Tampa Bay at Twins. Twins 7, Spawn of Satan 5.

Suggested headlines for tomorrow's Star Tribune:

Shortstuff Shortstop Goes Long!
Half-Pint Packs a Potent Punch!
Napoleon Complex?: "Russia next," Punto proclaims!
Miracle at Metrodome: Midget's Might!
Grand Slam for Pygmy Man!
Big Putt-Putt for Lilliputian!
Tiny Dancer, Big Dinger!
Big League Dream for Punto Bean!
Punto to Webster: Take That, Big Guy!
Grand Salami for Cocktail Wiener!
Mini-Me Spurs Maxi Glee!
Bases Juiced: Manchild Goes Hog-Wild!

Yes, for someone who has been eaten twice this season (by Nate Robertson and Johnny Damon) Little Nicky Punto sure rebounds well. Goober, listening at work, wondered if Punto was standing on a chair when he hit his 7th inning grand slam, but from what Batgirl could tell, Punto used no height enhancements whatsoever—which really makes his achievement all the more incredible, if you think about it.

After Nick Punto hits a grand slam, you would think a game would be pretty much over; especially with BULLPEN IDOL runner-up Juan "Boo Berry" Rincon coming in. But perhaps that second-place finish hurt Boo more than we can know—or perhaps he's simply been up too late practicing songs for his upcoming cover album To All The Closers I've Loved Before. Either way, Boo managed only to scare himself (and Gardy) today as he proceeded to give up a walk, a single, and another walk before Rocco Baldelli did his best Nick Punto impersonation and made it a tie game. Boo hoo!

Fortunately, J.C. Romero was able to stop the bleeding, and then Michael "Please Don't Trade Me to Seattle" Cuddyer hit a solo homer on an 0-2 pitch on the very next Twins at-bat. Corey Koskie and Shannon Stewart then combined for an insurance run (How very last year!) and Joe "Automatic" Nathan made the Devil Rays look very silly in a seven-pitch ninth inning.

All of these pyrotechnics obscure another gobsmacking outing by Sir Johan Santana. As per usual, today the Santana Claus was making his list, checking it twice, finding out who's naughty and nice—and then striking them all out. I don't know what to do about Johan; he makes me want to sing, he makes me want to dance, he makes me want to devote my life to charitable works—except when I'm watching Johan pitch, in which case I'm usually shouting things like, "Ha! Sit down, bitch!"

When the Devil Rays last came to town, they were a terrible team that made us look like a geriatric hamster. Now, suddenly, they're a pretty good team—but the Twins managed to get back up on their little spinny wheel and run with the vim and vigor of a real contender. Let's keep running, boys.