Two days ago, Grant Balfour walked the bases loaded in the tenth, knocking five years of Ron Gardenhire's life and causing Batgirl to commit attempted hari kari with a bamboo skewer. (She didn't have anything sharper at the time.) So when Balfour took the mound in the seventh with the game tied at 4, after a typically spastic performance from Kyle "Has Anyone Seen My Xanax?" Lohse, we did not know what to expect—beyond the fact that no Tiger hitter would actually make contact with the ball, for better or for worse.

But Balfour went through two whole innings without actually walking anyone, which has to be some kind of personal record, and he managed to send a few Tigers into deep emotional shock with a couple pitches. All was going extremely well, in fact, until Balfour walked Bobby Higginson with one out in the ninth. Now, my lipreading skills aren’t what they used to be, but when the camera flashed to Gardy at this point I believe he racked up some serious FCC violations, again and again. In fact, the camera seemed to luxuriate on Gardy's moist bee-stung lips as he mumbled an extended soliloquy made entirely of obscenities. Jeb meanwhile, fled the room shrieking with his hands pressed against his ears, setting the BatKitties back a couple years in their therapy.

But like the great and storied Australian Freedom Fighters before him, Balf overcame. Pudge flied out, Young singled, and then Guillen flied out. Disaster averted. Situation under control. Balf balfed. So Gardy stopped his foul muttering and Jeb returned to the Batquarters' screening room (even if the BatKitties did not).

And then, well—might I digress? Might I? For a moment? For I would just like to say that you, baseball fans—all of you in big cities with real stadiums and owners who don't drink kitten blood—you can have your Ortiz/Ramirez, your Pujols/Rolen, your Sheffield/A-Rod, your Ordonez/Thomas. Embrace them, celebrate them, celebrate their big-budget flashiness, their monstrous marquee monikers. Yes, take them, do what you want with them, buy them dinner, drive them home, and chastely smooch them good night. Or go up to their apartment when they coyly invite you for a drink, lose your inhibitions, drive home in the morning rumpled and flushed. Whatever. I care not. For, I, Batgirl, will take as my 3/4 punch Ford/Morneau.

(Oh, and in about ten days, I'll be taking Luscious Lew/the Chairman/Dr. Morneau over your precious flashy luxury monstrous marquees. Thank you.)

The dynamic duo have accounted for just about every Twins run of the past week, showing our light-hitting veterans exactly how it's done. In the third inning tonight, with the Twins down 2-0 and little Nick Punto on base, His Lusciousness drew a walk, then with one swing the good Doctor produced more offense than the Twins have enjoyed in most series. Boom! Who knew baseballs could fly so far?

So, anyway, back to my story. After Balf balfed, when the Twins came up in the 10th, Lew Ford hit what should have been a single—it should have been, dear readers, oh but then he started running! Yes, my dears, Lew Ford ran like he's never run before, he ran his precious little heart out, he ran for his team, he ran for his mom back in her one-room shack in Kansas, he ran for his sister wrongfully imprisoned in Canada, he ran for his puppy recently put on Prozac, he ran for Batgirl and all for which she stands, and he ran for you, darling BatLings. He ran right into second base, with the cheers of his whole country of Minnesota behind him. You go, Lew!

Well, then Justin Morneau walked, so really the whole thing wasn't necessary, but it sure looked good.

Ugueth Urbina threw some pitches even Torii Hunter wouldn't swing at—and with the bases loaded, Jacque Jones hit a deep sac fly to left. (For someone who swings like a house elf on uppers, Jones has managed a couple beautiful sacrifices in the last couple of days. Not to mention hitting his 100th homerun in the 2nd, marking the first time the Twins have scored before the 6th inning since May 15th. Really. Look it up. Okay, don't. But you know what I mean.)

And then our BULLPEN IDOL winner sauntered in, flush with confidence and full of all the Count Chocula he could eat. And with a whiff and a pop and a splutter, the Tigers sat down and the Twins finished a two-game sweep, which after getting our bums handed to us by the freakin' Royals, feels pretty darned good.

More Hi-Def observations: Lew Ford's face turns bright red when he hustles…Henry Blanco sweats like crazy…Ugueth Urbina is really only good for one inning…Pudge Rodriguez is really quite mad. I mean it. I've seen his eyes. Quite mad.