Twins at Detroit. Weekend Round-Up.
Friday. Tigers 9, Twins 0.
Saturday. Tigers 750, Twins 1.
Sunday. Tigers 6, Twins 0.
A small contingent of Twins players and coaches was gathered outside the clubhouse bathroom before today's game, whispering to each other and glancing at the closed door nervously.
"You try," hissed Rick Anderson to Steve Liddle.
"What do I say?" asked Liddle, wide-eyed.
"I don't know," said Andy. "Anything."
Casting a glance around him for support, Liddle approached the bathroom door and knocked gently. "Kyle? Kyle, are you in there?"
No answer.
"Kyle," Liddle said, knocking again, "it's Steve. Will you answer me?"
From the other side of the door, a voice emerged. "I'm not going out there!"
"Come on, Kyle," said Liddle. "You can do this!"
"No, I can't!"
Liddle sighed. "He's not coming out," he said to the crowd.
"Offer him a cookie," whispered Lew Ford.
"Lew has a cookie for you, Kyle!" said Liddle.
"I don't wanna cookie!" yelled Lohse.
Little Nicky Punto and Luis Castillo joined the fray. "What's going on?" asked LNP.
"Lohse's locked himself in so he doesn't have to pitch to the Tigers," said Anderson with a sigh.
"I don't blame him," muttered Castillo. His eyes traveled unwittingly to the corner of the clubhouse where Carlos Silva and Brad Radke were huddled together, holding each other and weeping softly.
"Did you offer him a cookie?" asked LNP.
"Yeah. It didn't work."
Punto's eyes grew wide. "He doesn't want a cookie?"
"He can have my lucky rabbit's foot," said Rondell White, joining the group. "I take it with me wherever I go."
A moment of silence.
"Uh….that's okay, Rondell," said Anderson.
"What are we going to do?" moaned Liddle. "Game time's in ten minutes."
Anderson sighed. "If he doesn't come out, someone else is going to have to pitch. Where's Guerrier?"
From the back of the room came a high-pitched scream, then the sound of a pair of feet running out of the clubhouse door, down the hallway, into the parking lot, and towards Lake Michigan.
"Kyle!" said Liddle, pounding on the door. "You come out here right now and take it like a man!"
"I donwanna!" yelled Lohse. "You can't make me!"
"I have to pee," said Little Nicky. "Kyle, let me in, I have to pee!"
"Kyle," said Liddle warningly. "Nicky has to pee."
"I don't care!"
"I'll take care of this," muttered Wayne Hattaway."Get out of my way!" And as the Twins scattered, Hattaway launched a flying side kick at the door. The door fell off its hinges and Hattaway strode towards Lohse, picked up, slung him over his shoulder, and stalked out of the clubhouse toward the field, Lohse screaming the whole way.
The coaches exchanged glances.
"There he goes," said Andy with a sigh as they watched him go. "I sure hate to do this to the poor kid."
"Oh, it'll be okay," said Liddle. "How bad can it be?"
Twins at Kansas City. Twins 7, Royals 3.
This entry sponsored by:
Ow.
My neck.
Is it going to be like this all year? I just want to know. I'm not going to be angry, really I'm not. I just want to be prepared. To take precautions. If we're going to be absolutely horrible one series and play like a professional baseball team the next, if we're going to only manage one run against El Fatto del Triple A one game and then score seven runs the next, I'd just like a little heads-up, that's all. It's not too much to ask, after all Batgirl has given. That way, she knows—oh, okay, we're going to be incredibly inconsistent all season and just when you're ready to write us off we're going to redeemify ourselves and just when we redeemify ourselves and it looks like we're getting it together we're going to make Batgirl fall into a black hole of despair such that she will never see the sun's beautiful beams again? Great. Thank you!
Hey, Twins, you know what would be cool? I mean, if you guys really wanted to establish yourself as crazily inconsistent? Really make your mark and let everyone know you have more personalities than Sybil? Finishing the month at .500. That would be COOL. Because, frankly, the schedule has been a little grueling and, frankly, Mr. Johan Santana is never quite himself in April, and Batgirl has often said to herself, "Self, if we can finish April at .500 I'll be really happy." And everyone wants to make Batgirl really happy, right? Of course to finish at .500 we'd have to sweep the Tigers, and to sweep the Tigers we would have needed to be swept by the Royals and if we had been swept by the Royals, Batgirl would be no longer with us in the "sane" sense and perhaps even the "alive" sense on account of the major stress-induced aneurysm, so, you know, it was nice to have dreams and all of that.
At the very least we can all take some time to thank all the gods of baseball that we're not the Kansas City Royals. Because just when you're talking about how incredibly bad at Base Ball we are, then you see the Royals play hot potato with the ball for a few innings and you realize how very lucky you are. I mean, we might not be able to hit worth a crap, and lately we can't really pitch either, but at least we know how to catch the baseball. Did you listen to the game today? Every time the a Royal let a ball through his legs or dropped it out of his glove or threw it nine feet over someone's head a little piece of Dazzle died inside. It hurt him. It hurt his soul. What's that saying? I thought I had trouble until I met a man with no shoes, and then I met a man with no legs, and then I met a Kansas City Royal. Something like that.
The point is, it's games like this that make us stop and count our blessings, including Blessing #1, Johan K. Santana. Because he struck out ten today and seems to be finding his form, and that, my friends, is worth a little whiplash.
BatNote Come see Batgirl's close personal friend at Birchbark Books in Minneapolis on Saturday at 2:00.
Oh, hell, I don't know. Being a BODSHC isn't all glory, you know, all huzzahs and hosannahs. There's real work involved. And stress, too, you can't imagine the stress. Like today. BG was all set to give it to Johan, who is the boyfriend of every day, but his eighth inning got a little wobbly. And then there's Castillo for his 2 RBIs and a great day at the plate. And then there's the Royal defense for doing the things they do so well. This was a game where everyone did well (except maybe Little Nicky, but it's hard to be a tiny superhero every day. And so Batgirl begins at the beginning, a very good place to start, and finds at the top of the order Shannon Stewart, at 3 for 4 with a walk, one run, and no one left on base. And things have been hard, they really have, and that whole getting-on-base-four-times-in-a-game and not-leaving-anyone-on and all are behaviors BG wants to reward, plus he just had a baby, plus Sooz is getting kind of cranky with Batgirl and no one wants that, and that makes Shannon Stewart the Boyfriend of the Day.
Batbaby/Torii: 3; Readers/The Field: 3; Goober/Justin: 1; Jeb/Lewwww 1, Sooz/Stewie 1, Batgirl/JoeJoe 0
Twins at Kansas City. Royals 3, Twins 1.
It was in the sixth inning that the music began to play.
Dee doo doo doo, dee doot doot doo,
On the mound, Scott Baker turned white as a sheet.
"Oh, no," he muttered. Baker looked right and left. No one else had seemed to notice a thing. Maybe he hadn't—
Dee doot doo doo doo doot doot.
He had. Baker surreptitiously looked down, and hissed, "Not now!"
Dee doo doo doo, dee doot doot doo,
"Hey, Scottie," called Justin Morneau from his post at first base. "Why are you talking to your crotch?"
Dee doo doo—dee de doot doot doot!
"Oh, crap!" whispered Baker, as his pants burst open and the opening credits began to roll:
He was born inside Scott Baker's pants one day,
He came on out to see what was up.
Now he floats around and has a lot to say,
He's Nutty--the athletic cup!
Yes, Nutty had come out once again, and was ready to spread his own special brand of joy and love throughout the world. "Hi boys and girls!" he exclaimed as he floated near Scott Baker's head. "I'm Nutty, The Athletic Cup!"
Joe Mauer quickly called time and rushed toward the mound, the home plate ump close behind.
"Not now, Nutty!" said Baker through gritted teeth. "I'm pitching!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Scott Baker!" enthused Nutty. "It's always a good time for Nutty, the Protective Cup! Boys and girls, do you know what a slider is? Here, Scott," said Nutty, floating into Baker's hands, "show them a slider grip!"
"I'm not going to do that, Nutty!"
"You're no fun, Scott Baker!" said Nutty. "Hey, Joe Mauer, will you show the boys and girls a slider grip?"
"Man," said Mauer, "I'm not touching your cup!"
"Fine Joe Mauer!" sniffed Nutty. "Be that way! You should know it's not a good idea to piss off a protective cup!" He glared pointedly at Mauer's crotch.
"Young man," said the ump, "can't you get your athletic cup under control?"
"No!" exclaimed Baker. "If I could he wouldn't come bursting out of my pants like this!"
"Bursting out of your pants with love, Scott Baker! I just want to spread my message of happiness and baseball to children all across the world. How about a change-up, Joe Mauer! Show the kids a change-up!"
"How the hell did this happen?" asked the ump.
"I don't know," said Baker. "I was at practice one day and he just came out and starting talking to me. Now he won't leave me alone. It's horrible, horrible!"
"That's right Scott Baker!" exclaimed Nutty cheerfully. "I'm your best friend!" He cleared his throat and began to sing in his high voice:
[To hear Nutty's melody click here! Now, you can sing along with Nutty!]
I was born inside Scott Baker's pants one day,
I came on out to see what was up.
Now I float around and have a lot to say,
I'm Nutty—the athletic cup.
"Look," said the umpire turning to Baker, "either you put that cup back in your pants or I'm going to boot you out of this game."
"Boot Scott Baker?" exclaimed Nutty. "How could you, Umpire! He's my friend! You're mean and I hate you!" Nutty whirled around and whizzed over to home plate.
"No, Nutty!" called Baker, "Don't!"
"It's okay, Scott Baker!" called Nutty. "I'm here to protect you!"
And with that, Nutty turned again and flew directly into the ump's crotch while Scott Baker put his head in his hands and began to weep softly.
From the bench, the other Twins watched, wide-eyed. "Wow, that cup is crazy," said Ruben "Reuben" Sierra.
"I guess that's why they call him Nutty," said Little Nicky Punto, shaking his head.
Rondell White turned to him and blinked. "Well," he said. "Not really."
Twins at Kansas City. Twins 2, Royals 1.
First thing's first:
M-I-E-N-T-K-I-E-W-I-C-Z
Ahhhhhhhh.
That's better.
At Batgirl's two week retreat she learned to take pleasure in the simple things. A child's smile. The smell of a spring flower. That rash clearing up. It helped her, it did, because when the Twins have runners on first and third in the seventh with no outs in a one-run game and fail to score, it's important to remember the smell of a child's rash. Batgirl learned that. She also learned to accept the things she cannot change and the strength to change the things she can and the wisdom to know the difference.
The truth is, Batgirl wasn't so happy about going on her retreat. She walked into the BatQuarters one night and Goober was there, and Jeb, and Sooz and the BatKitties Three, and they all said things to her, hurtful things, even the BatBaby who has drinking problems of her own let me tell you, and then there was this cab waiting for her and they threw her in by the scruff of her neck. But first she had to go to the dentist because she activated her TMJ on some Big League Chew and the dentist wouldn't give her Novocain because of her Ambiorix habit, and he drilled a hole in her jaw and it hurt like a Jim Thome homer, I tell you what. Then Batgirl went right to the airport and boarded the plane covered in blood and saliva and Batkitty hairball and Big League Chew, which is really hard to get out of your hair if you fall asleep chewing on it, and BatMom says use peanut butter but she says that about everything, and meanwhile Batgirl's bleeding all over her seat, and the flight attendants gave her the stink eye and someone whispered that she must be a Bitch Sox fan, and it hurt, it did, but not as badly as that whole dental procedure without Novacain and that just ain't right, is it? I mean just because Batgirl's got a little bit of a problem she has rights, too, she has rights to painkillers and whatever else it takes to numb the pain of daily existence because have you seen our team ERA? Batgirl can't even count that high when she's sober. Which she is now. Totally.
But that was just the physical journey, and as Batgirl learned the last two weeks it's the spiritual journey that counts. It's appreciating the present moment. Breathe in and out. I am one with the me. I am awake and aware. I am me living this moment conscious all the time that I am me being awake and aware of how the Twins do not know how to play Base Ball. It is so much better this way because Batgirl was heading for trouble, I mean there was that one time when she got totally hopped up on Happy Happy Fun Drink and ran the cop down with her BatPrius and had to spend three months in prison and prison will rip apart your soul, you know, it will take it out of your chest and chew it up and spit it out and stomp on it and turn it into BatKitty litter and BatKitty #1 is having digestive issues if you get my meaning—in other words prison is almost as bad as watching last week's games. But that was then, this is now, and Batgirl is all about positive self-affirmations and visualizing success and T-Fat handles a mean wet baseball and Lew Ford runs his little heart out and Ruben "Reuben" Sierra does what he's supposed to do because he is a "professional baseball player" and Little Nicky Punto goes wee wee wee all the way home and there's nothing pretty about it but we win and it is as if a million little pieces come together and Batgirl breathes in and out and, for tonight, is at peace.
A huge belated BatThankYou to RD for filling in so wonderfully during Batgirl's "rest."
A little hustle is all it takes sometimes. If we can't get actual hits we can at least wish ourselves from base to base. And sometimes that's enough, sometimes all it takes is closing your eyes tight and scrunching up your face and whispering I think I can, I think I can and next thing you know you've legged out a grounder. And then there's a passed ball and you run some more and a base hit and you keep running and choo choo choo your way all the way home and that's why the BODSHC choo-choo-chooses, you, Lew Fordwalker, as the Boyfriend of the Day.
Batbaby/Torii: 3; Readers/The Field: 3; Goober/Justin: 1; Jeb/Lewwww 1, Batgirl/JoeJoe 0
Many thousands of feet above Peoria, Illinois, Rick Anderson came upon Tony Batista at the back of the Twins' charter.
"Um, T-Fat? You know we had a...pretty rough weekend. Why do have a such a happy look on your face?"
Batista raised his eyebrows. "With all due respect, Coach, I do not believe that my 'look' is either happy or unhappy. I am merely expressing the serenity that comes from the practice of mental discipline combined with a strict physical regimen."
Carlos Silva overheard the two of them talking. "Andy, are you asking T-Fat why he's taking all this so calmly?"
"Oh Carlos," said T-Fat, "it is worse than fruitless to become angry. Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment."
"Huh?"
By now a number of Twins had joined them, gathering close to hear Batista's words.
"But aren't you just a little mad?" asked Joe Mauer.
"Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one getting burned. So said my teacher."
"Your teacher?" squeaked Little Nicky Punto.
"When I went to Japan, I was volatile, consumed by my passions like many of you. Until, one day, returning to my hotel room after a what I used to call a 'rough night' at the plate, I tripped over a monk in the street."
"'I believe that you are angry and frustrated,' the monk said to me, rising, 'We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make our world.'
I couldn't understand what he was saying, either. 'All I know, old man,' I said, 'is that I made three strikeouts tonight. Can I get a hit every time just by thinking about it?'
'No, kohei, but you can learn to subdue yourself and thereby achieve inner peace.'
I'm ashamed to say that I kicked him in the nads...The next night, after another awful game, I was walking down the street seething in anger and I saw him again.
'Detach from your anger,' said the old man, limping slightly.
Again, I laughed. But the next night I had another horrible night and my team got swept by the evil Yokohama BitchStars. I was pulling my hair out as I walked back to the hotel that night and saw the same old man with the freaky eyes. By then I was ready to listen to anything.
'Okay, sir, tell me what you know,' I said.
''Weakness prevails over strength. Gentleness conquers. Become the calm and restful breeze that tames the violent sea.'
'Become the sea? Tame the breeze...huh?'
Oh, just come to my Shaolin temple and I'll show you the way.'"
"Sweet!" interrupted Lew Ford.
"Yes it was, sweet, Lew..." said T-Fat. "Sweet with the awakening of awareness."
"Huh?"
"Just watch my flashback."
"How am I to become a great baseball player when you've made me take a vow of poverty and live in this monastery?"
"Health, contentment, and trust are your greatest possessions...a fancy new stadium won't necessarily make you win--look at the Diamondbacks; plus, you could use losing an inch or two around the waist."
"Why must I trim this plant, Master?"
"It's a tree, kohei, and you must learn the patience of a man who sees a tree grow...a baseball season is very long."
"Why must I make flower arrangements, master?"
"Because some series are just never going to go your way and you have to take refuge in the world's simple beauty--even knowing that it is transitory. Plus, did you know that samurai used to practice flower arrangment? It's true, look it up."
Back on the Twins plane, the players listened wide-eyed.
"Wow," said Lew Ford, "did you have to fight some ninja or something, then?"
"No, I maimed the Emperor's son with my pruning sheers and had to flee for America. I then wandered from adventure to adventure."
"Oh!" squeeked Lew, "And like the guy said, 'if you have a problem, and no one else can help, then maybe you can hire...'"
"No, that's the A-Team."
So, like, did anyone else see Natalie Portman on Saturday Night Live? A raging talent, if you ask RD, especially when she did the "Day in the Life of Natalie Portman." Great white-girl gangsta stuff. In a world in which objectification is becoming more the norm, it's nice to see her break out of the Stefani/Fergie/Pussycat Dolls mold. RD closed his eyes, thought back to his childhood and imagined Joan Jett and Nancy Spungen rolled into one and spit out on Extreme Gangsta Girl Makeover, 2006.
Speaking of makeovers, Sweet-n-Sassy has been commenting lately on Marney Gellner's propensity for pastel sweater sets. S-n-S had been notcing that Marney was buttoning them all the way to the top, which she thought was kind of a diminishing look. Well, as if they were communicating through thin air, Marney went with the baby blue sweater during the studio shots on FSN Saturday night -- and the top 2 buttons were undone. Amazing. Yo, Marney, the peach sweater doesn't work with your skin tone. Just our opinion here.
The Kentucky Derby is coming up in two weeks and the best way to play, according to RD, is to look for some value for that $2 wager. To that end, RD likes the one of the three horses in this year's probable Bob Baffert contingent -- Sinister Minister. He smoked the Blue Grass Stakes field by 12 3/4 lengths last weekend and provides a good alternive to the short-money picks Brother Derek and Lawyer Ron. If you want to know more, RD warns NOT to merely Google cuz you'll find some weird stuff. Add a to the search you'll get where you want to be.
Saw in the Star Tribune on Sunday that Minnesota is not a good state in which to need emergency care for mental illness. There's a good chance there's not going to be room at the first hospital you try, and there's more than a passing chance that you're going to end up in Brainerd or Willmar or Hutchinson. Memo to lawmakers and hospital officials: RD knows that a head is just as important to mend as an arm and a leg. You should too.
Baseball? Was there baseball this weekend? Don't know about that. Every time RD looked at the TV, some guy named Thome or Konerko or Uribe or Dye or Anderson or Crede was slowly circling the bases or some guy named Radke or Silva or Rincon or Crain walking slowly off the mound with that "Dead-Man Pitching" look on his face. RD decided it was a fine weekend to catch up on the Copa Libertadores on Fox Sports Espanol. Vamos, Atletico Nacional!
...here are some places to go until Sunday night's series recap. Enjoy the weekend.
Southsidesox -- a comprehensive White Sox blog, more than a lot of people want to know about the enemy, but...
Yo, Cordel -- If you wanna know what Corey Koskie's up to these days, go here.
Who is Charlotte Mielswetzski? -- Need a book for a young reader? Or an older reader? This one's Batgirl approved!
Barry Bonds before and after -- A link to an interesting opinion piece about Bonds, but even better for the side-by-sode photos.
Baseball in Iraq -- Yes, it's there. No, this isn't a story about baseball bringing peace to a troubled land. Just an interesting read.
A statistic from today to ponder:
New 2006 Twins: 12 at-bats, 8 hits, 4 RBI, .667 avg
Holdover Twins: 23 at-bats, 1 hit, 0 RBI, .043 avg.
OK, that's enough with statistics. You can do too much with 'em. Already, I've heard a couple of announcers and talking heads talk about some player being on such-and-such a pace. Pace, in baseball, is nothing but a cheap salsa served in the clubhouses that can't afford the good stuff. Torii Hunter isn't gonna continue striking out at this pace, and Rondell White is likely to get more than 7 hits every 15 games. Well, he better.
The first 15 games offer RD equal measure of hope and caution.
Hope: The middle infield play of The C-Bees (Castillo and Castro), both for their defense and their bats. Playing defense as he does, Castro is still valuable if he hits .250; Castillo wields the club in Carew-like fashion. There's the argument that he should be batting leadoff, but the No. 2 hitter needs a wider range of skills and Castillo has the whole toolkit. Stay healthy, pal.
Hope: Lewwwwwwwww looooooooooks gooooooooooooooooood with he doesn't play blond. He's the best fielding of the right-field posse and doesn't have much pressure in the eighth spot. And with Kubel at Rochester getting his swings (not to mention Cuddyer and Sierra on the bench) the last thing Lewwwwww cannnnnn doooooooo is get complacent.
Hope: BooBerry is throwin' the PooBerry outta the ball and has returned to the set-up role.
Hope: T-Phat! is a better defensive player than we wanted to admit, and anything above .250 at the plate is a bonus as long as he bangs homers and doesn't have too many terrible at-bats.
Hope: Liriano and Baker. They're gonna struggle at times and one of the things TR was wise to tell me during a chance winter meeting was that there's a difference between going through an opponent's batting order once and going through it a third time. So we can't assume that his dominant relief stints will translate immediately into the rotation. But a solid bullpen would take off the pressure for him to go more than 5 or 6 innings.
Hope: Torii looks healthy, Shannon's arm is just mediocre and not impaired, the new guys have contributed to better chemistry, Morneau has been anywhere from serviceable to good, The Chairman is the Chairman.
Caution: Jesse Crain can't keep blowin' up and expect to be a key member of the bullpen. RD wondered why Gardy turned to him for a third inning when he could have asked Liriano and Rincon to handle a few batters apiece. On the other hand, RD's still wondering how Boo will do in consecutive games.
Caution: Lohse and Radke are scary weak so far. RD trusts that Radke will do the .500 thing, but Lohse ..... don't get me started.
Caution: There are a lot more good at-bats through the lineup in a typical game, but Torii and JustIncredible sometimes seem to slide into their '05 habits and give away too many swings. In addition to the hitting braintrust of Vavra/Oliva/Carew, RD hopes the veteran bats (Sierra, Castillo, T-Phat!, Stewart) can offer wise counsel.
Caution: RD hopes Torii's ankle and Castillo's leg are at least 90 percent.
There are others, but this is lookin' too much like a baseball blog, which is the unfortunate result of following today's game on a computer screen at work. RD's use of the minimize button is like a Santana pickoff move, by the way! But it's hard to work up much sass or emotion when you're reduced to blips on a monitor.
Getting through the weekend with 2 outta 3 would mean a 9-9 record through a nasty opening stretch ... with the next stretch against the Royals, Tigers and Mariners. That would be OK.
This was the first game of the season during which ol' RD found himself cursin' and mutterin' and stutterin' and stammerin' and cursin' s'more. He fussed and he cussed when JustIncredible fouled out with the bases loaded and none out in the ninth and again when T-Phat! struck out on three pitches and again when Lewwwwwwwww went from 2-and-0 to 2-and-2 ... and then he tried to take all them dirty words back when Lewwwwwww drewwwwwww that walk to tie the game at 10. (That's 10-10 and 10 o'clock.)
And then RD knew everything was gonna be all right. All it took was hearing, "Number 33, J.C. Romero, now pitching for the Angels."
Tie game, 10th inning, top of the order coming up. Geezola, game over! The only question to be answered was, "Who's the hero gonna be?"
Shannon Stewart struck out and cussed the called third strike so vividly that a blind man could lipread and Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuis Castilllllllllllllo walked.
And then Romero must have forgotten that stealing bases is legal in the major leagues because he seemed not to pay a whit of attention to Castillo, who stole second and took third when the Birthday Boy grounded out.
At that point, RD turned to Sweet-N-Sassy and said with a straight face, knowing that LNPunto was the scheduled hitter, "I think Gardy's gonna pinch-hit Rondell, don't you?"
RD will check his bruised ribs in the morning.
And he'll ask himself whether S-n-S bruised those ribs in response to his question ... or whether they were bruised when he jumped KG-high when Michael Cuddyer, Twin-in-exile, thumped JC's lame offering over the wall for the game-winning homer ... or whether they were bruised by laughing so hard at the Angels defense ... or whether they were bruised in an act of self-flagellation for thinking that Kyle Lohse had grown up and turned a corner after that last start against Oakland.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me 20 times, I must be stewwwwwpid.
Yes, it would be nice to do nothing but celebrate, celebrate, celebrate tonight, but RD needs to take a stand: GROW UP, KYLE! The tantrum/pout/sullen boy routine you pulled after your truncated night's work (8 earned runs, 7 hits 3 1/3 innings) was worthy of the rec-ballers RD used to coach in his youth basketball days. But those were 3d and 4th graders and, if things got bad enough, CoachRD could always have a talk with their parents.
You should know better. Nothing you did in your little dugout demonstration was anything more than a big, fat pity-party. You turned a 4-2 lead into an 8-4 deficit with fat pitches and bad command. Maybe this is a bit ol' fashioned, but RD thinks you should have sucked it up, patted some teammates on the a$$ when they came into the dugout at the end of that inning and led cheers for the rest of the night. At the very least, if you were gonna act out, you should have gone into the clubhouse and broken something.
Or, after last season, don't they allow you in the clubhouse unescorted?
Now, back to feeling good. It's so cool to see a team build chemistry by picking up for comrades who don't come through. RD'll bet you his Canterbury fund that the '05Twins would have melted after Justin and T-Phat! didn't come through in the bottom of the ninth. But Lewwwwwwwwwww came through in the way that JustIncredible did on Saturday night against Rivera and the Yankees. Another top closer, another blown save.
And wasn't that a sweet two-out rally in the sixth that brought the score from 9-4 to 9-8? And wasn't it sweet after Francisco Liriano, a/k/a Dominican Thunder, actually gave up a run, to see S. Cheeks Hunter get it back with a homer in the bottom of the inning? And wasn't it sweet to see WillieEyre, PosseLatino and the Vice President hold the Angels to 1 run after the Kyle/Guerrier implosion?
A win today and it's a 7-2 homestand heading into Chicago for three against the Bitch Sox. RD ain't looking past Thursday's game, but El Presidente against Buerhle on Friday night sounds like a reason to stay home.
For now, though, RD needs Advil. His ribs hurt kinda good.
It’s terrible when Batgirl is gone. The Batquarters are never quite the same without her. …Well, they’re not even remotely the same. Goober, Sooz, and I sort of let the place go. …Actually, we tend to go on cake and pizza-eating binges until the money she’s left us runs out. Then, we each start hording what we can find in the cupboards until finally we wrestle over the last few cheetos and a can of midget peas.
But that’s not the problem tonight. Tonight the problem is that I’ve been left wearing the mantle of Boyfriend of the Day Supreme High Comandress. (It’s actually quite a fetching mantle…“I feel charming, oh so charming!”) And the problem with being BODSHC is that you have to, uh, pick the Boyfriend of the Day. It’s hard work.
You need to identify the player who most contributed to the Twins’ victory. If I go by that criterion, I could select Vlad Guerrero who failed to catch a looping hit to right field, allowing a run to score in the Twins’ big 4-run sixth inning.
But you’re really not supposed to give the B.O.D. to an opposing player.
Team Batgirl’s Boyfriends are supposed to be given first consideration, so I could give the B.O.D. to Lew Ford for the RBI he earned during the Twins’ sixth inning rally and, more importantly, for using his Jedi calm to call forth a game-tying walk in the ninth inning.
But can you really invest someone with the B.O.D. for getting a walk?
Maybe, but not on a night when a certain D.J. Cuddles strode to the plate, drew upon the awesome power of his stupendous dimples, and sent the ball hurtling towards a blue wall of collapsed plastic chairs for the victory. The sound of the impact reverberated throughout the Batquarters located just behind the right field wall, waking Batbaby (unless it was the cheetos tossed in the air in celebration that did it).
Batbaby/Torii: 3; Readers/The Field: 3; Goober/Justin: 1; Everybody Else: 0.
10. Could have lost 8-2 to the Royals.
9. Lewwwww could have gotten thrown out at third on his steal attempt after he blew the sign and got Castro nailed.
8. J-Ro could have gotten the save instead of being only a bit player.
7. S. Cheeks Hunter and Stewart could have smashed into each other on that fly ball instead of letting it drop between 'em.
6. Luis Rivas could have been our starting second baseman.
5. Luis Rivas could have gone 4-for-5 for the Angels.
4. T-Phat! could have batted cleanup. Oh, $#!], he did!
3. The Twins could be undefeated in Pixie Vests instead of 1-1.
2. could be pitching (for the Twins) tomorrow.
1. Rondell (The Other) White (Meat) could have gone hitless.
Because he cares, an RD update: Click on DougieDefence for a trip to the KC Royals web page, where you can find several Doug Mientkiewicz surprises in the slideshow on the main part of the page.
Because this could never possibly get old...
(Somewhere, recovering from her Grandstand Grill crisis, Batgirl sends k-bro a darn lot of proper respect for the pics.)
RD was thinking about the Twins of '05 and suddenly, on his shoulder, appeared ol' Dewey Missum, wanting to know what RD was thinking about the guys who didn't make the leap from '05 to '06. Dewey Missum sometimes shows up on days when the Twins are idle and he can get a guy thinking about the past.
In the spirit of that conversation, RD decided it would be kinda fun to pose the question that comes so naturally to his pal. "Do we miss them?" Dewey Missum asked ol' RD.
"Well," RD replied, "some more than others."
"Do tell," Dewey Missum said.
Jacque Jones -- Kinda miss him. Don't miss the feeble at-bats against lefties and the way he never quite figured out how to get into position to throw from right field, the way Lewwwww did against the yankees on Friday night. Miss him because he was a good guy and S. Cheeks' bud, not because of what he could be contributing. And, heck, I can always watch him on WGN.
Matthew Lecroy -- Sorta miss him. A nice bench player but dangerous if he needs to be in the lineup too often. He looked good in the Washington tri-colors.
Luis Rivas -- Don't miss him at all. So many chances, so little to show for it. I'd rather have Castillo, Rodriguez, Punto or Boone out there. Well, 3 outta 4, anyway.
Bret Boone -- Hahahahahahahahahahahaha! Falling off the bar stool hahahahahahahahaha!
Jason Bartlett -- Sorta miss him. Yeah, RD pines for him a bit, but concedes that Castro is doing what needs to be done at shortstop, and it wouldn't do anyone any good to bring up Bartlett to sit him on the bench.
Michael Ryan -- Don't miss him whatsoever. When Ryan's on your roster, then you're not really a playoff team.
Corky (Corky) Miller -- Miss him as much as RD can miss a guy who didn't get a hit last season.
J.C. Romero -- Really miss the JC of '03, don't miss the JC of '04 and '05. It's too bad that, every now and again, JC didn't realize that he wasn't the smartest guy in the room.
Joe Mays -- Don't miss him. Just watched the Bitch Sox' Konerko take him deep a few minutes ago and RD is trying to figure out who's taking responsibility in the Royals' front office for signing the guy.
Terry Mulholland -- Kinda miss him, just because it was cool to have a guy who hit 83 on the gun when he was throwing the patooey outta the ball. Good hair and diet.
Al Newman -- Really miss him. RD's still bummed that Newmie and Gardy couldn't work things out, but that's the way stuff goes sometimes. Bad hair and diet.
And from days gone by...
Henry Blanco -- Sorta miss him for the role he filled in '04 when The Chairman couldn't play. But in the big poicture he's a .200 hitter with a greta glove. I'd miss Mike Redmond more.
Doug Mientkiewicz -- Miss him so much. Dang, he should be playing first base so that JustIncredible could be languishing in the minors awaiting his chance. Yup, a .280, slap hitting first baseman. Just what every team needs, don'cha think? Trading him to Boston probably ruined his shot at being a first-ballot Hall of Famer.
Corey Koskie -- Miss him enough that I'd love to see him on the bench, backing up at third, JustIncredible at first, getting some licks as a DH and breaking chairs at opportune times.
Torii Hunter -- Really mi... Oh, wait, he's still here.
Anyone else wanna pick an ex-Twin or three and tell Dewey Missum what'cha think?
Whimsically speaking, there's a valid reason the Twins didn't sweep the Yankees. Look at the back of your ticket and check out the list of prohibited items. They don't want guns at the Metrodome, which makes sense, and you're not supposed to bring in your own likker, oversized bags and laser pointers.
And also on the list of prohibited items, right there between projectiles and balloons, is BROOMS. There are no BROOMS allowed at the Dome, and it makes you wonder how in Swiffer's name are the guys supposed to sweep the Yankees if we can't bring in brooms. Someone thought to bring one because there was a nice angled floorsweeper sitting in the trash outside Gate F a few minutes before the first pitch.
OK, that being said, Bradke had to friggin' know that he wasn't gonna get the kind of run support that he's gotten in those starts against the Jays and A's, and that six runs in six innings doesn't pass for "getting in trouble early and then shutting 'em down."
And Rondell? Calling Rondell (The Other) White (Meat)! Stop it right now. We took a vote after the game and it was a unanimous verdict among RD, Sweet-n-Sassy and the Sassyettes that you should spend the off day on Monday in the batting cages at Grand Slam in Eagan. Set the speed real slow to start out and then work your way up to major-league speed. Pretend the mechanical arm in Bradke ... or some guy you owned in high school back in Georgia. This is getting ridiculous. It was kinda cool to say that our guys had won 5 straight and could afford to have you swing your way out of this morassic malaise. WAS is the operative word here. Four more at-bats, three more strikeouts, four hits for the whole season. And don't even think about using the excuse that you stunk today because Hoobastank was in the house.
That being said, Twins life certainly looks better on Easter than it did on Palm Sunday. Ruben Sierra will be in uniform on Tuesday and RD is hoping that Gardy hangs out around the go-karts over at Grand Slam, quietly eyeing work in the batting cage. Gardy, if you don't like what you see, there's a 40-year-old hitter coming your way. Can it be any worse?
So, like, what's up with Rondell (the Other) White (Meat)? I mean, yeah, he got a hit tonight but no designated hitter, no major-league batter for that matter, is supposed to have 0 as the first number in his batting average.
And this thing? Gardy got a good inning out of him Friday night with a 4-run lead and then he goes with him in a clutch situation tonight. Then -- Wham! Bam! Slam! -- a 4-2 lead becomes a 5-4 deficit and Posse Latino needed to take over the mound to keep things from getting any worse. Gardy calling on Crain in that situation, alas, was like saying "I Love You" to a phone-sex operator. He wasn't gonna get anything of substance in return.
And this Santana guy? What's up with El Presidente? That's three straight struggling starts and ... (Therapist's Note: RD isn't really considering Johan's situation a problem.)
DAMN, AIN'T IT GREAT NOT TO HAVE TO DWELL ON ANYTHING THAT LOOKS LIKE A PROBLEM TONIGHT!? PROBLEMS ARE FOR YANKEE FANS, JOE TORRE AND MARIANO RIVERA TO PONDER WHILE THEY UNWRAP THEIR BUTTERFINGER BUNNIES TOMORROW MORNING.
JUST WHEN IT LOOKED LIKE RIVERA WAS GOING TO PUT ASUNDER WHAT THE TWINS HAD CREATED IN THE NINTH INNING -- LUIS CASTILLO'S FOURTH HIT AND JOE MAUER'S FULL-COUNT, CASTILLO-RUNNING SLAP TO LEFT FIELD -- UP STEPPED JUSTINCREDIBLE.
White had swung at strike three and S. Cheeks Hunter had taken a called third. Confidence had been replaced by uncertainty in a two-batter span.
And then, like the Easter Bunnies that will make their chocolatey hops through many of our houses early tomorrow morning, Morneau slapped a grounder. Hop, it went. Hop, hop, hop. Between the second baseman Cano and the first baseman Cairo. Into right field.
Castillo, whose speed made it all possible, scored the tying run. And Mauer, whose bat made possible whatever Castillo couldn't do on his own, came across home plate. Twins 6, Yankees 5.
JustIncredible circled back toward the dugout, where giddy teammates came to meet him, taking running leaps and slapping him on the helmet. Lewwwwwwwwww Ford got in an especially good hit and L-Rod almost got credit for a takedown. All those blows to the helmet could be why, during his post-game interview on FSN, JustIncredible said "you know" 10 times in about 100 seconds. (Remembering back to some of last year's interviews, RD was ready to count 'em, all fingers and toes at the ready.)
Uhhhhhh, you know, if, like, JustIncredible keeps, you know, getting key hits like, uhhhhh, that one, you know, he can, like, talk any friggin' way he wants, you know.
Sweep tomorrow, eh! It'll be the first one for the Twins over the Yankees since 1991, which is remembered as a very good year.
Justin Morneau has had a prodigious career for a young lad. But it was not until today that he could count himself among the great Justins in baseball history. Who, for instance, could forget Justine Bateman's spikes-up, takeout slide of Nell Carter in the famous Family Ties-Gimme A Break intramural slugfest in 1982. Or Justin Timberlake's gangsta rap/jazz hands interpretation of the 1927 Yankees "Murderers Row" pennant drive. But today's heroics rivaled those of Justinian, the Roman Emperor credited with bringing Bakbal to Rome from Greece and rechristening it "Bakbalum." Unlike the Greek version -- played in the nude with three small goats serving as the bases or "baks" -- the Roman version involved a ball made of flaming tar, a bat rendered from a large fertility symbol, and an angry bear chained to first base. The Romans always pitched, the Gauls always batted, and no one ever got past first base (except romantically). Playing the Yankees sometimes feels like that, except this time the Empire fell. A solitary Gaul came to the plate in the ninth inning, brushed his sandy ringlets away from his eyes, looked at the flaming missile coming from the Emperor, and said: "I am not afraid." One swing, one fluttering hit, ecstasy. And that makes you, Justin Morneau, not just a great Justin in history, but -- even more importantly -- the Boyfriend of the Day.
Batbaby/Torii: 3; Readers/The Field: 2; Goober/Justin: 1; Everybody Else: 0.
Did you notice what happened on Mike Mussina's 116th pitch tonight, after Juan (Jason Doesn't Play Here Anymore) Castro fouled off pitch after pitch after pitch with runners at first and second and the Twins leading 2-1 and the fans on edge and the winning streak on the line and seven good innings having already been pitched by Scott (Not MY Spot, Franciso) Baker and T-Phat! on second AFTER DRAWING A WALK and Lewwwwwwwwwww on first, finishing off a Lewtiful performance of hitting, fielding and throwing and Sweet-N-Sassy on the edge of her seat in Section 220 and RD's scorecard poised for the moment and then came pitch No. 116 and there was Castro with a single and T-Phat motoring home from second with more momentum than speed and a 3-1 lead and ...
... it was good.
And then Gardy showed us that he again believed in Boo's set-up arm and Boo teased the Yankees by letting them get their first 2 batters on base and then Bernie Williams grounded into a double play and Johnny (They Messed With Your Hair, Dude) Damon grounded out to end the inning with the Vice President warming up in the bullpen.
And then there were 2 more runs in the bottom of the eighth, a two-out rally started with a hustlin'-a$$ double by S. Cheeks Hunter followed by JustIncredible fighting off a pitch into left for an RBI single that he would NEVER have gotten in '05 and then there was T-Phat! again, bouncing a double into the left-field corner for the final run.
And Gardy teased the Yankees s'more by letting Jesse Crain pitch the ninth and despite his season's struggles he got Jeter, Sheffield and A-Rod easily, ending their night with a combined 0-for-effin'-12.
And the people in the stands sometimes chanted "Yankees Suck! Yankees Suck!" which may be a tad overstated, and the bullpen pitchers gave the ballboy props when he returned a beach ball to the stands after it landed on the warning track and we could laugh about Scott Baker's little problem, which S. Cheeks and Just did while the pitcher went into the dugout to, uhhhhh, adjust his belongings in the second inning. The nice ladies sitting next to RD and S-n-S filled us in of what was happening, courtesy of the 'CCO guys and El Presidente is pitching Saturday!
And the Bitch Sox and Cleveland lost and there could well be reason for hope and RD is feelin' giddy and wonders if he's gonna fall asleep designing the 2006 Twins' World Series ring in his mind while knowing that such a thought is quite a leap from a 5-5 start.
Peace, out.
New York at Minnesota. Good Guys, 5; Bad Guys, 1.
Batbaby/Torii: 3; The Field: 2; Everybody Else: 0.
[For info on the long-departed GGOD feature, click here.]
Someone slipped this Strib clip under Batgirl's door at her "spiritual retreat" and she had to post it, merely to thank Lew Ford for being who he is and keeping this whole blog alive singlehandedly.
Now excuse BG, she has a "meeting."
So we're feeling better than we were at this time Sunday night, huh? That 1-5 start still has a chance to become a 157-5 finish, and it would be a good idea to start putting aside part of every paycheck, allowance or casino heist into your playoff ticket fund. Oh, do we get giddy when Kyle Lohse pitches the way that he did Thursday afternoon, a continuation of his Spring Training prowess. But this time it was for real and against a team with serious skills.
And the hitters! The A's starters, earlier this year, had pitched 27 straight scoreless innings -- and today's starter, Joe Blanton, had pitched eight of 'em last Friday night at Seattle. The A's starters, by the way, are supposed to be (and are) darn good. So don't be looking at this like one of those sweeps against Kansas City or Tampa Bay that made the Twins early last season look better than they really were.
In fact, RD recalls a conversation with his Sweet-N-Sassy after a sweep of Kansas City early last season, when she asked, "We're winning, but why are we having so much trouble with these lousy teams."
RD recalls saying sumthin' like, "A win is a win is a win. Don't matter whether you win 5-4 or 15-4."
Well, RD was wrong.
This was a sweep that could/should mean sumthin'. S. Cheeks Hunter belted 2 home runs, both of 'em key; the Twins clustered their runs for yet another day, scoring their first half-dozen in batches of 3; Mike Redmond (who needs an appropriate shorthand reference) got 3 hits, LN (25th Man)Punto got 2 and it didn't matter a whit that JustIncredible, Rondell (the Other) White (Meat) and combined to go hitless.
And then there was the sound of Dominican thunder -- the fastballs of Francisco Liriano. You could see the box score instead of the game itself and say to yourownself, "Six batters! Five strikeouts! How long can Gardy keep him in the bullpen?" You gotta think that Kyle Lohse woke up this morning and drove to the ballpark wondering the same thing.
And you gotta think that Scott Baker is going to bed tonight wondering the same thing, knowing that maybe (just maybe) he better pitch his a$$ off against the Yanquis tomorrow night to maintain his place.
And you gotta think that Bradke is going to bed tonight with a smile, knowing that if he does retire at the end of the season, his crafty right jabs will be replaced by thunderous left knockout punches.
The Yanquis are coming to town, with their billion-dollar payroll and not-quite deserved swagger. It would have been a serious pooper to go into this series 1-8 and l@' down. Instead, the Hometown Nine is 4-5 and l@' pretty much like we want 'em to l@ For now.
While it might seem glamorous living in the Batquarters in the giant Land O'Lakes milk bottle in right field, it has it's drawbacks. For one thing, we have to keep topping the thing off. Every two weeks or so, Goober pops the top, drops a rope down, climbs out, and trots over to SuperAmerica to buy 16,000 regular-sized gallons of lactose-free milk. Then it's back to the Dome, pour the milk in, close the hatch, and change the expiration date. Tough duty that. But what can you do? The Batquarters runs on milk. If it's not for Sooz's Courtney Love-style Honey Bunches of Oats habit, it's for Batgirl's giant, celebrity-sized Hammacher Schlemmer smoothie machine. As explained to Goober, for the want of some milk, the smoothie was lost; for the want of a smoothie, the Batgirl was lost; and for the want of a Batgirl, the blog was lost. So Goober's got a big responsibility.
Of course, these days, the Batquarters is not the only thing that runs on milk. Batbaby knows what she likes and she likes what she knows. And what Batbaby likes and knows is MILK. So while Goober makes sure the Batquarters has plenty of the Oreo-dunking variety, Sooz ensures that Batbaby gets the good stuff. And afterwards the little tyke is really something to behold: full, sleepy, and happy.
And isn't that how it was today? While we work-a-day minions were laboring, the Twins were just smacking the crap out of the ball. And wouldn't you know it? A lead. After the first inning. That we never gave up. Even with Kyle Lohse pitching. To be sure, there's a lot of credit to go around. Redmond had three hits and two RBIs. And Stewie had two hits and two RBIs. But the big one in this game was the one that put us over top: Torii's two-run dinger in the first. Now, I'm not claiming that it's Sweetcheeks' strong teeth and bones that did the trick. But after the first, the whole stadium looked full, sleepy, and happy. And so did work-a-day Twins fans everywhere. Now Torii's milkshake might not bring all the boys to the yard just yet. But it does make him the Boyfriend of the Day.
You go, Batbaby.
Batbaby/Torii: 3; The Field: 1; Everybody Else: 0.
RD was as surprised as anyone to find Batgirl's keys to the blog under his doorstep this morning, with an admonition to watch over her domain during the spiritual retreat that became necessary after the Grandstand Grill incident. But he will endeavor to keep hope alive, with the help of 3-run homers and Joe Nathan's closing skills.
However, a problem arose that RD needs to turn into an opportunity.
Tonight, RD had the privilege of celebrating the Passover story with food, wine and more food at the West Metro home of some dear friends. After the ritual four glasses of wine, four questions, brisket, gefilte fish and the ransoming of the afikomen by a pair of wayward teens, RD and host Kingfish didn't retreat to the basement until the bottom of the 8th. RD was pleased to see BooBerry return to his set-up role and Joe Nathan's FU-Oakland ninth. RD is sure he saw the closer utter these words after his game-closing third strikes, "You want another slider, dude? Then go to White Castle." RD raised a fifth glass of wine and toasted the season's first winning streak.
Here's the problem: RD missed the first 7 1/2 innings. He knows, from postgame radio chatter and mlb.com, that JustIncredible bombed a 3-run homer and went 3-for-4 and Torii Hunter launched a majestic and important homer and Juan (Jason Doesn't Live Here Anymore) Castro played some excellent defense and Cleveland lost and Frank Thomas' DH-ing a$$ was on the bench all night.
But RD doesn't know how it felt out there on the season's first dollar-a-dog night and the Twins' initial venture into the world of the Pixie Vests.
So, tell me. Close your eyes, pretend you're Batgirl (or RD) and take a paragraph or two to tell everyone what happened through your Twins-addled eyes.
This offer may NEVER be repeated. So act now.
During the first couple innings of the home opener yesterday, Team Batgirl thought a lot about whether they have been too harsh about ass bats. After all, the "bass ats," as some jauntily call them, have been with us for a long time. So maybe Team Batgirl should stop being so whiny and, you know, focus on the positive. I mean, this could be a long-term relationship. So instead of carping, why not think about the the fact that ass bats, since they're infrequently used for hitting, can be hollowed out like ye olde pirate telescope and used to steal signs from the opposing dugout all while making totally fun pirate noises. Or the fact that, since ass bats are more, er, flacid than the typical bat, they can be tied around the neck in a pinch and used as a totally phat Oscar Wilde-style floppy necktie. But ever since T-Fat went yard yesterday, we've stopped pretending to be all Stockholm Syndromey about the ass bats. Instead, we're singing Fifty Ways to Leave Your Ass Bat: So leave it on the floor, Tor; drop it on the mat, T-Fat; give it a throw, Joe; just let the thing go. Tell it you're through, Stew; drop it in the well, Rondell; make it find a new buddy, Cuddy; just give it a throw.
Batgirl's on vacation. Therefore, Goober has been under a great deal of pressure as the Acting BODSHC. Sooz has been lobbying for a stricter interpretation of the "boyfriends first" policy, while Goober himself feels a slight tug toward giving Justin a long-overdue nod. But something strange happened during the game today. As what's left of Team Batgirl enjoyed the game from the spacious Batquarters in the Kemps milk carton in right field, Goober noticed Batbaby staring off toward center. Now she's just beginning to see more than a few feet in front of her, so it's quite remarkable when she focuses on something. But there she was, with her eyes cast in the general direction of Mr. T. Sweetcheeks Hunter, watching all goo-goo eyes as he hit a home run, had two hits, and scored three runs. And isn't that just enough to make a Batbaby's heart flutter. So call us crazy, but somebody just declared her first boyfriend. And while Goober might ordinarily be thinking of ways to beat the living crap out of Batbaby's first boyfriend, in this instance, that boyfriend is not just a boyfriend: He's the Boyfriend of the Day.
Batbaby 2; The Field 1; All Others 0.
After yesterday's Grandstand Grill incident, Team Batgirl has checked Batgirl into a "spiritual retreat" for two weeks. RD will be filling in and Team Batgirl will be taking care of the BOD. Batgirl will return on the 24th with a new sense of inner peace, or so she is told.
Oakland at Twins. Twins 7, A's 6.
Goodness. Well. Things sure change quickly, don't they? I mean, here we were down 4-0 in the 3rd and to win the game would mean we would have to score five whole runs, which as any Twins fan knows is an absolutely impossible feat, I mean no baseball team has EVER scored five whole runs in one game—maybe over three games they could score five runs, maybe, if, like, some kind of miracle happened, if, like, someone stopped by and turned loaves into fishes and parted the Red Sea and healed Corey Koskie and then said, oh, by the way, as evidence for my future sainthood I am going to bless your bats and you are going to score two whole runs this game and if you wouldn't mind mentioning it to the Vatican I'd really appreciate it, if you're not too busy totally sucking because I understand that takes up a lot of time and energy and I certainly wouldn't want to impose, because I'm just that kind of guy. And meanwhile Batgirl's all bitter because she waited in line at the upper deck Grandstand Grill for forever and missed the starting lineups and the woman who was waiting on her could not seem to figure out how to work the cash register trons and she scanned Batgirl's drivers license instead of her credit card and kept punching in the wrong things and tried to charge Batgirl for three beers when she only wanted one beer, and she didn't even want it, really, it was for Goober who had forgotten his ID, and fatherhood has made him look so youthful, and then the woman didn't give her the little lettuce and tomato pack with her veggie burger and if Batgirl's paying four bucks for a freakin' veggie burger she wants her sheet of lettuce-like substance, dammit, and then Batgirl had to wait several minutes because the receipt tron was jammed and the woman wouldn't let her leave even though Batgirl didn't want her receipt and the woman kept saying, Just give me your credit card and I'll try again which did not sound like a promising proposition to Batgirl, and then finally Batgirl was allowed to leave and she fled for the condiments and Goober, who was in line behind Batgirl trying to secure hot dogs, shouted, No, don't leave me! and Batgirl's like, So long sucker! and starts sucking down the beer she bought for him because of the stress and ten minutes later Goober appears by the condiments dazed and shaking with a tray full of nothing like what he had ordered after having paid several times more what he was supposed to and he didn’t even care, he just shouted, Here, take my money, just let me go! Please! Please for the love of god! and we finally make our way up to our seats and we've missed Bradke making short work of the A's in the first inning and—hey! Look! Bradke had a one two three first inning! Wow, he must be on tonight, he must be really riding the home opener wave and we forgot all about our forced captivity at the Grandstand Grill because we were so happy and then Boom! Boom! Boom! and suddenly we're down 4-0 and, you know, loaves into fishes and Grandstand Grill veggie burger into something edible and all that. And then it’s the bottom of the 3rd and Shannon Stewart gets a hit to lead-off the inning. And that's very nice because it was the first hit of the game and it's always refreshing to get a hit because then we can't be no hit and that's always a small comfort. At least we weren't no hit, we say to ourselves, sighing gently and thinking how we had dreams once. And then Luis Castillo gets a double and he speeds his way around the bases and that's pretty fun to watch too, it's nice to have a legitimate #2 hitter, too bad no one's ever going to hit him in but then Chairman Joseph Mauer does hit him in, he hits both of them in, for a grand total of two runs and, you know, call the Pope. And we're just so dazzled by this display of offensive prowess, of the whole line-up doing what it’s supposed to do, we barely even notice when Torii hits them in and suddenly it's 4-3 with two men on and, you know, I don't want to sound crazy here, I mean I know the whole Grandstand Grill experience scarred me emotionally, but we could win this thing. Really. I mean it. And then T-Fat strides up and suddenly Batgirl sees into his mind and he is thinking to himself What is the sound of one hand clapping and If an ass-bat falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it still make a sound and a perfect peace spreads over him and then—
Boom.
And all over the Dome stale hot dog buns are turning into fishes and swimming away, swimming, swimming. And somewhere in some forest in some distant land an ass bat does fall and no one is there to hear it, but Batgirl knows it makes a sound and that sound is "Touch 'Em All, T-Fat." Touch 'em All.
Oh, Batgirl's a sentimentalist. And under BOD rules she should be giving this to the Chairman for putting the Twins on the board, but, you know, chicks dig the long ball, especially when that long ball puts the Twins ahead and it's been so damned long since we've been ahead in any way shape or form, and in Japan the whole Boyfriend of the Day thing has gone all corporate, but here it is something pure and beautiful and that is why the BODSHC is awarding T-Fat his very first Boyfriend of the Day.
Field/Readers 2, All else 0.
Photographer Aaron Reynolds has been generous enough to send Batgirl these lovely pictures of the various strategies of Twins players trying to get the ass out of their bats.
Little Nicky Punto tries to hit ball using the force (and closed eyes).
Huh. Lew said it would work!
Dr. Morneau tries talking gently to his bat.
Sweetcheeks swings a hot bat.
Rondell's Extendo Bat
If these guys can't bat, I will.
Me too!
And Stelly makes three!
I think it's smiling at me...
Twins at Cleveland. Weekend Round-Up.
Friday: Cleveland 11, Twins 6
Saturday: Cleveland 3, Twins 0.
Sunday: Cleveland 3, Twins 2.
Listen, my children. Gather 'round. Come closely—no, that's close enough, I have intimacy issues—for I have a tale for you that will chill you to the bone. Do you know the story of the monster known as the Travishafner? Part phantom, part beast, he travels with the wind and the night looking for innocent souls on which to feast. He is voraciously hungry and he will not rest until he has devoured the ERAs of every Twins pitcher. You cannot plead with the Travishafner for he knows no sympathy, no mercy—he is driven only by his need to feed. No, my children, do not wander alone in Jacobs Field at night for the Travishafner lurks there waiting to pounce on you, and when he is done with you there will be nothing left but a pile of bones and your own screams still hanging in the air. You cannot run from him, for he moves as fast as the wind. You cannot hide from him, for he can smell your fear.
Some say the Travishafner is just a myth. They are the lucky ones.
"I have seen him," said Kyle Lohse. "He has red eyes and sharp fangs and he can kill you just by looking in your eyes. Also he hit two home runs off me."
"I have seen him," said Scott Baker. "He has superhuman strength and he blots out the sun and he also hit a homer off of me."
"I have seen him," said Johan Santana. "He has a heart of ice, a soul of darkness, and he breathes fire. I got him out because I am Johan Santana. But I would have appreciated some run support."
No one knows where the Travishafner come from. Some say he is a government experiment gone horribly awry. Some he is a demon banished from hell and forced to walk the earth. Some say he is from North Dakota. But I think the Travishafner comes from inside us. I think our fear created him, and our fear continues to make him stronger.
We cannot stop him, that is clear. The Travishafner will continue to prey on us at least seventeen more times this season. All we can do is try to overcome him, to take our fear and imagine it as a little round white ball and attempt to hit it very far with long wooden sticks. At least it's worth a try.
Every once in a while Batgirl does the Blogger's Minute on WCCO's Twins Magazine with Rita Maloney. Here was this week's
Well, Rita, there's been a big change in the Twins clubhouse, and I don't mean Lew Ford's new pair of lucky game socks for '06. It's been widely reported that Nick Punto started doing yoga over the off-season but did you know that Tony Batista spent his off days in Japan jetting over to the Himalayas to study with swamis? It's true. When the two of them discovered their mutual affinity, it didn't take them long to join forces and spread their love for the ancient meditative practice among the team. And boy has it caught on. Where last season the clubhouse was full of tension, now the players spend their time quietly admiring each other's asanas. And where they used to fight endlessly over hip hop versus country, now they debate the merits of various yoga styles. While Torii Hunter and Joe Mauer prefer the stamina building of ashtanga yoga, Carlos Silva and Juan Rincon are really all about the gentle, inward, ananda yoga and its repetition of silent affirmations. The clubhouse has become a veritable ashram, with Punto in charge of yoga instruction and Batista acting as spiritual guru, preaching Shauca, or purity, Satya, truthfulness, and Tapas—which is either self-discipline or appetizer-sized portions designed for sharing.
I think this bodes very well for the team in '06--by aligning our chakras we will release more prana, or life force, and learn to convert with runners in scoring position. And with practice and study we will travel along Patanjali's eightfold path to enlightenment and can achieve Samadhi—also known as the post-season.
Namaste, Rita.
Twins at Toronto. Blue Jays 6, Twins 3.
The first thing you need to know is that Batgirl has a cold. Or the flu. One of those things that you don't want to have. The second thing you need to know is that it's all Jeb's fault. For he went on an airplane recently and "forgot" to wear the SARS mask Batgirl for got him, despite the fact that she and the Batkitties decorated it with glitter, and while Batkitty #3 is not strong with the glitter and may have gotten parts of herself stuck to the SARS mask, it's the thought that counts. The point is, Jeb has been traveling a good deal this year and every other time he gets off a plane he brings with him some sort of bubonic plague or another. You would think they would stop letting the plague-infested oozing-pustule rats on the planes, but Northwest has had to make a lot of budget cuts lately and somebody's got to make those $6 snack boxes. But somebody wanted to be a macho macho duck, somebody thinks SARS is totally three years ago, somebody thinks glitter doesn’t go with his khakis. Glitter, my dear husband, goes with everything.
In other words, there may have been a baseball game played tonight, though Batgirl cannot be sure. And the Jackal and Boo Rincon may have turned the sixth inning into a rousing game of CPC&T (that's Crazy Pepe's Chug and Toss, for those of you unfamiliar with the storied history of Caracas street fairs), but that could just be the Theraflu talking. Do you know that if you actually take the recommended dose of Cold-Eeze tablets in one day, your mouth turns into ass? It's true! In fact, while the Cold-Eeze did nothing at all to reduce the duration of Batgirl's cold, it did certainly increase the duration of her ass-mouth. In other words, much like Retin-A started as an acne medicine and became an anti-wrinklefier, the FDA is about to approve Cold-Eeze to promote ass-mouth. The point is, we may have lost tonight, and stranded a few runners and beaned some people and walked someone with the bases juiced but you cannot blame the Twins, for surely they were distracted by Batgirl's plight. How can you focus on baseball when Batgirl is suffering? How can there be music and laughter and children and moving Shannon Stewart over to third when he's on second with no outs and a three run deficit? I ask you. I ask you.
p.s. Want to see what Batgirl's like heavily medicated? Come see her close personal friend at the Red Balloon in St. Paul at 2pm on Saturday. It will be Dayquilrific!
Twins at Toronto. Twins 13, Blue Jays 4
Before tonight's game against the Jays, the Twins hung out in the clubhouse doing their knitting and needlework and scrapbooking, chattering about this and that, that and this. Lew Ford came in slightly late, eyes ablaze with excitement.
"Hey, you guys," he proclaimed, "did you get that e-mail?"
"Yeah," said Jesse Crain. "I tried that stuff. It doesn't work."
"No, no, not that one." Ford said. "About last night? At 1:02 and three seconds last night it was 1:02:03 4/5/06!"
"Huh?" asked Rondell White.
"1-2-3-4-5-6!" Isn't that cool?"
"Not as good as Cupcake Day," mumbled Brad Radke, combing his snazzy new goatee.
"The e-mail said it will never happen again!" said Ford. "Think of that!"
"Wait," said Torii Hunter. "The one I got said it will happen every thousand years."
"Wow," said Ford. "Every thousand years!"
"Wait," said White. "That’s not right either. I mean the same thing will happen in 2106, right? April 5, 2106? So it's every hundred years. That e-mail's totally wrong."
"Tell me about it," groused Crain.
"Not necessarily," insisted Ford. "I mean, who knows if there will even be clocks in 2106. Who knows if there will even be time?"
"What's wrong with him," whispered White.
"Can you imagine?" Ford asked the room. "A world without time? There would be no clocks or calendars. No speed drills or deadlines or curfews. You could play Doom all day long!"
"Wait," said Brad Radke, dropping his comb. "A world without time?"
"That's right," said Ford. "1-2-3-4-5-6!"
As Radke stared at Ford wide-eyed, something popped inside his mind. A world without time, he thought as he took the field. A world without time, he whispered to himself as he gave up a double to Frank Catalanotto. So, how would you know when to meet your hairstylist? he muttered as he gave up a dinger to Troy Glaus. Maybe in a world without time you wouldn't have any hair? he whispered as he gave up another dinger to Lyle Overbay.
In the dugout, Rick Anderson and Ron Gardenhire exchanged glances.
"Lew must've popped his brain again," said Anderson.
"I've got to keep him away from Brad before his starts," grumbled Gardy.
"Hey, Gardy," said Radke as he skipped into the dugout, "What would the world be like if no one had any hair? What would we have on our heads? Or would we not have heads anymore? And if we didn't have heads, how we would wear hats? And if we didn't wear hats how would anyone know what team we were on?"
"Come here for a second Brad," said bench coach Steve Liddle, hiding the bottle of chloroform. "I've got to show you something…"
Well, fortunately for the Twins, repopping Brad Radke's brain isn't that hard, once you get through all the gel, and when you get everything in place again he does just fine. Meanwhile, someone seemed to have repopped the Twins offense as well. When Sweetcheeks singled in the Twins' first run of the game, everyone in the dugout looked so gosh darned happy, because no one expected that, they expected the getting on base, sure, but hitting those guys in? Radical.
"Hey," said Juan Castro, "this scoring runs is fun."
"Let's do it again!" yelled Luis Castillo.
"Hey, Lew, tell the Jays about your e-mail."
"Gladly!" said Lew. "Hey, guys?" he shouted out to the Blue Jays fielders. "Did you guys know what last night was?"
Well, as you can imagine, Lew blew all of the Jays fielders' minds, too, and a couple errors later the Twins were back in business. Shannon Stewart kept on pace to hit 162 home runs, Luis Castillo's hustle was matched only by Joe Mauer's, our 4, 5, and 6 guys all had RBIs, Torii had a grand slam, and T-Fat actually drew a walk. In other words, thanks to situational hitting and hustle, not to mention some very long balls, the Twins batters overcame an early 4-run deficit and ended up with thirteen whole runs on the night, doing things pretty much how they're supposed to do it, and then some.
Blows your mind, doesn't it?
Lordy, I don't even know what to do with myself. Maybe it's the cold medicine talking, but this thing could go to any of them. There's the Chairman, with his 3 hits, 2 runs, hustle on a hit-and-run, and stolen base. There's the Doctor, with his actual A#1 RBI getting the game's second run and making the game look winnable after all. And Lew Ford for blowing the Jays' fielders minds. And Stewie with his go ahead homer and awesome catch despite all the Jays fans throwing things at him. And it's not nice to throw things at people, but if that makes him play like this, well, I'll meet you in left field. But the BOD bylaws specifically allow for rewarding exceptional performances by non TBB (Team Batgirl Boyfriends) and I pretty much think when you hit a grand slam, that's pretty exceptional, and in the spirit of positive reinforcement Batgirl now tells every Twins hitter when you hit a grand slam, you get to be BOD--and when you combine that with four hits, three runs, and six RBIs, that earns you, Torii Sweetcheeks Hunter, the season's first Boyfriend of the Day.
Field/Readers 1, All else 0.
Twins at Toronto. Blue Jays 6, Twins 3
I know this happens every season. I know that it takes El Presidente some time to find his form. And that’s okay, it is. Because El Presidente can do whatever he wants, he has a mandate (and I don’t mean that thing that happens when you’re a guy and you become friends with this other guy and he has all the same interests as you and you have so much to talk about and so you go to restaurants and museums together and everyone thinks you’re a couple but you’re not, you’re just friends, and your girlfriend doesn’t understand, because why can’t you go to museums and restaurants and the theatre with her, isn’t she good enough? What does he give you that she can’t? And you say nothing, nothing, it’s just that Steve is good company and you go out with your gal pals all the time and do gal pal things so why can’t I hang out with Steve? And she says but most guys hang out by sitting around drinking beer and scratching themselves, they don’t do things they could be doing with their girlfriends. And you say, I’ll drink beer and scratch myself right now if it will make you happy. And she says, that’s not the point. And you say what is the point? And she says there’s something going on between you and Steve, isn’t there? And you say no, no, it’s not like that, I mean I like Steve, but I don’t like Steve, and she says, yeah, but he’s pretty cute, and you say, Sure, but he’s no Johan Santana.) Not that kind of mandate. The other one where he can take his sweet time becoming totally awesome and we’ll spot him a few games in April because all of Twins Nation will support and love him because he is their president and everyone makes mistakes and we’re all a bit logy in April, especially with the daylight savings time and stuff, I mean Batgirl herself is still jetlagged from the whole thing, plus she’s got a sore throat which is probably Jeb’s fault because he’s been traveling a lot and you know how planes are. But that’s beside the point. Which is, Johan, you just go right ahead and give up all the hits you want in the next couple of weeks, your approval ratings will not suffer, our hearts will not falter, for you are Johan Santana and you are here to strike people out.
Still, it seems awfully impudent, doesn’t it? All those people getting hits off of Johan? And a homer? Have they no respect? I know he gives up homers from time to time but usually there’s no one on base, because they can’t get on base because he is Johan Santana. Who the heck do they think they are? I’m looking at you, Bengie Molina. You have a serious manners problem and I’m not afraid to say it, and I don’t think you’re going to be getting any mandates at all from any of Twins Nation.
As for the debut of the New! Improved! Twins! Line-up!, now with T-Fat! well, it was pretty exciting there when the Twins scored a run in the first inning. I mean it—a real live run. Like, Shannon Stewart lead-off base hit, Luis Castillo Bunt, Chairman Mauer reach on an error, R-White sac fly run. Really. I shit you not. Everybody did what they were supposed to do, everybody executed, and I don’t mean in the lethal injection kind of way. But after that, well, things got pretty flaccid. Unlike Johan, guys, you don’t have any wiggle room—we’ve been hurt, we’ve suffered, we want to see that you’ve changed, really changed. Sure, I know what you’ve said, you’re sorry, you were drunk, it’s just that I make you so angry sometimes you can’t help yourselves, but you’ll never do it again if we just come back to you. But BG, for one, will believe it when she sees it.
What I’m saying you guys, you Twins batters, is that I like you, but I don’t like you yet. I have needs. Two homers in one game is really cool and all, and Stewie did a nice one man I’m-not-dead-yet show and T-Fat I think will have an error and a homer every game, and yes there were points last year when two homers would have seemed like an orgy of excess (as opposed to an orgy of moderation? Which would totally be the Twins. I can just see Joe Mauer saying, you know this orgy is great and all, but it seems a little immodest. Can we scale it back a bit? And has anyone seen my Grip n’ Go?), but next time try putting runners on base, see? It leads to more runs. And more runs leads to more victories and a happy Batgirl. And mandates for all.
Fina-freakin'-lly.
We've waited long enough. Too long, really. The stress has gotten to Batgirl--she's been wandering through the house muttering strange things to herself, talking to her bobbleheads, making the Batkitties run bunting and basestealing drills. Batkitty #1 has a really quick move but Batkitty #2 really needs to work on his Batkitty leadership skills and Batgirl has demoted him to Batkitty Triple A. But then Batkitty #2 played an exhibition game against Batkitties #1 and 3 and kicked the tender vittles right out them and said, "Here's your motherflippin' leadership skills, Batgirl." Or at least he would have if he could talk, which he can't, because he's a cat, and cats don't talk--except when
But now, it's all over, the darkness has lifted, and we can all run around our houses singing "We're Gonna Win Twins." The season is here! The Twins are undefeated! Johan Santana is on the mound, and he stares at the opposing batter and wiggles his butt around and a butterfly flaps his wings in Brazil and a hurricane starts in the AL Central.
Batgirl will not be able to blog as religiously (or irreligiously as the case may be) this year as she would like--you must forgive her when there are no game recaps some days and series round-ups others. The relentless demands of her close personal friend will keep her somewhat busy, and she also wants to prevent Bloggers Burn Out (as seen in the DSM-V, Revised). She will also be gone for two weeks in April and here and there over the summer, but she promises to return better than ever, or at least not noticeably worse.
Please join Batgirl at The Park Tavern in St. Louis Park tomorrow night to watch the game. The bar opens at 5. We'll be meeting in a separate room, the 11th Frame Bar, complete with big TVs and dart boards--please ask for it when you go in. BG asks that no one throw darts at her or Tony Batista.
She apologizes for the West Side location, and next time will try to find something slightly more central.
And it comes out in June, too! Just in time for Batgirl's twenty-fifth birthday!
AL Central Preview: Loaded With Strong Pitchers, Twins Are Capable of Run at World Series Champions
http://www.amherst.edu/~jbroich
Even Bert never did this. The king of baseball pranks.
