Well, I have a strange habit of clapping once (AND ONLY ONCE) when something good happens. When someone swings at a pitch out of the zone my father slides onto his back and kicks his legs in the air like a soft shell crab. And my mother loves winning, but wishes Mauer would hurry up and win this stupid batting title already.
But most of all we learned that reports of Nick Blackburn's demise are greatly exaggerated. But what's gotten Blackburn back on the right track: only Peanuts from Heaven Inc. knows the answer.
Prior to the game, in the pitcher's warm up session.
BLACKBURN: [Sigh]
LIRIANO: Not So Little Nicky Blackburn, what is wrong? You are not pitching with fire, intensity or even mild warmth.
BLACKBURN: I don't know Francisco, it just seems like we pitchers aren't, y'know...
LIRIANO: Cool?
BLACKBURN: Yeah! I mean, Gogo's crazy...
GOGO: [Running by to catch all balls in the area] BLAAAAAAAAGGHHGHGHGH!
BLACKBURN: Delmon's the master of supraction...
YOUNG: [appearing in a puff of smoke] DAMN STRAIGHT! [Disappears in a puff of smoke]
BLACKBURN: And Cuddy's just generally adorable...
CUDDYER: [smiles and a ding sounds] That's me.
BLACKBURN: But only you and the Dread Pirate Nathan have cool gimmicks.
NATHAN: YAAAAARRRRRRRR!
BLACKBURN: I'm just that guy who likes cake
LIRIANO: You're missing the point Nick. None of us choose our gimmicks. Do you think Brendan Harris would be the "Jim" of our clubhouse if he could pick his own gimmick?
HARRIS: No one asks me about my tap dancing skills...
LIRIANO: I'm the Cisco kid because I'm a dangerous gunslinger!
NATHAN: JOE NATHAN!! BLAAAARRR-BLA-BLARRRRGH!! [Translation: I'm the Dread Pirate Nathan because I loot and pillage through cannon fire offenses and imminent peril!]
LIRIANO: You're Cakeburn! It's over. Run with it, use it!
BLACKBURN: But Cakeburn just sounds like a lame Dick Tracy villain.
LIRIANO: So...do something villainous to the other team.
BLACKBURN: Like what?
LIRIANO: My friend, I'm a gun slinger. I cannot be a cake obsessed villain. You must find your own path.
As soulful music from The Fray played softly in the background, Not So Little Nicky Blackburn, walked slowly down a dimly lit Metrodome hallway, his cleats clicking on the concrete as the wheels in his head spun slowly and hatched a nefarious plot to undermine the White Sox pitcher.
So, upon the end of his warm up session, as he walked back towards the visitor's dugout, Mark Buehrle saw something intriguing, and was heard to say: "ooh, Skittles." The pretty colors and tangy, fruity flavors enticed Buehrle's senses. And led him away from the visitor's dugout, and towards the seats over the right field baggy. Where he spied...oh...could it be. "Ooh, sexy cake with mermaids!!"
As he watched Buehrle scale the baggy to retrieve his cakie-prize, somewhere, in the darkest shadows, lurked a man, cloaked in mystery. A man, who irrationally used commas, to indicate, dramatic pauses, in his sinister monologues. A man, dedicated solely, to the dream, of a cake based economy, and seeking revenge, on all those, who mocked his passion for his lost love, Li'l Debbie. A man, who will now be known, as CAKEBURN!
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