrive just thinking about it.
Things were not exactly drool-worthy early on in the game. Silva's start rather mirrored his season—a little shaky at first, then great for a while, then a giant pile of suck. Batgirl wonders if perhaps Silva was just interested in symmetry; in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, perhaps it is up to us to create truth, to build our own lighthouses in the fog, to throw out our own life preservers in the stormy waters. Like, say, when you've been pitching pretty well for four innings against baseball's freakish lineup of genetically engineered superhumans, then you look back on the first inning and say, "Huh, I gave up one run in the first inning. One run in inning one. Neat! That makes me feel less lost in a universe utterly devoid of meaning. You know, I think it would make me feel even better if I gave up five runs in the fifth inning. In fact, I think it would make everyone feel better! Here I go! Wheeeeee!"
It did not make anyone feel better. Some things were said. Some things were also thrown. Some husbands left the room in disgust and went downstairs to read. Batgirl watched on, dutifully—perhaps switching the channel here and there to watch the sparkly girl-midgets throw themselves around in Greece for a little while. The game was over. For how do you expect your baseball team to have a chance against the minions of hell if you give up six…no, make that nine runs? What do you think we are, some kind of offensive machine?
Well, sometimes, yes. Batgirl called Jeb back in the room after the Twins cut the lead to 9-8 and had runners on first and second in the 8th inning. Rob Bowen popped out. Luis Rivas struck out. Jeb threatened to leave again and then Shannon Stewart launched a 3-2 pitch for a triple. The tying run scored, the go-ahead run scored, Batgirl and Jeb screamed and stomped and tossed the BatKitties in the air! Wheeeee!
That's when Batgirl's salivary glands started going. BatDad called and said, "This is the best game ever!" Batgirl turned to Jeb, tears in her eyes, and said "This is the greatest day of my life." For Joe Nathan was coming out to pitch, and in three batters, victory would be ours…
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up, like a raisin in the sun? And fester like a sore, and then run?
Poor Count Chocula. Batgirl would like to go over to his castle, give him a nice cup of cocoa, and a big hug. He's been so good for so long, and, really, everyone makes mistakes. Even Batgirl! No, really! And Batgirl would much rather, if he's going to blow a save, have him do it in the third game of the series we'd already won than, say, screwing up for the first time all season in the playoffs.
For, while a sweep would have been as delicious as a bowl of Nathan's eponymous cereal, I'll take the series victory. For it was not so long ago that Johan Santana told all the Yankee bitches to sit down, and it was only a short time before that when the nation of Canada joined together and as one, shouted, "Yankee go home!" Something magical happened this week, my dear darling Batlings, something utterly wonderful, something magically delicious. The Yankees, so mighty and menacing, turned out to be just another team, one with actual weakness, like playing defense and overswinging and fallible pitching and trying to hit Supernatural. If the stars line up right, we shall see this team of mere mortals again in October, and Shannon Stewart will wield his bat, and Johan Santana his ball, and the entire nation of Canada will bear witness and stand with us. And that, my darlings, is something to drool over.
It seems Santana/Nathan merchandise is already appearing in the Dome. Batgirl is all a-quiver. Please tell her of sightings. Soon, we will take over the world! All will hear our message of love and peace and making the bitches sit down!
Batgirl's merch is due to arrive today.
Dearest readers,
Batgirl had typed half an entry about the little known ancient Greek Bake-Off competition, sponsored yearly by the Platonic Meal company, and how one team, managed by a bitter ex-contestant came to dominate the competition. Joetorre had suffered a tremendous embarrassment many years before at the Bake-Off when he substituted salt for sugar on his Very Best Baklava and caused three of the judges to desiccate from the inside. It was the worst Bake-Off choke since Grady Little left his Pedro Martinis out in the sun too long. (Ha! Get it? Ha!) Anyway, after the humiliation Joetorre took it upon himself to put together a team of All-Stars from all over Greece. He traveled for years, finding the best amateur chefs the Empire had to offer, including one Derek Jeter, who made a souvlaki that was just to die for.
Well, anyway, as you can imagine, Joetorre's team won every year, yadda yadda, no one else had a chance, yadda yadda, until a motley crew of yadda yadda showed them a thing or two about melintzanosalata.
But you know what? Enough. Enough with the tortured Grecian metaphors, the Grady Little jokes, the half-baked Bake-Off idea. For today, the Minnesota Twins beat the New York Yankees by five runs, for their second victory in a row against the evil empire, and this, my dearest BatLings, deserves more than mousaka.
Let's go back to last week. Do you remember last week? Do you remember the Oakland series, the Mariners series? Do you remember all the sucking? Or have you blocked it out, stuck it in the dark corners of your brain in the place where the bad things go, like the ninth inning of the 5th game of the 2002 ALDS or your tour in 'Nam.
Let me refresh your memory. We sucked. We fell from our lofty perch quicker than Sisyphus's boulder goes rolling back down the ol' mountain in Hades when he's this close to the top. Cleveland was coming, yes, Cleveland was coming and in the words of the crusty old sailor in trailers for The Perfect Storm a couple years back, she's coming on strong, boys, she's coming on strong. Two weeks ago we thought the division was all sewn up, but that is because we are proud creatures, destined, like mighty Agamemnon, to be slain unceremoniously by our wife's new lover after we so haughtily return from victory in Troy. Agamemnon thought he had the central division all sewn-up, too. 'Til he got stabbed.
Anyway, we fell, and Cleveland, they rose, and pretty soon, what with all the rising and falling, the two teams were going to meet in the middle, and then it looked like we'd just keep falling on down, way to the bottom of the mountain, and Aegisthus would cuckold and stab us and then Sisyphus's boulder would smoosh our cuckolded, stabbed, pathetic little heads.
Oh, but then the great miracle happened, for Terence Mulholland pitched his aged, shriveled little heart out, and Cordel Koskos discovered the healing power of beating on defenseless chairs, and suddenly the Twins had stopped falling. Suddenly, the light was shining on us again. And then the mighty Yankees came to town. Perhaps you remember them from, you know, every game we've ever played against them. Yet somehow, this year, they didn't seem as fierce. Perhaps because on Sunday we remembered how to play baseball, or perhaps its because the Canadians suddenly got pissed, or perhaps its because we have Johan Santana, and they do not (note: Can we please keep it that way?). Whatever the reason, the Twins seemed ready to look the Gorgon in the eye and say, hey, Gorgon, you may be a team of genetically engineered superhumans, but we are not afraid of you.
So it was tonight, when Shannon Stewart faced off against Mike "Mousaka" Mussina and launched his second pitch high into the left field seats. And so it was when Johan Santana took the mound, stared at the likes of Derek Jeter, and politely suggested to them that they put their high-priced tuckus back on the bench. And so it was when Cristian Guzman scored two runs on a double in the fourth, then Stewart added another with two out. By the time the Twins had added three runs in the sixth inning, we'd pretty much poked that Cyclops in the eye.
Yes, the Twins have won a series against the New York Yankees, and tomorrow they go for the sweep. As we look to September, and glance casually but noncommittally toward October, what more could we ask for? Bake-Offs simply don't suffice, for we are in an epic battle of good versus evil, light v. darkness, aberrations v. Selig. The themes are weighty, the stakes great, the impact eternal. How Greek it is.
Love,
Batgirl
The B.O.D. Supreme High Commandress had learned that Goober, after fleeing to Ireland for macramé camp to help him recover from the trauma of having his beloved Dougie traded to Boston to play second base, is ready to declare a new boyfriend. Therefore, the Boyfriend of the Day competition, in "honorary" status for the past couple of weeks, is back on.
As if sensing the change, Shannon Stewart decided to flex his boyfriend muscles for poor Sooz, whom he let down when he landed on the DL with plantar fasciitis. (Ironically, Stewart was felled by the same injury that her "real life" boyfriend, Goober once had, making him lame for weeks.) Stewart began the game by launching Mike Mussina's second pitch deep into the left field seats. Welcome back from the DL Moose. One run is generally all Johan K. "Supernatural" Santana needs, and indeed that held the Twins until the fourth, when Stewart doubled in another run, adding the exclamation point on a three run inning. Later, he slammed into the wall after taking an extra-base hit away from John Olerud, and ended up just a triple short of the cycle. (Though Henry "NASCAR" Blanco did leg out a triple in the 6th, despite Batgirl and Jeb's fervent pleas that he stop at second.) Stewart went 3-5 and helped show the Twins that today, Mussina was human. And that, Shannon Stewart, makes you the Boyfriend of the Day.
Field/Readers 16, Corey/Jeb 11, ?/Goober 9, Shannon/Sooz 9, Joe/Batgirl 6.
New York at Twins. Twins 8, Yankees 2.
Ask any schoolchild who is the most famous King of Crete and they will answer, "George Steinbrenner!" Steinbrenner ruled Crete for many years, leading that kingdom to an obscene number of postseason victories. As a result, Steinbrenner believed himself to be greatly favored by the gods, and to prove it he one day bragged that he could cause a remarkable animal to be sent up from the sea. He prayed to Poseidon for a great creature, promising he would then sacrifice the creature to the god in gratitude. So, out from the waters came Jason Giambi, and Steinbrenner liked him so much that he decided to keep him, and sacrifice Tino Martinez instead.
Poseidon, naturally, was peeved. To get revenge on King George, he made Mrs. Steinbrenner fall in love with Giambi and to copulate frequently with him. As a result, she gave birth to a half-man, half-bull monster known as the New York Yankees.
Enraged and embarrassed, King George had his many minions construct a gigantic labyrinth where the monster would live.
Meanwhile, the great and greedy king set out to increase his power and he began to consume and conquer other city-states. For Steinbrenner had the mighty Bud Selig on his side, and when the other kings would not surrender, King George simply prayed to the almighty Selig to bring famine, ruin, and contraction to their lands.
Starved and spent, the other kings came to Steinbrenner to beg him to relieve their suffering. So King George told them he would be happy to help them—for a terrible price. He told them he would have Selig bring food back to their lands if the kings would give him their seven best players every year, which he would then put in the labyrinth where they would wander around lost and confused until they eventually encountered the viscious Yankees, who would eat them.
The kings had no choice; they needed to feed their people. So every year, players from around the country came and were devoured by the great beast at the center of the labyrinth.
Then one year, a band of noble but scraggly youths known as the Minnesota Twins decided they'd had enough. Too many people had suffered, and too many people had been devoured. So they met with the kings of all the lands and said, "Send us, next year, and we will defeat the dreadful beast."
"No, no!" said the kings. "We cannot lose you, for you have heart and you play excellent defense."
"We must go," said the Twins.
"Oh, all right then," said the kings. "Good luck with that!"
King George was surprised to see the strange crew. "This is a different sacrifice," he said. "I've never seen a group of players quite like this. You are brave, but your payroll is small."
Selig concurred. "An aberration!" he proclaimed. "The Mighty Yankees will eat them before dawn!"
So, with a giggle and a "Toodle-oo!" Steinbrenner placed the Twins in the labyrinth. It was dark and cold in there, and they wandered for days, keeping to a buddy system so no one would get separated. Every once in a while they heard the terrible grunts of the Yankees; with every turn they took, it seemed they were getting closer to their doom.
And then, suddenly, the awful creature jumped out in front of them with a resounding "GARRRRR!"
The player named Lew Ford promptly fainted, but the rest of the Twins bravely drew their bats and balls and stood ready to fight the hideous beast. "GARRR!" it said again. "Didn't I eat you last October?"
"No!" said the man Jacque Jones, "That was totally somebody else."
"Hmmm," responded the Yankees. "Sometimes I don't remember so good. Anyway, I'm gonna eat you now!"
"Ha!" squealed a Twin, stepping forward. "Just try!" At which point the Yankees glanced down at Little Nicky Punto, picked him up in his enormous hands, plunked him in his mouth, and swallowed noisily.
"Mmmmmmm," the monster said, "crispy."
"Goddammit!" cried the Twins. "That's the last straw!" Two burly players from the great northland wielded their bats and started banging on the monster. "Take that!" Corey Koskos yelled, attacking it as if it were a lone chair in a small room behind the visitors' dugout in Jacobs Field. "And that!" cried Dr. Justinian Morneau, hitting it with all the verve of a libidinous young man living in disguise in a hotel full of comely women.
The mammoth creature tried to fight back, but then all the Twins got in the action. A dark man known only as "Bradke" stood back and started firing baseballs at it. The creature stumbled and fell to the ground, whereupon Mssrs. Hunter, Stewart, and Jones jumped forward and began to relentlessly poke the monster. Poke, poke, poke. "How do you like that, huh?" they yelled. "Ever heard of small ball?" Poke, poke, poke. "Ever heard of developing players in the minors?" Poke, poke, poke.
And soon, the great beast was worn down. "I can fight no more," it whimpered. "You motley crew of little leaguers sure do have a lot of heart." And with that, the monster belched its last belch and died.
There was silence in the labyrinth. Santana looked at Silva, Silva at Stewart, Stewart at Rivas, and as one the Twins gathered in a circle around the horrible creature, and took off their hats and bowed their heads.
"He was just a pawn in King George's wicked game," said Juan Rincon.
"He wasn't such a bad little monster. All he needed was a little love," said Jose Offerman.
"Who is the greater monster, the monster, or the monster who pays it 186.7 million?" said Henry Blanco.
"I don't know," said Kyle Lohse. "That's a tough one."
"That was rhetorical," said Blanco.
"Oh, sorry," said Lohse.
"Well," said Shannon Stewart. "We did well my friends. But there is much evil left to conquer. Why, I bet only tomorrow we will find ourselves facing the darkness yet again. But if we work together, and if we start Johan Santana, then we will prevail."
All the Twins put on their hats, picked up their bats and balls, grabbed their buddy's hand, and went on their way.
"Hey," asked Lew Ford, "Does anyone know the way out?"
This is the best two-game winning streak ever! I don't know what you guys were all so worried about! Really, a classic Twins game—good pitching and, of course, huge offense. And I mean huge. In the second inning, Corey Koskie slammed a pitch to Thunder Bay to give the Twins a 2-0. In the third, Justin Morneau one upped his countryman, sending a solo homer to Winnipeg. That 3-0 lead gave Radke enough to unbundle his panties and shut the Yankees down-- and that makes you, the nation of Canada, the honorary Boyfriend of the Day
Dear Batgirl,Some friends and I are heading to the Twin Cities later this week for the first
time to partake in some Twins baseball (and also that of the St. Paul Saints,
bless their Independent souls). We were wondering if the Batgirl team and
their readership might be able to give us some tips on things to do/see/eat in
the area and maybe some inside info on the HeftyDome (shortest lines? cleanest bathrooms? most jalapenos on the nachos? can we sneak into the good seats? will enraged Dougie M fans beat me up if I wear a Red Sox hat?)? We're especially interested in things that might be a little more offbeat and not necessarily tourist-y. Any help or advice that you and your legions could offer would be greatly appreciated.Sincerely,
Jamie
When Justin Morneau was called up a few weeks ago, he didn't have a place to live. So he called up his friend Joe Mauer and asked if he might crash at his house. Joe checked with his mom who said it would be fine, as long as they behaved.
So Justin moved in with the Mauers. Everything went well for the first few days; Justin proved a well-mannered and quiet guest, and Mrs. Mauer was heard to remark that he seemed like a nice young boy, and a good friend for young Joe.
But soon things turned sour. Mrs. Mauer simply couldn't keep up with the two boys' appetites. They'd come home from games late, and blast that strange music Matt LeCroy gave them at all hours. Then, one Sunday morning, the two boys were playing baseball in front of the house and Morneau hit a ball through Mrs. Mauer's bedroom window. The ball traveled through the room, out the window on the other side, through two neighbors' houses, then it crashed into window of the Presbyterian church down the street, where it hit Pastor Boyd right between the eyes right in the middle of his sermon.
That was enough for Mrs. Mauer.
"I've had enough!"
"You boys have to find your own place to live! I can't take it anymore!"
But finding an apartment proved harder than the boys thought, especially for two young men making the major league minimum.
"There's NOTHING in here!"
"What are we going to do? I'm tired of sleeping on FieldTurf! It smells like Corey Koskie!"
But, as Joe Mauer found, there was one vacancy in town…
"Hey, this place looks nice!"
Only there was one catch…
It was a building for women!
Hmmmm….
So Justin and Joe made one adjustment.
Now the girls know them as Buffy and Hildegarde.
But also as Joe and Justin, Buffy and Hildy's brothers.
See? It's all perfectly normal!
Hit it, Billy Joel!:
I don't need you to worry for me, 'cuz I'm all right!
I don't want you to tell me it's time to come home.
I don't care what you say anymore, cuz it's my life!"
Go ahead with your own life, leave me alone!
Well, things went pretty well for Justin and Joe… I mean Buffy and Hildy! They got along great with the girls in their apartment, and it sure was convenient to the Metrodome and lots of fine dining establishments!
"Boy, I'm sure glad Joe found this place!"
But their new life certainly had its complications….
Like when Justin Morneau forgot to take his earrings off for BP! It's not going to be long before Jacque Jones notices that.
Fortunately, "Buffy" was right there! Mauer sauntered up while Jacque Jones wasn't looking…
"Hey Buddy. Great swing…"
"Nothing to see here!"
Or when they go out with their girlfriends for a night on the town.
"Man, I never knew how good appletinis were!"
The evening was going pretty well. Joe found he had a new ability to talk to women, and he made some new friends. I wonder if Buffy's brother might give some of these gals a call!
But the evening took a bad turn when some familiar faces entered the bar.
"My…you sure are a …husky woman. My name is Johan Santana, and I would like to make love to you."
"That was a crazy night, Buffy."
"Damn straight, Hildy. Appletini?"
Batgirl just heard Michael Cuddyer and Matt LeCroy on the radio. Apparently, Cuddyer is a big fan of Krispy Kreme, and both like to dine at Benihana. Batgirl is on her way.
Dearest BatLings,
I know it's painful. I know we never wanted to go back to this place. But as the Twins prepare to play the Yankees, we must look back at a moment two years ago which has hung like the proverbial albatross around the Twins' necks ever since. Batgirl considered typing up the whole thing in a "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" sort of way, but why work when a BatLing expressed the whole story so wonderfully in the comments last week. From loyal and talented reader Frightwig:
May 17, 2002. Twins in New York. The forces of light had fallen behind by an 8-3 score through the 5th inning, but in the top of the 6th the Twins offense erupted for 6 runs to knock out Mike Mussina and go ahead in the game, 9-8. This held until the 9th when, alas, Everyday Eddie coughed up a solo HR to "Bern! Baby, Bern!"With that, we went into extra innings, and before long we Twins fans had to make a choice: do we go to bed at a halfway reasonable hour for our full 40 winks and feel fresh & ready for work the next day, or do we stick by our Twins into the wee hours and forget productivity and happy relationships with our co-workers and family the next day? My sense of commitment sided with the Twins, and I stayed up with them through 4 tense, scoreless extra frames. But I felt rewarded when the Twins finally put 3 on the board in the top of the 14th. I felt a glow. Why, even Denny Hocking had 3 hits & 3 RBI on the night, and I have some vague feeling that he was involved in the late heroics, too. Oh, it was sweet.
Trouble was, Gardy had used up all his good pitchers, and even the remaining live bodies onhand, besides. Jack Cressend from the 10th-13th had allowed 9 baserunners, but he'd held the forces of darkness scoreless! Yeoman's work deserving of applause, but now he was done…
Yeah, well. The rest is history. (Mike) Trombley took the mound. Giambi did that thing that Never Officially Happened in My Mind, and I finally went to bed after 5 hours, 45 minutes feeling screwed and betrayed, waking up the next morning wishing I could have my whole night back.
Trombley, who had just been called up from Triple A, loaded the bases, and Giambi, who had been booed all year by the Yankees fans after coming over from Oakland, stepped up in the pouring rain and hit a walk-off grand slam. A little piece of Batgirl died that day, never to be reborn. If Batgirl's memory serves, the Twins have not beaten the Yankees in the regular season since then. Batgirl has become convinced the Yanks let us have that one postseason game last year just to toy with us.
Yes, we are suffering from a curse, my dear friends. The question is, how do we lift it? Batgirl would take the grand slam ball and burn it ceremoniously if she could, but alas, she possesses it not.
Sincerely,
Batgirl
Twins at Cleveland. Twins 4, Hubrists 2.
It's a little known fact that the Greeks actually played a form of baseball during the ancient Olympic games known as "Bakbal." The sport bore striking similarities to the game today, except that it was played nude and instead of tagging players out, fielders had to wrestle them to the ground. During the wrestling matches, any kind of move was considered fair game, except for biting, scratching, and wee-wee pulling.
Bakbal was added during the Olympiad of 748, a few decades after it was invented by bands of goatherders looking for new ways to compete after the tragic synkronized swimming accident of 802 B.C. The game quickly evolved, with square pieces of stone replacing baby goats as the three "baks", and after a league-wide effort to speed up the game, the practice of the teams stopping after each "Homer" to make a ritual sacrifice to Apollo was eliminated (afterwards, the hitter simply expressed his gratitude to the gods by pointing up toward Mount Olympus).
The championship round of the first Olympic bakbal tournament saw the meeting of two rival teams, the favored and storied Mycenaean "Twins" and the upstart Cleveland "Hubrists." In previous games, the Hubrists had beaten the pants off the Twins (or would have, had they been wearing any pants) in both the bakbal point totals and in the base-path wrestling matches. During one noted match, Hubrist Travis Hafner picked up Twin and erstwhile stable boy Lew Ford, tossed him in the air, then threw him on ground, jumped on his back five times, and executed a flip on the dismount. The move was considered so revolutionary that it launched the sport of rhythmik gymnastiks, although after a few years officials substituted balls, hoops, and ribbons for Lew Ford.
As a study of the contemporaneous blog "Batphrodite" reveals, fans of the Twins were rather saturnine coming into the tournament finals. Much more was at stake in the game than the Olympic laurel, for they knew the Hubrists and their fans would become intolerable if the Hubrists won again.
Most people were puzzled the Twins chose to start retired water-cart puller Terence Mulholland, affectionately knows as "Geras," as "pik-tur" that day, given that in his previous starts, Geras had been, metaphorically speaking, chained to a cliff while an eagle ate out his liver. And certainly during the first "epoch," when Geras had runners on first and third bak with nobody "nek," it seemed the game was going to be an unfortunate repeat of the previous days' first-epoch "ass-whupping."
But good ol' Geras showed he still had some life in him yet, and after the second epoch, he began to pitch like the fabled Mycenaean pik-tur Johannos Santanapopadapolis (without all the strikeouts or the tremendous hotness). The Hubrists pik-tur, meanwhile, seemed like he was ready to throw in the toga early, walking batters with the alacrity of Zeus crashing an all-female symposium. But, tragically, every time the Twins came to the "platter" with "runners in scoring position," the batters turned promptly to stone, their faces frozen for eternity in a mask of horror. Why? Could it have been the fault of the Hubrists' mascot, Golly the Gorgon? Or could it have been simply the fault of the legendary offensive lugubriousness of the '48 Twins?
Truly, it was a painful game to watch for Twins fans. Again and again, their star hitters came up with run-scoring opportunities but were transformed into hideous statues and had to be dragged off the field by the Herculean grounds crew. By the sixth epoch, they only had one animate player left—Jose Offermanos, a Minotaur-breeder from the Trojan foothills. So with two on and two nek, Offermanos walked up to the platter. Twins fans could barely watch—they'd seen this tragic drama before, but Offermanos surprised everyone by lining a nice double to the eastern field fence, giving the Twins two points and tying the game.
The Hubrists, they were ready to come back—if only old Geras would let them. But ah! Their ambitions were thwarted—nothing would work for them, not ritual sacrifice, not rally caps, not even a lead-off single in the ninth, for the great reliever BooBerrious came on and caused the Hubrists to sit down. Bitch.
It was then that the miracle happened. Was it the inspiration of Aphrodite, the goddess of love, or simply of Batphrodite, blogger of love? We cannot know. All we know for sure is, in the tenth epoch, the Hubrists beaned Lew Ford in the head (starting the ancient sport of Dodgeball which premiered two Olympiads later) and the statue of Cordel Koskos suddenly came magically to life! Reanimated, Koskos strode up to the platter, and, Boom!, he hit the ball to Thermopylae, to give the Twins two points. Then came on the mighty Twin closer, a member of the noble family of Choculous, to set the Hubrists down.
It was truly a great victory for the Twins, who had suffered much at the expense of these Cleveland barbarians. While the latter team had the better tournament record, the Twins ended up with the final victory that led to the "division championship" and title of "supreme baseball team of all time." Truly, the Bakbal tables had turned.
Oh heavenly Zeus, Batgirl's just so happy to win. She spent much of the game with her hands pressed against her face, and she now has white palm marks impressed permanently in her face, like a Uruk-Hai with kitties and cable. There were many Twins players who Batgirl wheedled to, cursed at, and wept over during the course of the game—but then there were a few who made this win possible. Mulholland pitched eight strong innings—and best yet only allowed one run in the first, which after the events of the past few days was like a little victory in itself. After sitting on the bench watching Twins batters come on with runners in scoring position for five innings, Jose Offerman came on and laced a two-run double. Then, with a runner on third and the game tied in the bottom of the ninth, our beloved Boo Berry got Ronnie Belliard to fly out. And in the tenth, Cordel Koskie, who had let about 175 scoring opportunities pass him by, came on with Lew Ford on first (after getting plopped on the head...like Ford needs to lose any brain cells) and hit the ball into lake Erie. And then we could all breathe a sigh of relief, for it was Count Chocula time, and boy those frosted puffed pieces with marshmallow bits sure taste delicious. Batgirl cannot chose; today she is a boyfriend pantheist. Terry Mulholland, Juan Boo Berry Rincon, Jose Offerman, Joe Count Chocula Nathan, and Cordel Koskie, you are all the honorary Boyfriends of the Day.
A couple months ago, when the Bitch Sox (remember them?) came to town and swept the Twins, Batgirl's esteemed colleague, the witty and talented Brad Zellar posted the following picture and headline right after the series:
Don't Taunt Me Devil Dog, I Can Hardly Bear to Watch Either
It is Batgirl's favorite blog entry of the year, and she thought it seemed apt right at this moment.
Twins at Cleveland. Cleveland 7, Twins 1.
The political climate in classical Greece was largely defined by the struggle for supremacy between two rival city-states—Athens and Sparta. Athens (hereinafter the Minnesota Twins) was renowned for its intellectual and artistic achievements, while Sparta (hereinafter called "Cleveland") was known for its military might. While Minnesota was pursuing advances in philosophy and astronomy, Cleveland was devoting itself to expanding its power. Minnesota's citizens thrived under a democracy, while Clevelanders cowered under the rule of tyrannical kings. Minnesota's youth were encouraged to become thinkers and artisans, while Cleveland's served only the state. All Minnesota children were cherished and educated with the hope that they might further advance civilization, while all Cleveland babies were examined at birth for physical fitness, and those found inferior were drowned or abandoned in the woods where they were eaten by rabid New York Mets.
Torii Hunter: Look, Matthew Lecroy, I've invented wine!
Shannon Stewart admires his pottery.
In Minnesota, boys were surrounded by literature and music from the time of their birth. Cleveland boys were taken from their parents at age seven, where they were installed in dormitories, fed rocks, and made to live without Harry Potter books; as a result, they could only converse by pointing and grunting dully.
Justin Morneau tries out his sculpting skills.
As these two city-states gained power—the Twins by forging alliances with those who admired their tremendous culture, and Cleveland by seizing it with brute animal force—they were doomed to become enemies. When the two armies met, all of the American League felt the force of the impact.
"Let's go get their book-learnin' bums!"
The resulting war lasted for 28 years. The Minnesotans fought valiantly, but were crippled by sucky starting pitching. And when they finally began to rally in the war's late innings, they were thwarted when Jacque Jones's two-run homer was ruled a double. The grunting, mouth-breathing, military might of Cleveland was just too much.
Ben Broussard pokes Lew Ford in the eye.
But our modern version of the war is not over...far from it. And we can certainly look to history to be our comfort: while, in Greece, the Spartans triumphed over Athens, they grew over-eager in the exercise of their power and the Athenians and most of Greece's other city-states revolted. Now, classical Athens is revered as the crucible of civilization, while Sparta is best remembered for being destroyed by the Visigoths in the 1997 World Series.
Twins at Cleveland. Cleveland 8, Twins 2.
'Twas an odd night for Batgirl, flipping back and forth between the Olympic opening ceremony and the Twins game. Actually, since said ceremony started an hour into the Twins game, after our guys were already down 6-1, there was much more flipping forth than back.
I don't know which was worse, watching Katie Couric pretending she knew something about Greek culture while alternating between a hushed gravitas for all the, you know, history, and the giggly dippiness she lends yearly to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, or watching Carlos Silva give up five runs in the first inning. Actually, I do know. The latter was much, much worse.
The Twins have unwittingly found themselves back in a pennant race, thanks to the rather unfortunate confluence of Cleveland's rise from the ashes and the Twins sinking into the sea. Cleveland has been waiting for us, they've been waiting like Penelope waited for Odysseus—and Batgirl thought that was pretty adorable actually. Sweet little Cleveland, who decided in 2002 to throw in the towel and start rebuilding. I guess it's safe to say that, much like the city of Athens, they've rebuilt.
We didn't see Cleveland coming—they were out of the division race in, like, the Bronze Age, and when they rolled in that nice wooden horsie with the big red bow on it we said, "Hey, thanks guys, that's really sweet! Thanks!" and opened up our gates for them then tucked ourselves snugly into our beds with dreams of postseason match-ups dancing in our heads.
Darkness fell. The Twins slept side-by-side in their bunks, chests rising and falling, teddy bears tucked in their arms, night caps firmly on their heads. A sound in the night. Is that coming from…the horse? Is it opening from the inside??? A door opens. Out pops Omar Vizquel. Out pops Victor Martinez. Out pops Travis Hafner and Ben Broussard! The Twins sleep on, the Cleveland players move like cats through the night toward their bunkhouse—until Carlos Silva, with his specially developed extrasensory hearing skills, wakes up from his bed, tosses his teddy bear to the floor, runs to the window, and sees these hooligans moving through city. "Never fear!" he shouts to the other players, "Carlos the Jackal is here!"
One by one, the Twins pop up in their beds. Matt LeCroy swears for the first time in his life, Lew Ford screeches, while Justin Morneau sets his jaw and picks up his bat. "No, no, guys, I got it!" Carlos says, reaching into his pajama pockets and picking out baseballs. Johan Santana and Brad Radke exchange glances—"Hey, Carlos, ¿Debemos hacer esto? You want us to get this?" Johan asks. "No, no," Carlos says. "Son los mios. They are mine!"
He inhales deeply, then hurls a ball out the window at Hafner. The ball flies four feet to Hafner's left. The players keep coming. Silva winds up again and throws the ball at Martinez—which sails a foot above his head. Rick Anderson hits his head against the wall and mutters, "First pitch balls," while Ford shrieks again. Silva bites his lip, takes in a deep breath, shouts, "I'll get it this time!" and hurls a ball at Broussard—who picks up some sort of stick, swings at the ball, and sends it sailing 500 feet back into the Twins bedroom, where it hits Lew Ford on the head.
So it went, this first August meeting between the Twins and their closest division rivals. This would have been a good game to win, since they were starting a pitcher with an ERA of googol, and we're just not so sure about Mulholland and Lohse. Poor BatLings made virtual screams of agony and despair in the comments section—one driven to drink, another to spontaneously combust, another to go to (gasp) Chipotle. As for Batgirl, she was thrown into the smooshy, gooshy embrace of Katie Couric, while the remnants of a wooden horse splintered at her feet. She's totally not going to fall for that one tomorrow.
Batgirl, as regular readers know, is the Official Twins Blogger of the 2004 Summer Olympics. Batgirl will have to carefully balance her Olympic obsession with her manifest destiny as, well, Batgirl--but as loyal and talented Batgirl regular arrScott points out, these twin passions do conjoin this summer:
Here in Blylevenland, where America's national pastime is called "honkbal," local fans are excited over the Dutch team's chances at Athens. The Nederland team just beat Cuba and Japan in a preliminary tournament, and the absence of the US from Athens (and Justin Morneau from Canada's team) gives het Oranjes a real shot at a medal.But the point of interest for Twins fans is that the Dutch team features rising Twins lefty Alexander Smit. Young Alex has a 2.54 ERA in six games at low-A Elizabethton, where he has 43 strikeouts and 10 walks in 28.1 innings. I saw him pitch for the Dutch team at the European Olympic qualifying tournament last year, and Smit can throw. The Twins have asked the Dutch national team to limit Smit's innings, so he'll probably either have short starting assignments or pitch an inning or two of middle relief, as he did at last year's qualifying tournament.
...The Olympics might be the only chance for Twins fans to get a look at one of the team's best pitching prospects before he has a shot at the big leagues in 2006.
[Here's a photo] of Smit from his . My wife says he's hot in a kind of Ephram-from-"Everwood" way.
Here is the baseball tournament schedule, and here is the tv listings grid.
Well, it seems the Twins and their longtime ad agency have parted ways. The agency, Hunt Adkins, was responsible for the freakishly smart "Get to Know 'Em" campaign (which is how we all learned to spell "Mientkiewicz." Their latest effort, "Every fan counts," has been going on for a year, and it's clear we need a new ad campaign. But with the contract ending, the Twins may need some outside help. So, BatReadership--can you come up with an advertising campaign for the Minnesota Twins?
Twins at Seattle. Twins 6, Mariners 3.
My fellow Americans,
We have passed through a time of great struggling. The last few days have tested us like we have never been tested before, and now it is our time to respond. Will we fall apart at the seams? Will we begin lashing out at each other? Or will we come together, and through our suffering, become ever stronger?
What we need now, ladies, gentlemen, and Yankees fans, is a leader. We need someone to give us hope again, someone to show America a new way forward. For I ask, "Are you better off today than you were four starts ago?"…
Certainly, the answer before today's game was a decided, "No." The Twins haven't won since our nominee's last start, causing Batgirl to spiral into a Great Depression of historic proportions. I mean, the slumping was cute and all in June, but this is an election year. Today, however, thanks to our candidate, we have turned a corner. America is on the right path again—united and headed for Twins glory!
Yes, Supernatural made a stirring case for himself today—perhaps more subdued than some of his other campaign appearances but no less effective. For Santana is a versatile candidate, happy to dominate with the strikeout, but also proving himself to be conversant in nuance. A few ground balls and fly outs can do so much for international relations.
Less nuanced was Joe Nathan, who showed that he was more than capable of sitting in the big chair and making the hard decisions. Usually Nathan pitches a more politic ninth inning, saving the strikeout for the last batter just so everyone knows what he's capable of. Today, though, with Johan being all diplomatic, Count Chocula went totally Wilsonian, striking out Bocachica, Lopez, and Ichiro swinging to end the game.
Meanwhile, presumptive Surgeon General nominee Dr. Justin Morneau showed what we might expect during the confirmation hearings. With the advice and consent of Lew Ford, who set up him in the second and the fifth with doubles, the good doctor cranked the ball Canada-way twice, promptly healing all that ailed Batgirl. I'd like to see Richard Carmona do that.
Today's performance almost makes you wonder if Morneau and Ford are thinking of a run for office themselves. Morneau/Ford: Totally Offensive?
Dear Justin Morneau,
Yesterday you seemed to be growing some sort of weird Canadian-style beard, and you did not hit any homeruns. Today, you shaved off the beard (thanks, of course, to Batgirl) and you hit two homeruns. I think the implications are obvious.
Boy, it sure is fun having you in the line-up. Batgirl always shushed the people who insisted you needed to be called up from Rochester to replace Dougie; she said Ryan would call you up when you were ready. Well, you're sure ready, as you proved today with your two two-run homers, making you the Boyfriend of the Day. Just keep that face clean!
Love,
Batgirl
Loyal and insightful Batgirl reader SDave has asked Batgirl to send the following letter Torii Hunter-ward. The letter is already making its way west via carrier pigeon, but Batgirl thought the suggestions Mr. Dave offers to Mr. Hunter to help on his hitting were quite perspicacious and worth posting. [EDIT:Batgirl had to edit the letter because somehow it messed up the formatting of her entire website. Silly carrier pigeons.]
1) Try to hold off on the outside breaking balls and high fastballs. You just look silly swinging wildly at them.2) Get yourself a Mauer quick swing so you can get around quicker on the inside fastballs that everybody is throwing at you
3) Stop swinging for the fence on every at bat. As another option, maybe you could have everyday Eddie come to every game and taunt you from the visitor’s dugout. He’s not busy the rest of the year and it seemed to work well for you on Tuesday night.
Justin Morneau seems to be growing a goatee. Perhaps Justin Morneau thinks it will make him look less like a very muscular child when he comes to bat. But studies have shown goatees on man-children look extremely silly. Call Justin Morneau and ask him to stop promoting excessive facial hair on barely post-pubescent ballplayers.
Twins at Seattle. Mariners 4, Twins 3.
I'm still not entirely sure what happened in the last few moments of today's game. There was a squealing noise, and a kind of distant shouting, and then Batgirl saw something coming out of the corner of her eye. It was coming so fast, it was all happening so fast, yet somehow time seemed to slow wayyyyyy down, like slow-mo, except super. Super slow-mo. Slow-mo Extreme. And then Batgirl's life passed before her eyes, and it was not a pleasant experience, especially during what Batgirl likes to refer to as the "hair years."
Disaster was inevitable, there was nothing Batgirl could do to stop it. It was like she was living outside her body, watching everything happen. I mean, she was there, but it's like she wasn't there, you know?
It all started innocently enough. Willie Bloomquist was pinch running for Scott Spiezio and poor Boo Berry was trying to keep him on first, he was trying really really hard and it's important to try, really it is, but sometimes trying's just not enough, like when you're trying to throw the ball to first and you bounce it in the dirt instead. So Bloomquist went to second. And then the squealing noise, and the shouting—was it Batgirl shouting? I can't remember—and Bloomquist took off for third—and really, should he have done that? Wasn't that just a mite reckless? Didn't anyone ever teach him you don't risk making the 2nd out at 3rd base when Batgirl needs a win?—and then there was this great flash of light and a loud noise, and Blanco threw to third and the ball went ricocheting off Bloomquist's head and Bloomquist inexplicably started running for home. Why would he do that? Why?
When Batgirl came to, Bloomquist had scored to give the Mariners the game and was falling into the protective embrace of his teammates (oh! Watch the head!). Meanwhile, poor Corey Koskie had apparently gone through an experience almost as traumatic as Batgirl's—again I'm not clear on the details but Bloomquist seemed to have paused in between third and home to shout "Edmonton Oilers suck and wrench Corey's arm out of its socket. Which is just plain mean.
The whole experience would be the most discouraging thing that's happened to the Twins in a month, but after Sunday it's really not so bad. Though Batgirl might allow that perhaps—perhaps--Corey suffered more than she, and while she does not, as of this writing, know the precise nature of his injury, she hopes he feels better soon. Batgirl, meanwhile, is going to pound down six or seven Happy Happy Fun Drinks (that's rum, orange juice, pineapple juice, Prozac, Xanax, and a cherry) and wait for tomorrow's Santana '04 campaign speech. Cheers!
Loyal and talented BatReader Shaun asks:
Hi Batgirl, I am a huge Twins fan and I always enjoy your site. Keep up the great work. Since you are Batgirl and have super powers, I am wondering if you can find out why the Twins rarely wear the alternate blue home and road jerseys anymore. Seemed like last year and early this year the Twins wore them quite a bit. Now nothing! Maybe I want to ensure my investment in 2 authentic alternates has not gone to waste (and showing my esteem for Shannon Stewart). Can you find this out?
Any ideas?
Seattle at Twins. Mariners 4, Twins 3.
Okay, we've picked on Terence John Mulholland a good deal in the past few days. It's not to say it's not deserved. It's going to take Batgirl a long time to get over Sunday's 18th inning loss, and she has to blame someone. For without blame, we spin off into an endless void of meaninglessness and chaos, and we simply can’t have that. Lord, we lived through the Scott Stahoviak years.
But, really, TJ's been doing a really nice job for us lately—or at least whatever comes before "lately." I can't really say he's been doing a nice job "this season," for the bullpen thing didn't always go so well, but before his last start TJ was totally kickin' it old skool. And really, despite the BatReadership's call for Rik Aalbert Blyleven to don the stirrups and toe the ol' rubber tonight, TJ comported himself rather well—if you don't count the first inning.
From innings 2 through 7, the old dog allowed just five hits and no runs, which should have been quite adequate since we were facing a pitcher with a 6.51 ERA. Batgirl say: I like them odds.
But, alas, the first inning does count, and as Rik Aalbert said in the postgame tonight, "Four runs in the first inning really hurt Terry Mulholland."
So elegant in its simplicity, Mr. Blyleven's summation cut right to the heart of the matter. For, yes, those four runs hurt. They hurt Terry Mulholland. And frankly, they hurt Batgirl, too. I mean Batgirl invests a lot of time and emotional energy into the Twins, and would it hurt them to give just a little back? I'm not talking, like, free season tickets or press passes or a year's supply of Fancy Feast for the BatKitties (turkey or salmon flavored, please, and not the flaked kind) or at least a freakin' Twingo victory—what I'm saying, simply, is I would like the Twins to repay my devotion by avoiding giving up four-run innings as much as possible, especially four-run first innings, and especially when we're going against a pitcher who's totally forgotten that he sucks this year.
Alas. So, well, it all started, as these things do, with an Ichiro lead-off single—and it could be argued, by anyone not visually or mentally impaired, that Ichiro had actually struck out a couple pitches before that, but no matter, for it is a pitcher's job to shake off adversity and begin each at-bat anew. A new batter! A brand new day! Here is my chance to face a challenge head on and say, "Challenge, I see you, I stand up to you, and I spit on you! Spit! Spit!" Which Mulholland did rather nicely—he promptly struck out Randy Winn on four pitches. Well, played, Terence! And then Edgar Martinez strode in, and then Mulholland said, "Hello, Challenge! I see you—oh!" and then he turned and watched the ball go out of the park. (I mean, jeez, can't a guy retire quietly? Just because Martinez is one of baseball's greatest DH's doesn't mean he has to show off.) Showing off next was Bret Boone, who hit a double, and then Bucky Jacobsen, who is not a traditional beauty, hit another homer. 4-0 Mariners.
Ouch.
Well, given the sort of year Gil Meche is having, a four run deficit wouldn't be insurmountable, as long as TJ got it together, stat. Which, as I said, he did—but unfortunately Meche became Gil "Ga" Meche...no-hitting my boys until the 5th inning, when Cordel Koskie hit the ball to Vancouver. The Twins managed two more homers—one by Ford, and one by Hunter, but forgot how to actually get people on base.
I encourage them to remember tomorrow. I have a feeling Edgar Martinez will.
BatAlert: For thoughts on the Mariners, please check out Batgirl Reader and Esteemed Blogger Steve's excellent .
From BatReader, Boston resident, and Jeremy Wahlman:
At yesterday's Red Sox game here in Boston (the first at home since the big Dougie trade), he was announced as "Dave Mientkiewicz," before the PA announcer corrected himself, saying "That's Doug--Doug Mientkiewicz." Apparently quite a few Sox players got a good laugh out of this. And for his part, Dougie/Davey waved his cap to the fans.
Well, as everyone knows, Terry Mulholland "pitched" for an inning on Sunday, and while he claims he's ready to start against Seattle Tuesday night, he also claimed he could pitch on Sunday. So Batgirl wonders, who do you think should start for the Twins against Meche?
From MLB.com.
Beware of Eddie: Several Twins will be on high alert while at Safeco Field this week, knowing former teammate Eddie Guardado could be lurking with practical jokes. On the final day of the previous trip to Seattle, Guardado cut the toes out of players' dress socks and put itching powder in some coaches' pants.Guardado is currently on the disabled list with a tired arm, meaning the reliever will have too much time on his hands for planning and executing.
"We're going to put lookouts all over. I'm hiring people," Gardenhire said. "I'm flying my son in -- he can watch my office."
Oakland at Twins. Athletics 8, Twins 2.
Before he made up his line-up this morning, Ron Gardenhire waited for his players to stagger into the dugout. After yesterday's 18-inning marathon, he had to find out who was still animate and breathing. But what about Batgirl? Did anyone check on Batgirl? Did anyone say, Gee, Batgirl, you sure gave it your all for 18 innings yesterday—how are you feeling today? Are you ready to go again today, or should we start Jose Offerman?
It's not that Batgirl would, in fact, say, "No, no, send in Jose," although she's sure he'd do a very nice job. It's just that she'd appreciate the consideration. For she still has not emotionally recovered from yesterday's game, and she feels pretty strongly that if she is to endure an 18-inning game, the Twins really should go ahead and win the thing. And, conversely, if the A's were going to score 3 runs to win the !#%%@#$?% game, wouldn't the eighth or ninth inning be a good time to do that?
Well, today, the Oakland A's were kind enough to oblige. And Batgirl appreciates it, she does. These past few days have been really hard on her; her fingernails are all gone and a few of the BatCurls have gone grey. The BatKitties have been wandering around the house looking like haunted creatures, dazedly batting at invisible flies and meowing incoherently to themselves. Or is that Jeb?
Anyway, for a few innings at least, it looked like another nail-biter. The Twins struck first, yadda yadda yadda. In the fifth inning, Oakland came back with a run to tie it up, but then Luis Rivas went yard in the bottom of the inning. So the Twins had the lead again, for about five more minutes.
That's when Kyle Lohse got tired of pitching well. I mean lots of people pitch well, you know? But if you want to distinguish yourself, I mean really truly distinguish yourself, you've got to pitch really poorly. You've got to start walking the lead-off hitter and then loading the bases with no one out. Yes, Kyle, that's the way! These are confused times, and that's the only way to really make a stand.
That gets us to Aaron Fultz. After seeming like a reasonable facsimile of a bullpen pitcher yesterday, he came out today to replace Lohse in the top of the seventh with two men on, and then he promptly beaned Eric Chavez. That's one way of keeping Chavez's bat out of the equation, I guess. That put Mark McLemore on third base and allowed Scott Hatteberg to score the A's (sigh) fifth run.
You'd think that would have been enough, but oh, no. I don't know exactly what happened to Fultz then, but when he came out in the eighth inning he clearly thought he was throwing BP. "Nice hit, Goldilocks!" he shouted when Eric Byrnes lined a leadoff single to center. "Oooh, you really knocked the snot out of that one," he enthused to Marco Scutaro as he rounded second. "Oooh, Good eye!" he winked at Adam Melhuse after walking him to load the bases.
Then it was time for Jesse Crain, who in his first appearance last week and again last night showed a great deal of mettle. Today, he rusted. First a wild pitch, then a four-pitch walk to Bobby Big League Kielty, and by the time the inning was over, four runs had scored and Batgirl was officially no longer anxious about the game.
The bad news is, while we played the A's pretty closely, we lost 3 of 4 to them. The good news is we don't have to play them anymore…in the regular season, that is. And if we do meet the A's in the postseason, at least we can say that now we've had a pretty good look at their team.
BatNote: Batgirl got this e-mail from reader Gustavo today and it cheered her up immensely:
…did you know that Henry Blanco has a nickname back in his (and my) native Venezuela? Some of his Caracas Lions buddies (where he plays in winter ball) call him "Cara 'e mango" ("Mango face"). I almost fell off my chair last December after a TV commentator mentioned it.
So here's to you, Mango Face!
Now, Batgirl knows there's a lot of baseball to be played yet, and she discounts neither the Bitch Sox nor Cleveland. But she enjoyed these two items:
From the Strib:
And first baseman Frank Thomas, apparently having missed the Twins' winning two consecutive division titles and having the second-best record in the league, said: "With the players we have now, if we all get healthy, we should run away with things, to be honest. ... The way Minnesota's playing, we could run away with the division."
Meanwhile, Twins Geek has this to say:
From the Transaction Wire: The Chicago White Sox acquired second baseman Roberto Alomar from the Arizona Diamondbacks for cash and a player to be named. Oh, this is just precious. Kenny, here's a little grilling tip for you: When the grill is smoking a lot, and the meat is black and crispy, or sort of looks like a large chunk of coal, it's done. Real, real done. At that point, it doesn't really matter whether you take it off the grill or not. And parading it in front of people to show you once had a juicy rib eye steak isn't going to enhance your reputation as a cook.
Good morning, gentle readers. Just a few Monday morning items for you. First, you'll notice the exciting new logo, designed by Batgirl drawer and logo maker Jonathan Van Gieson. JVG runs a panel of a comic strip every day on his own blog and Batgirl is a regular reader.
Meanwhile there are new designs in Batgirl's Online Emporium; Batgirl cannot wait for Santana/Nathan '04 to begin sweeping the Metrodome.
New to Batgirl? Can't keep your Chairman from your Doctor, your Boo Berry from your Chocula? Check out this Nickname Guide, now in the "About" menu to the left.
And finally, Batgirl has put together a Legovision BatArchive, also in the "About" menu.
Have a nice day, and thank you for reading Batgirl.
It's been a huge couple of weeks here at Team Batgirl, what with the Dougie trade, and that whole media-suppressed bench clearing brawl, and surviving the Oakland series. It's hard being on the cutting edge of Twins pseudo-journalism. So we thought we'd take a few moments to kick back, grab an appletini, and return to what's really important: Who's Hot?
Yes, it's time for another round of:
In the first round, we advanced Johan Santana and Doug Mientkiewicz to the finals, though Doug will now be moved to the finals of THE BOSTON RED SOX: HOT OR NOT? In the second, Torii Hunter was moved on with a unanimous "Meow!" (A few BatLings claimed to want to advance Grant Balfour, but Batgirl thinks they were yanking her chain.) Now, for the third round—Batgirl will give her opinion and then weigh the reader response to decide who moves into the final round of:
Player #1 Juan Rincon
Oh, dear Boo Berry. You've become the official huggy bear of Batgirl's blog, and there's a vocal BatFaction that spends most days at meetings of the Boo Berry Appreciation Society. You were first runner-up in BULLPEN IDOL—and one of the BBAS members loved you enough to stuff the BI ballot box to give you a win. And of course, we all appreciate your orthodontic efforts—baby, you're worth it!--though Batgirl hasn't had a boyfriend in braces since Alex Ginsburg in 7th grade. Plus why do you look vaguely terrified all the time? We think if we walked up to you in a bar you'd scream and run in the other direction. Chicks dig confidence—and you've got the stuff to back it up.
BatVerdict: Lots of mettle…but too much metal.
Player #2 Jacque Jones
Hey, Jacque? Hey, it's Batgirl! Oh, I'm good, how are you? Awesome? I thought so. Whatcha doing right now? Just sittin' there smiling, huh? Wanna come over? I don't know, I thought we could just hang out and look at the BatKitties and watch Sex and the City DVDs and talk about how awesome everything is and maybe make fun of Lew Ford? Sounds awesome? Okay, awesome! You bring the Cheetos!
BatVerdict: He can totally be the maid of honor when Batgirl becomes Mrs. Torii Hunter.
Player #3 Justin Morneau
God, those curls are so pretty. How do you do it? Mine just get so limp and frizzy. I mean, I've tried every different kind of conditioner in the world, and oh, the money I've spent on product! I could start a home for kids with disadvantaged hair with all that money! So, what's your secret? It's natural????? Get out! Damn, honey, you don't know how lucky you are! And you're so adorable! Batgirl just wants to dress you up in a sailor suit, pinch your cheeks—and then send you out to knock a few Bitch Sox pitches to Indiana.
BatVerdict: But would it hurt to make a facial expression once in a while? It would? Really? Okay, well, you know, we don't want you to get hurt.
Player #4 Kyle Lohse
Hey, Kyle. Remember last year? Remember when you were like, 14-11? Remember how, about midseason, Batgirl pronounced you her pitching boyfriend? Remember how we held hands and frolicked through the woods? Yeah, that was fun, but Batgirl dumped you but huge earlier this year when you gave up four runs in an inning and bitched in the papers the next day about how you didn't get any run support. You're probably the finest Twin to get the thumbs down this year, but let's face it, it's hard to mack on the ladies when you're 5-8.
BatVerdict: Lose the 'tude, dude.
Player #5 Joe Nathan
You might saunter into a bar one night, order yourself a Roy Rogers, and make eyes at some pretty young lady a few seats over. She'll look you up and down (mostly up) and sort of smile, mutter something about Midwestern farm boys, and look away. Then you'll proceed to get up and strike out every single man in the room, including the bartender and Derek Jeter. The young lady will then stand up, remove all of her clothing, and pull you on top of the bar, where you will pass a long night of lovemaking during which you whisper tales of your various saves.
BatVerdict: One, two, three strikes—you're hot!
Oakland at Twins. A's 6, Twins 5. (18 innings)
Two years ago, the Twins met the Oakland A's in the ALDS. Most everyone thought the Athletics would make short work of the Twins…especially the A's themselves. And while Game 5 of that series was the most trying experience of Batgirl's life (Jeb hasn't been the same since), the Twins did prevail.
The A's were less than thrilled with their playoff exit, and when the two teams met again in the 2003 regular season, various A's players (and Oakland sportswriters) went around saying that this was their chance to redeem themselves against the inferior Twins—apparently subscribing to some Bitch Sock-esque philosophy that they practically won the ALDS, if just for the itty bitty fact that they didn't.
The Twins, however, looked at the 2003 rematch as just another series, and as a result they handed the Athletics their pants all year. But it’s a new season, the ghost of 2002 has retired, and is now spending his days playing MLB 2004 on some heavenly Playstation with the ghost of the Indians '97 World Series loss and Thomas Edison.
So in 2004, what we have between the teams is great baseball. They've played each other six times this season and four of those games have gone into extra innings (and left Batgirl frail and withered). There's no doubt that Oakland is just a terrific team, what with their Four Horseman of the Apocalypse starting ro', Eric Chavez vacuuming up everything at third, and Eric Byrnes looking so pretty with those lush blond curls—but we’ve got at least two apocalyptic starters (apocalyptically awesome), Lew Ford playing right field like he was born there, and Justin Morneau looking so pretty with those lush blond curls.
When last the Twins faced the A's, our bullpen was shaky and Carlos Silva was our only good starter. Lately, though, Silva has stayed in the #3 slot in the rotation by being merely inconsistent rather than just plain bad. But in the last couple of starts, he's been showing signs of his Carlos the Jackal form. Today, he looked for six innings as if he might pitch another complete game shutout, seemingly getting stronger as the game went on. I'm sure the Twins players much appreciated the effort, given that they were facing Mark Mulder, a pale horse with a rider named Death.
Ah, but Death—be not proud, for some have called thee mighty and dreadful, but thou art facing the Minnesota Twins. Did somebody say "offensive juggernaut?" No? Nobody did? Okay, that's fair. But still, the Twins struck first again today; with two outs in the third Guzie walked, then Lew Ford singled, then Dr. Morneau hit a lovely line drive to center, scoring Guzie. In the fifth we added another run after Shannon Stewart hit a sac fly to score Luis Rivas, who was on third after a very pretty triple.
And so, it was 2-0 going into the seventh inning, when the A's decided to put the Jackal on trial. By the time the prosecution had rested, Oakland was up 3-2.
But as our greatest power threat strode into the box in the eighth, well…the game had already been tied by a Cristian Guzman homer. So Morneau couldn't add anything, and neither could anybody else for ten more #@$!&?* innings.
The Twins bullpen deserves to have the offense throw them a giant pizza party for their performance tonight. J.C. Romero, who's been inconsistent of late, pitched two scoreless innings in the eighth and ninth, followed by a shaky by scoreless tenth for Aaron Fultz, who was then relieved in the 11th by a terrific Jesse Crain. In the 12th, Joe Nathan strode in and struck out the side. You would think (as indeed Batgirl did) that that would have inflamed our offensive juggernaut, yet apparently, it did not. We went into the 13th, when Joe Roa came in and pitched his little heart out. The Roa Constrictor pitched five innings, allowing just one baserunner, and was altogether worthy of Boyfriend of the Day honors—which he would have gotten had Terry Mulholland not come on in the 18th and given up 3 #@$!&?! runs.
So, let's see, by my count, that's a thick crust olive and green pepper pizza for J.C., a thin crust extra cheese pizza for Crain, a large pizza for Nathan with all the premium toppings he wants, a few of the leftover pieces for Fultz, and the entire blasted menu, including cheesy bread, for Roa. (Mulholland can get his own damn pizza.)
So, lots of pizza for you, Joe, but no B.O.D. But you do get a big hug from Batgirl. Or you would, if she weren't so emotionally spent that she can barely move. But it's the thought that counts.
As for the A's, we'll see them again (sigh) at 12:15 tomorrow.
AL CENTRAL
| TEAM | W | L | PCT. | GB |
| Twins | 62 | 47 | .569 | -- |
| Indians | 57 | 54 | .514 | 6 |
| Bitch Sox | 54 | 53 | .505 | 7 |
Oakland at Twins. Twins 4, Oakland 3.
I'm not sure Batgirl can take many more of these Oakland games; there's only so much stress a girl can bear. You pretty much know this year when the teams face off that it's going to be a low-scoring nail-biter, and if they do end up going against each other in the playoffs Batgirl's going to be gouging out her own eyes before the thing is over. Finding out you killed your dad and married your own mom is nothing compared to watching Santana and Tim Hudson duel in the ALCS.
This week, we still have to endure two more games, with Mark "The Truth is Out There" Mulder hurling tomorrow, and they're both afternoon games so I can't even numb the pain with drink. Oh, what am I saying, of course I can.
Actually, the Twins managed to keep the pain-inflicting to a minimum today (other than poor Jacque Jones, who fouled a Hudson pitch off his knee and had to leave the game. I daresay that's going to leave a bruise.) by getting to Hudson first. This was a game that could easily have ended 1-0, and when Torii Hunter created a run with two outs in the fourth, there was much relief in the BatQuarters.
For surely these Athletics of Oakland weren't going to touch Johan, were they? He'd struck out his sixth by the fourth inning, and didn't show any real inclination to let the batters make contact with the ball.
And Hudson just seemed to wear down—understandable as he just got off the DL. Thanks to hits by Morneau, (Dear Fox. Please check pronunciation of Twins players names before next broadcast. Thank you, Batgirl.) Hunter, and Jose "Clutch" Offerman the Twins had a 4-0 lead going into the late innings.
But then there was that seventh, in which A's hits just started to fall in, and Batgirl's knitting needles inched closer and closer to her eyes—until Juan Rincon came in to save the day.
So, Batgirl's presidential candidate fared well, with ten strikeouts and seven hits—of course that's about five more hits than he usually gives up, but there's a lot of pressure in campaign season. And our VP nominee came on in the ninth and earned his franchise record 25th save in a row with his signature last-out strikeout, while Juan Rincon made a strong pitch for Secretary of KI-YAP with his 7th- and 8th-inning performance. That made thirteen strikeouts by the Santana administration. You, you, you, and you, please...have a seat. And also you and you. And, sir? By the way? Please sit down. And those five guys next to you. Thank you so very much.
Johan is looking now like everyone's number two pick for Cy Young; the number one is going tomorrow. Batgirl thinks maybe we should lessen his chances a bit. If only she could stand to watch…
Until Goober picks a new boyfriend or Joe Mauer gets off the DL, Batgirl has decided to suspend the B.O.D. competition. That does not mean we won't be picking honorary boyfriends in every game, and this gives us a chance to honor some of the players who often get overlooked in the B.O.D. sweepstakes. Like, for instance, Juan Rincon. Dear Boo Berry, Batgirl picked on you a lot in the beginning of the season, because frankly, you weren't doing that well. But now, now! You've made us forget all about LaTroy—and you've saved us from many an ignoble defeat. Like, today in the 7th, when the game threatened to get away from us. Balls were falling in, and Johan threatened to lose his dominance. Jesse Crain came in with one out, two runs scored, and runners on first and third, but he couldn't seem to get an out. Suddenly it was 4-3 Twins, and it looked like they could easily score some more. But they weren't counting on facing Boo Berry, who came in, got a strike out and a ground out, then threw a nine pitch, perfect eighth. And that makes you, Juan Boo Berry Rincon, the Honorary Boyfriend of the Day
Oakland at Twins. A's 3, Twins 1.
Okay, yesterday I said the incessant winning was getting tiresome, but I didn't really mean it. Haven't you baseball gods ever heard of a little thing called rhetorical irony? Or are you still giggling madly over the whole Steve Bartman thing?
Batgirl should have known that it just wasn't going to be her day. She and Jeb happily went to the "ballpark" tonight with cheer in their hearts to witness a fine Brad Radke gem, and perhaps some late inning heroics. And while we got both of those things, we would really would have been willing to do without for the sake of a "W". Anyway, everything got off to a slow start with three separate people and/or giant plush poultry and/or entities throwing out the "first" pitch. One was a little leaguer (awwww…), one a giant chicken possibly named Cooper, and one a whole posse of geriatric golf players in town for the 3M championship this weekend. Bob Casey gave a long introduction for each golfer, including Chi Chi Rodriquez. But Batgirl knew that was not really Chi Chi Rodriquez, but rather some Chi Chi Rodriquez facsimile, for the real Chi Chi Rodriguez was actually at Batgirl's house BatKitty sitting. You should call him. He's very reliable, doesn't charge too much, doesn't invite girls over, and is happy to spend his evenings practicing chip shots with toy mousies.
Anyway, Bob Casey promised us this group of geriatric golfers, or G.G.G.'s, would be throwing out the first pitch simultaneously, and if "simultaneously" means "spastically, at random intervals, for several long minutes" then he was absolutely right. Balls were flying everywhere, and the poor players drafted to act as catchers were bobbing and weaving out of the paths of errant balls like Keanu Reeves in the "bullet cam" scene of the first Matrix.
Everyone survived, the balls were collected, the G.G.G's ushered off the field by the giant chicken (okay, not really, but it would have been pretty funny and then Batgirl would have known what the giant chicken, possibly named Cooper, was for), and pretty soon it was time to play ball.
At this point, a strange smell began to waft over to Batgirl. Something very much reminiscent of, well, feet. Batgirl, it should be said, has a strong sense of smell and generally prefers the world to respect it. But a gentlemen sitting in the row behind her had stretched out his feet onto the seat next to her, and his flip flops had really seen better days, or at least less pungent ones. Things that are better with age: cheese, wine, Randy Johnson. Things that are not: flip flops, unwashed feet. The gentleman was also eating sunflower seeds and kept spitting them out very close to Batgirl's ear. He seemed to be luxuriating in the spitting process, like Keats over the Grecian Urn, and Batgirl did wonder after his hydration.
Then in the fateful fifth inning, when Erubial Durazo hit a ball to shallow left field and Guzie ran back and Shannon Stewart ran in and the ball fell in between them, the gentleman said knowingly, "Lew Ford would have gotten that." Oh really? How do you know, O Stinky-Feeted Flip Flop Spitty Man? Were you suddenly transported to an alternate dimension where everything was exactly the same, except Lew Ford started in left field tonight? Did you then observe Luscious Lew making the catch, and immediately travel back to this world—but not before making a quick stop in the world without shrimp—just in time to say, with complete authority, "Lew Ford would have gotten that?" (Now, Batgirl has certainly said in the past "Dougie would have gotten that," whenever anyone else, Twin or not, fields the position, but she does not spit and her feet smell of rose petals.)
Oh, so, anyway, it was not Batgirl's game. Mark Redman really isn't supposed to allow fewer hits and walks than Brad Radke. Not that Radke wasn't good—he pitched nine complete innings, striking out seven and allowing five hits, a couple of them feeble ones. But the Twins could do nothing against Redman—who, granted, has been hot lately, but, for the love of god, so have we. Redman sped through the Twins' line-up as if he had a hot date with Anna Benson afterwards, and the Twins batted as if they really wanted him to get there on time.
And speaking of it not being our game, well, it wasn't so much Guzie's. Batgirl believes the Guzie-bashing gets out of hand, but tonight he fielded as if he's been taking lessons from Jason Bartlett. He had an errors tonight and a string of defensive miscues that pretty much accounted for all the A's scoring, and that strange vise-like headache Batgirl had.
There was that whole fifth inning play, for instance. The ball didn't really drop in between Guzie and Stewart as much as it ricocheted off a reaching Guzman's glove. Now, Batgirl believes strongly in good communication. It makes the world go round. Communication helps us to understand each other, to resolve our differences, to celebrate our strengths, to make the world a better place—and when two baseball players are going for the baseball, it helps them to know which one is going to catch the #@$! thing.
That blooper became a double, which eventually became a run, which became a 1-0 game going into late innings. Jeb, at one point, grumbled, "I don't want to stay if we're going to lose this thing 1-0," and Batgirl said confidently, "We're not going to lose this thing 1-0!"
Well, we didn't. Shannon Stewart hit a homer in the ninth, tying the game, and all looked bright and beautiful until the eleventh, which frankly I don't want to talk about. I mean, the Twins are built on good defense, and when we make stupid mistakes, well, it makes me so mad I just want to spit.
BatAlert:: The next three games are all afternoon games--12:15, 1, and 12:15 I believe.
Come join Batgirl and Jeb at the game tonight. We shall be somewhere in left field complimenting Eric Byrnes on his nice curls.
(The game recap will be rather delayed this evening as a result.)
Nice, really long article about Dougie at the Boston Globe:
"He'll be a good fit for this clubhouse," Bellhorn said, "because he's kind of laid-back and goofs around."No question about it.
"Hey, Snook," Ortiz shouted across the clubhouse, using the nickname derived from Mientkiewicz's passion for fishing. "Did you hear what I did to Corey [Koskie]?"
Off they went, with Ortiz recounting the practical joke he played last weekend in Minnesota on Koskie (in part, Ortiz rubbed eye black on the inside of Koskie's cap so when Koskie removed the cap during an interview a black ring appeared across his forehead), and Mientkiewicz filling in Ortiz on Koskie's latest prank (Koskie took a pair of scissors to his teammates's clothes, including the sleeves of Torii Hunter's suit).
America, I give you your next President and Vice-President!
Show your support for the Twins ticket! Victory '04 merchandise (and various Batgirl paraphernalia) is available at Batgirl's Online Emporium. All proceeds will go to fund Batgirl's web bill the Santana/Nathan campaign! Santana/Nathan...starting and closing...for America!
Anaheim at Twins. Angels 8, Twins 3.
Oh, thank the maker! All this incessant winning was really growing tiring. I mean, Batgirl was going to lose all her sass and become some kind of blogging equivalent of Hillary Duff. The girl can rock!
Batgirl's not particularly distraught about today's loss; we won the series. And Terry Mulholland's Portrait of Dorian Grey act has been fun to watch, but like all demonic contracts with paintings, sculpture, and miscellaneous objets d'art, it was bound to end. That's not to say Terence John can't get himself ensorcelled some other way—maybe a fountain of youth (watch for snakes), or a bargain with the devil, or maybe its modern equivalent--the extreme makeover. Whatever his poison is, Batgirl cares not for his immortal soul. He's 41—that's clearly been mortgaged away some time ago, and anyway we need his freakish inhuman rubber arm.
There's been something sort of sweet about having Mulholland in the dugout and in the bullpen. Here's a man who's seen everything in baseball, from the Black Sox scandal to Roger Maris to when Barry Bonds was skinny. He's got some perspective, and I thought it was sort of sweet that he managed to counsel Doug through his whole emotional apocalypse. And I hope the team can keep him on during the playoffs, perhaps as some sort of Wayne Hattaway-like spiritual advisor.
The pitching was Hattaway-esque today, the bases were loaded so often that Batgirl was taken back to her own brief pitching career in WESAC softball, when after nobody volunteered to take the mound she said, "I'll try!" That was the last time Batgirl ever volunteered for anything again, or indeed put herself out into the world in any way at all. She has spent every day since hiding under the bed muttering to herself about strike zones. ...But that's another story.
It wasn't all Terence's fault, though. Poor little Jason Bartlett may spend some time of his own under the bunk bed tonight, regretting he ever volunteered for this whole business. His first major league start at shortstop didn't go what you'd call well--he committed two errors and generally acted like he'd never actually played the game of baseball before. Batgirl's heart bleeds for him; it can't be easy to start your first game in the bigs, especially when you are obviously a giant mental spaz. BatMom and BatDad's kitties are on anti-anxiety medication right now; you actually give it to them by rubbing it behind their ears. Maybe that would help?
Regardless and irrespective, the Twins can go into the Oakland series feeling strong. We're one game ahead of them right now, for second place in the A.L., and thanks to Brad "So Sleepy" Radke we'll be sending out our two best pitchers for the first two games. (Hey, I know Brad, if you don't let anyone on in the 7th Gardy's much less likely to pull you!) So, sleep tight tonight, my precious darlings, and come back tomorrow ready to solider on.
Anaheim at Twins. Twins 6, Angels 3.
I know this is the point where Batgirl usually launches into a game recap, but I'd like to pause for a moment to talk about the poor Kansas City Royals. I mean, they've had a really difficult year, and I feel pretty bad for them. In the spring, some people picked them to win the division (certainly not Batgirl, but some people). Now, the Royals are engaged in a three-team battle with Seattle and Arizona for the worst team in Major League Baseball. They seem like such a nice group of kids, and that poor Mike Sweeney's gone through so much—they surely don't deserve this ignominy, and I like to root for them when I can. Like, for instance, when they're playing the Bitch Sox.
Tonight, it must have made everyone in the Royals clubhouse feel really good when they scored seven runs in the first inning, and even better for them to score 11 runs in a game. And it's so nice for one of their much-harried pitchers (Brian Anderson, in this case) to get a shut out! I mean, has Jimmy "Gobble" Gobble ever gotten a shutout? It just makes you feel really good, on your insides, the parts that get all warm and happy every time the Bitch Sox are crushed by the worst team in the league the poor bedraggled Royals get to taste victory. It's hard to be the underdog, and even harder to be the dog that's been run over by a truck six or seven times but is still trying to limp his way home, until it gets hit by another truck, and then valiantly struggles to get himself up just one more time until some nasty kid comes around and kicks it—so, Kansas City Royals, we salute you!
Oh, and one more thing:
AL CENTRAL
| TEAM | W | L | PCT. | GB |
| Twins | 61 | 45 | .575 | -- |
| BitchSox | 54 | 50 | .519 | 6 |
Okay, so anyway—the Angels are embroiled in a pennant race of their own in the wikki-wikki-wild wild West, and were probably looking forward to coming to the AL Central to pick up some hot, hot wins. Well, they weren't counting on the Royals juggernaut! Or, for that matter, the Twins to be playing like some kind of championship ball team. So if the Angels are discomfited by losing a series to us, I can only comfort them by saying that we'll be facing the rest of the West soon, too.
Okay, okay, that's a lot of hubris, I know—it's just Batgirl had to write so many entries during the Sucking-Time about so very many losses in which the Twins sucked so very badly, and it was really trying, I mean it. I don't want to complain or anything, but the stress really wears on a Batgirl. Just how do you spin your team's 15th loss in a row to the freakin' Devil Rays in a way that keeps your beloved and sensitive readership from ripping out their collective livers? How do you preach to the Twins masses to keep the faith when you're ready to fall in front of the Metrodome and rend your Authentic MLB Player's Jersey? It's hard, I tell you, hard!
And dammit, allow me a little hubris. Just an itsy bitsy boo-boo. For we're 14-5 since the All-Star break, and 13 of our last 15, and we've gone from being 1/2 game back to six games up faster than a Jacque Jones at bat.
Amazingly, we've accomplished all this while still letting Kyle Lohse pitch. The Twins frantic search for someone to replace Terry Mulholland quickly became a frantic search for someone to replace young Kyle as he enacted a season-long Last Days of Pompeii on the mound. Things had gotten so bad that Batgirl had to have a little talk with our volatile friend.
It would be presumptuous to say the talk worked; Mr. Lohse had a fourth inning that was somewhat reminiscent of The Poseidon Adventure, with Rick Anderson in Gene Hackman's role. After the Twins gave him three runs in the bottom of the third, thanks to doubles from Corey Koskie and Shannon Stewart and a single from Rivas, Lohse responded by giving up three runs of his own. Vlad Guerrero led off with a homer, then about six guys hit singles and doubles, and the bases were loaded with just one out. Rick Anderson came out, grabbed Lohse's hands, and whispered, "Remember Batgirl."
And Kyle did. He got out of the inning with just three runs(!), then pitched the next three innings allowing just one baserunner. Oh, Kyle, how very last year!
Angels pitcher Ramon Ortiz didn't have as much luck, but he shouldn't feel bad. Justin Morneau hits the crap out of the ball all the time. Tonight, in the sixth, he parked it into the Vikings press box, hitting a Cambria employee in the elbow and severing his arm. Jacque Jones' homer two batters later was slightly more modest, falling just out of the reach of Jose "Aw, crap!" Guillen's glove. Still, due to the strange rules of baseball, since Torii Hunter was on base for Jones's homer Jacque was awarded two points for his shot, while poor Dr. Morneau only got one.
Regardless, the game could go a long way to give Kyle Lohse some confidence—or somehow it could freak him out even more before his next start. Some things are unknowable. All we can do is hold on to what we know is true. And let's look at that truth one more time, shall we?
AL CENTRAL
| TEAM | W | L | PCT. | GB |
| Twins | 61 | 45 | .575 | -- |
| BitchSox | 54 | 50 | .519 | 6 |
BatAlert: Thursday's game will be at noon.
Dear Shannon Stewart,
Batgirl hasn't given you nearly enough love. I mean, you're like a real professional baseball player. And every night, you go like 5 for 6. And other people may be all splashy with all their upper deck homeruns, and you come in and quietly get a hit every freakin' time you're at bat. You were 2 for 4 tonight, which I know is a little bit of an off night for you, but your first hit was a gorgeous double, scoring Luis Rivas and giving us the second run of the game. Plus, you look so damn good out there, and we haven't lost a single game since you came off the DL. And that, Shannon Stewart, makes you the Boyfriend of the Day.
Love,
Batgirl
Field/Readers 16, Corey/Jeb 11, Dougie/Goober 9, Sooz/Shannon 8, Joe/Batgirl 6.
From the :
Former Twin David Ortiz left a reminder of his visit with the Boston Red Sox over the weekend, in the form of an eye-black stripe around third baseman Corey Koskie's head and smudges on his face.Ortiz, who vowed revenge on Koskie for a spring 2002 prank in which Koskie put peanut butter in Ortiz's shorts, spread the black gunk inside the band of Koskie's cap before he and the Red Sox departed Sunday. Koskie did early work on the field and at least one interview before discovering the mess.
From the Strib:
A few people in the clubhouse confirmed Tuesday that Doug Mientkiewicz had arguments with Lew Ford and Justin Morneau during his final weeks as a Twin, and that Ford and Mientkiewicz had to be separated before their spat escalated. Ford declined to comment Tuesday, and Morneau and Mientkiewicz had a friendly chat Saturday after Mientkiewicz was traded to Boston.
Batgirl can't really even imagine that.
Anaheim at Twins. Twins 10, Angels 0.
Three months ago the Anaheim Angels came to town after the Twins had burned through April like General Sherman through Atlanta. The Twins had had the best record in the AL for much of that month, thanks to the replacement player stylins of Lew Ford, Jose Offerman, and Henry "Please Don't Hurt 'Em" Blanco.
Then it was time for us to get tested—Anaheim, Seattle, and Oakland were coming to party, AL West style. And the lowly Twins surely couldn't keep up.
Well, we didn't. In that series with the Angels, we lost two of three—both losses featured terrific performances by our starting pitchers that were utterly blown by a bullpen that had not yet discovered its Juan-derfulness. All was Bat-chaos after that; we lost a couple series, then seemed to recover, winning five in a row and then took series from the Blue Jays and the Bitch Sox—and then we didn't win another game for six weeks. Not one. And it wasn't as if we were losing to, like, real baseball teams. We lost to the Devil Rays of Tampa Bay, to the Royals of Kansas City, to the Beer Gogglers of Milwaukee, the Kitty Cats of Detroit, and, worst of all, to the Bitch Sox of ChiTown. Oh, the humanity!
I like to call it the "sucking-time." For there was so very, very, very much sucking—you could build the biggest vacuum in the whole wide world and it wouldn't suck as much as we sucked. I've written a song about it, sung to the Fox Sports Net game theme which goes:
Twins, they suck and suck and suck and suck
They can't hit the ball worth a flying crap!
It's real depressing watching the Twins suck
Soon Batgirl will rip out her own eyeballs!
Ahem.
Well, after a little post All-Star break lag, the sucking seems to be over, and the…what's the opposite of sucking? …Blowing?
Huh. How strange. You get the thing, and the thing's opposite, and they are the very same. We have come back to the beginning. The circle is unbroken. The ends have justified the means. It must mean something. Like the Twins being five games up.
Anyway, we're not sucking or blowing; in fact we've won 12 of our last 14 and are the second team in the AL to reach 60 wins. Much has been made of the Twins tough schedule in August, and like presidential candidate Johan Santana, I say bring 'em on. We want to win the division and compete in the postseason; we've got to beat these guys. So, come over Bitch Sox, Red Sox, Athletics, Rangers, and Yankees. Come on over to our house, and let's get this party started.
The Angels are here again, and I don't think anyone's intimidated (even people who probably should be) for the groove that had been lost has now been found. For we were shaking our groove-thing all over the field tonight; you could see it in the performance of Carlos Silva, who calmly put on 169 baserunners and just as calmly got them all out on double plays. You could see it in the smooth base-stealing jazz of Torii "I'm Like a Shadow" Hunter. (You can't catch him, Benjie Molina's Younger Brother, you can't even see him.) You could see it in the easy competence of our defense, turning double plays . And, oh my dears, you could see it in our bats. Boom! went Torii Hunter, Boom! went Corey Koskie, Boom! went Henry Blanco, Boom! went Justin Morneau. Plus Shannon "Please Be Careful" Stewart went 3 for 4 and Corey "Everything Hurts" Koskie took yet another one for the team.
And did I mention Carlos Silva? He got left out of the whole complete-game shutout orgy last month, but tonight he stood on the mound and said, "It is my turn, you know? For it is the turn which is mine!" And this wasn't some pansy-ass team like the Royals, this was a real freakin' team. And you know what? I think he just let all those guys get lead-off base hits just to show-off. I think he said to himself, "Self? Let's get a bunch of double plays today. That would be cool, you know?"
So we're just at the beginning of this spell against, you know, good teams (read: not AL Central) but it is not a time to fear, for we are the Minnesota Twins, we are hale and hearty, we are full of wholesomeness and team players, we are on a roll, our hitters are strong and our pitchers (mostly) are stronger, we have a great presidential candidate (have you voted for the VP?)--and we have Shannon Stewart and Justin Morneau, and you do not.
Breathe in the fresh air, my BatLings. Let your lungs fill with it, for it is August and the Minnesota Twins are here to play ball.
Dear Carlos Silva,
That was pretty awesome, that whole complete game shut-out thing. Especially since you did it while letting more runners on base than J. Lo has fiancés. But you were not fazed. You said, "I am Carlos the Jackal! I fear nothing!" You gave us hope that we might have a good #3 starter, which we really need what with Lohse pitching like a chimp on ritalin. Plus that postgame interview, while utterly incomprehensible, was the most adorable thing I've ever seen. So you, Carlos Silva, are the Boyfriend of the Day.
Love,
Batgirl
Batgirl has nominated Johan Santana for President...but who should be his running mate? BatLings, please vote! Voting is limited to once per day.
Polls will close Thursday after the game.
(And, no, I can't fix the big @#$@#$ white space between the entry and the poll. Please forgive the horrific visual offense.)
Dear readers,
As you know, last week Kris Benson came within a Kubel of being a Minnesota Twin. We can't help but wonder what the Benson family would have thought of Minnesota; after this interview with his wife, model and nympho Anna Benson in which she details quite a bit about their making whoopie. Would Kris and Anna find life kind of slow here in the Minni-apple? How would he fit in with his new teammates? Team Batgirl wonders:
KRIS BENSON: WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN
Scene 1: Outside the Metrodome. Shannon Stewart and Cordel Koskie are walking to their weekly gardening group.
Corey: Hey Stewie…
Shannon: Yeah?
Corey: You hear Kris Benson's coming?
Shannon: Yeah. Maybe he'll want to join the garden club?
Corey: Maybe. We should make him feel welcome. Do something nice for him.
Shannon: Yeah. It was so sweet when I came last year and you and Jacque took me to the humane society and helped me pick out Snookums.
Corey: Aw, Snookums. She's a good bunny. How is she?
Shannon: She sleeps next to me. It's really nice.
Corey: Awww…
Shannon: So, anyway, what's Benson into?
Corey: I don't know.
Shannon: We should find out!
Scene 2. Corey calls Matt LeCroy.
Matt: 'Sup?
Corey: Hey Matty.
Matt: Hey Cor. How was garden club?
Corey: Awesome. You should have seen Mrs. Wheedlebottom's begonias. They were just...well, the only word is splendiforous.
Matt: Oh, man. Sorry I couldn't make it; I had book club.
Corey: I know. Hey listen…Stewie and I were talking. You know how Kris Benson's coming? We thought we should do something really nice for him. You know, make him feel at home.
Matt: Man, Corey, that's so great. Sign me up!
Corey: Okay. Stewie and I are going to do some research. We'll call you back.
Matt: Oh, gosh, I can't wait!
Scene 3. Shannon and Corey at home.
Shannon: Looking away …Oh my gracious!
Corey: Biting his lip Well…that's different.
Shannon: Is that legal?
Corey: Well, they sure like the sex.
Shannon shakes his head and picks up the phone and dials
Shannon: Hey, Cor? Ummm…Well…
Corey: Say no more, my good man. I read all about it.
Shannon: Do you know anything about…stuff… like that?
Corey: …No, man. No.
Shannon: What are we gonna do? I don't think a pet bunny's going to cut it.
Corey: Getting an idea. …I'll call A.J. He'll know.
Shannon: Okay, dude. Call me back.
Corey picks up the phone and dials. He waits. AJ's voice mail picks up
Corey: Hey A.J. Um, we've got a situation here that requires your…expertise. Can you call me soon? Miss you! Hugs!
Scene 4: A few hours later. Corey calls Lecroy.
Corey: Hey, Matty?
Matt: What'd you find out?
Corey: Looks around. Well, um…. Stewie and I did some research, and…. He looks around again, then puts his hand over the receiver and whispers into it.
Matt: Mama LeCroy didn't raise no pervo!
Corey: I know, I know, but he's going to be our teammate. We have to do something. The Bensons are going to be here later today. I talked to A.J. He had a few, um, suggestions.
Matt: Sighing. Okay. I'll call in the troops.
Scene 5. Operation Welcome Kris, Stage 1. Cuddyer and Ford.
Cuddy: How long has Benson been in there?
Ford: Dunno.
Time passes.
Cuddy: So…you want to go in and look for him?
Ford: Shaking head frantically. Heck, no. You?
Cuddy: No!:
More time passes.
Cuddy: We're supposed to be making him feel welcome, you know.
Ford: He sure seemed welcome in there!
And still yet more.
Cuddy: What can we do?
Ford: Nothing is to be done.
Time. It passes.
Cuddy: You like gladiator movies?
Ford: What's wrong with you?
The passing of time
Cuddy: I feel weird.
Pass, the time does.
Cuddy: Should we go?
Ford: Yes, yes, let's go.
They do not move.
Scene 6. Operation Welcome Kris: Stage 2. Morneau and Jacque.
Jacque: Come on, Morneau, go in.
Justin: No!
Jacque: Benson's in there all by himself. Go welcome him!
Justin: No!
Jacque: Come on, you're a big leaguer now. Big leaguers go into the S&M stores.
Justin: No.
Jacque: They might not have S&M stores in Triple A, but here in the bigs, we're all about the leather.
Justin: No.
Jacque: I mean poor Krissy's in there all by himself. Don't you want to make him feel welcome?
Justin: No.
Jacque: Dougie woulda gone in.
Justin: Snapping. Fine! Fine! You go in!
Jacque: Hell, no!
Scene 7. Corey and Shannon on the phone.
Corey: Stewie, it's not going well. No one would go into Sexworld or AJ's leather shop. We tried to have a key party, but everyone just threw their keys into a big pile and then took them back again. AJ'll have to explain how that was supposed to work.
Stewie: Man! What's next on the list?
Corey: Um…hot tub party.
Stewie: You mean, all of us in one big hot tub?
Corey: That's what AJ says. I think.
Stewie: Okay, man. Sounds pretty weird to me. The guys won't like it.
Corey: I know, man. I know. I've already talked to them. They don't want to, but they're in. We gotta take one for the team.
Stewie: Okay. I'll call the gang.
Scene 8. All the Twins meet for a hot tub party.
Rincon: This is muey fun!
Hunter: Dude, we gotta do this all the time!
Corey: Hot tubs rule, eh?
Gordo: That's right, Corey Koskie. Touch 'em all!
Kris Benson: You guys are a pack of pervs.
Finis.
If anyone wants to write our erstwhile Twin and tell him thanks for the memories, the address is:
Doug Mientkiewicz
c/o Boston Red Sox,
4 Yawkey Way,
Boston, MA 02215
Ladies and Gentlemen, meet the July AL Pitcher of the Month.
Please note:
Pitchers receiving votes included Santana's teammates, closer Joe Nathan (0.00 ERA, 7 saves) and Terry Mulholland (3-0, 2.96 ERA); Toronto's Josh Towers (4-0, 2.60 ERA); and Anaheim's John Lackey (4-1, 3.06). Nathan has not allowed a run since June 6.
With the tragic loss of Dougie and the seeming retirement of Corey Koskie's peanut-butter-in-undies-manuever, the BatCommunity has been worried that the Twins clubhouse would suffer a practical joke mega-slump. But apparently, the spirit of David Ortiz is still alive. From the Strib:
After Saturday's game, Morneau and Juan Rincon moved Mauer's locker to Mientkiewicz's old corner space, and put a couch there, as a playful jab to Mauer's inactivity.
From the :
The Twins have been impressed by how Santana has scoffed at the Cy Young talk. Twins pitcher Terry Mulholland, a veteran of 18 big-league seasons and 10 teams, believes that Santana isn't affected by his billing as a rising star."He doesn't take himself too seriously," Mulholland said. "And I can say for a few guys who have won the award, they had no time to be bothered by anybody. He's having fun. He has a great saying every day: 'happy birthday.' He tells everybody happy birthday" when he walks into the clubhouse each day.
"If you think about it," Mulholland said, "when you wish somebody happy birthday, it makes them feel good — even if it's not their birthday."
Boston at Twins. Twins 4, Red Sox 3.
Forget Kerry/Edwards, forget Bush/Cheney, forget Nader/Camejo and yes, forget Picard/Riker. This year Batgirl will be writing in Johan K. Santana for President of the United States.
Could there be a better candidate? So what if he's not a citizen? Who cares if he's about ten years too young? Who needs the Constitution when you have a sweet change-up? Does Johan have a message? You bet he does; just listen to him every time a hitter whiffs. What's that you say Johan? "Ha! Sit down bitch?" Couldn't have said it better myself.
All we've heard this election year is the candidates fighting over who is more optimistic about America. You want optimistic? How about 173 strikeouts; that's frickin' optimistic. How about a .205 opponents' batting average, and an .095 average for July. How about allowing four hits or fewer in his last ten starts? How about two-hitting the BoSox today? Sure, those two hits were homers--but Johan's a uniter, not a divider.
And no one, I mean no one is more optimistic than Batgirl on a day Johan Santana is going to pitch. Pedro Martinez? Esteban Loaiza? Bring. Them. On. Carl Everett? Johnny Damon? Put 'em in a lockbox and throw away the key, for they'll be whiffing today. Indeed, Johan reached double digits in strikeouts again, with twelve. His challenger, Pedro Martinez, who's supposed to be all that, only had eleven. Come on, Pedro, aren't you even trying?
Our nation is having troubled times, and I ask you, who better to lead us than Santastic? He's strong on defense, tough on the Bitch Sox, fluent in Spanish, compassionate toward the less fortunate (LeCroy)—and he likes to promote summer reading. Luxembourg giving us trouble? Congress won't pass the health care bill? Step up against Supernatural and see what happens! Actually, I'll tell you what'll happen. Sit down, bitch—that's what'll happen.
Hope Is On The Way—Johan-style!
Of course, a good president needs a good team behind him; today I'd suggest Torii Hunter for Secretary of Defense for a home-run stealing catch in the 3rd, Corey Koskie for Dept. of Justice for knocking the ball loose from Jason Varitek's cold dead hands in the 2nd to tie the game at 1, Guzie as Secretary of Kick Ass for leading a double steal in the eighth, and of course Dr. Morneau as Surgeon General.
We faced some adversity today—those two homers for instance, and the whole Pedro Martinez thing. But adversity only makes us stronger, and without it, how can we prove our mettle? We overcame, gentle readers, we overcame. Our runs came through hard work and good old-fashioned Twins values—in the second, a double by Koskie followed by a LeCroy single followed by Koskie body-checking Jason Varitek into the Twins dugout. Then in the sixth, a Lew "Secretary of Education" Ford double followed by a Torii Hunter single. Then in the eighth, with the Twins behind 3-2 and Johan's win on the line came a Guzie hit, a Ford hit, that double steal, then Dr. Morneau came up and filibustered for a few pitches until—BAM! A fly ball to deep right. Guzie scores, Orlando "Not My Best Day" Cabrera fumbles the cut-off, and Ford casts the final vote for victory.
Yes, happy days are here again in Johan Santana's America. How could you not support a guy who led us to a series victory against the feared Red Sox? Oh, my friends, the dog days of August are here, we have great challenges ahead of us—but with the Johan Administration we will see it through, together.
(Of course, Johan's going to need a running mate, and I feel certain he'd want his veep to be a Twin, But, gentle readers, who?)
The Boyfriend of the Day competition may need some retooling, what with Batgirl's barely legal boyfriend seeing various specialists for the foreseeable future, and Goober's poor boyfriend traded to the BoSox. Many of you have asked what Goober will be doing now—I think he's in a period of shock and will really need some time to sort out his feelings, and look within his heart.
But for today, well, Batgirl's a little torn between Corey Koskie for slamming himself into Jason Varitek, Canadian-Style, Guzie for going 3 for 4 and leading that key double steal, or Dr. Morneau for working a 3-2 count and hitting such a massive sac fly that poor Orlando Cabrera lost his senses and thought he was back in Montreal.
What do you think?
Field/Readers 15, Corey/Jeb 10, Dougie/Goober 9, Sooz/Shannon 7, Joe/Batgirl 6.
