Oh. My. God.

We caught 'em. We caught the White Sox. And we did it after trailing 6 to 1. We did it after having all the luck in the world run out on us. We did it. [And yes, I am including myself as part of the team, thought my little league batting average was roughly .086--I was a glove man]

And strangely, I had a feeling we would. K has said that she loves having a colleague who sneaks Twins updates to her during the day. I love having a television right in front of my work station and getting paid to talk about baseball (and pour drinks, but that's not as important). 

But tonight, there was a White Sox fan razzing me and my bartending boss about the Twins. And as she snidely jeered: "oh...it hit [Slowey]...oh, he's gonna cry....he's gotta come out of the game...too bad. You guys just don't have a chance now." I looked at the bartender and said, "you know, if we come back--", and without taking his eyes away from the tv, he quietly chastised me: "what?" And I too paused and realized what I truly meant to say: "WHEN we come back, the White Sox will be totally demoralized..." And strangely, from then on, though it was never certain, I felt we would come back, that we would win and that our faith would be justified.

And though I keep telling myself that we might not hold on to win the division, and that a failure to make the playoffs would not actually destroy the world, I can't help but love this team, these games and all the possibilities. I can't help but have faith. Though it's nice that we caught them, maybe the faith is all that matters.