Piggyback reporting...

Following on after K's brilliant analyses of our new trade for Everyday Eddie (I wholeheartedly endorse any game that involves mocking/bemusedly indulging one of our players), we must add that, in order to have Eddie in the pen, the Twins have to let Mike Lamb go. Peanuts from Heaven Inc. can now exclusively report the final minutes that "The Grizzled Prospector", Mike Lamb, spent as a member of the Twins organization.

After giving the rally monkey one final finger of disgust, the Twins players walked out of the stadium in Los Angeles or Anaheim or Mars or wherever the heck they were.

MORNEAU: Dang! I really thought we could get 3 out of 4!

MAUER: Darn! I really thought we would show that stupid Rally Monkey who's boss.

LAMB: Dag Nabbit! I really thought you fellers would let me get some playing time!!

ALL: [Sigh]

LAMB: Watch'all sighin' fer? Did another possum get away? D'yall wan' me ta cook ya up some rattlesnake vittles?

MAUER: No, Mike...no...we just thought you weren't...

LAMB: Weren't wha?

MORNEAU: Weren't going to make it up to Seattle with us.

LAMB: Shucks fellers, no need to fret...I jes' lovvvvvve Seattle! I get hits there that make me so gosh durn happy I jes' gotta dance!!!

ALL: [As Lamb begins to dance and blither incoherently] No...Mike...don't...

GARDY: Say Mike, how would you like to take a special route to Seattle?

LAMB: Hee-gee-heeee-hee-gee-heeee-hee-gee-WHAAAAAA?!

GARDY: I thought you might like to ride in my car...past some really great farms up state. Places you can run, and play...

ALL: And Dance

GARDY: As much as you want.

LAMB: Gorsh! Sign me up!! I'd do anything to get back on that dusty trail with you there skipper!

GARDY: Yeah...that's...great.

***LATER***

GARDY: Mike...Mike...Mike...please stop sticking your head out of the window.

LAMB: But it's fun! 'Sides, all the mayflies I'm a eatin' are good protein!

GARDY: Great-HEY! Look! Here's one of those fields

LAMB: Whoop-dee-whee-hee-hoohoohoooey!! 

[The car door opens and Lamb leaps out of it dancing about, giggling, and continuing his inane babble, Gardy looks out the window, smiles, sighs at all the lost jokes that I will never get to

 make at Mike Lamb's expense, then smiles at the fact that we don't have to endure his erratic offense, defense and facial hair, flattens the accelerator and zooms off towards Seattle. Lamb continues dancing/blathering to his little heart's content until he finds a whiskey spring and starts to wash himself in Jack Daniels.]