A Very Special Year End Post

‘Twas the night before New Year’s and in all the dome

Just one creature was stirring, but it wasn’t the gnome

Nor Gogo, nor Lexi, nor ol’ Brian Bass

Nor Mauer, nor Justin, nor his award winning ass.

‘Twas Delmon Lou Who, his vision all fuzzy

toddling ‘round in his snug little onesie.

He just couldn’t sleep with the rumors so many

Talk of his failings and Jim Souhan’s envy.

He shuffled from whirlpool to the buffet

But each single step increased his dismay

“I don’t wanna go!” he whined with great fury

But the things that we need have forced me to worry

A third baseman with pop and relievers aplenty

But I may have to leave to get either or ANY!”

“I’m not scrappy like Carlos, or sweet like Cuddy,

I don’t have Span’s arm, or Kubel’s goatee.

Teams want a good hitter, and I could be one

But other teams suck, I wanna have fun!”

“I wanna play somewhere there’s always some action,

Some jokes and some laughs and lots of Supraction!

And you wanna know why? I’ll tell you the reason!

I mastered this art in just one little season!”

“I suprise! I distract! I get the job done!

When you want to win in wildly weird way, why...I’m number one!

So how can I stay here and not have to go?

Won’t someone out there, just let me know?”

So Delmon LouWho sat down in his locker

His head hanging down, and then came the shocker.

“I’ll tell you how,” came a voice from the cool

and out of the shadows stepped Muddy Ruel.

“Who are you?” Asked Delmon in a tone most incredulous

“And why to your words, should I acquiesce?”

“Huh?” stammered Muddy in utter confusion

“stop using big words or you’ll get a contusion.”

“My name’s Muddy Ruel, and I used to play

For this organization back in the day.

We played in D.C., but that doesn’t matter

Senator or Twin, the former’s the latter.

“I’m here to help you remain part of our cast

Because I’ve become The Ghost of Twins’ Past

I’ll explain through a story of one year in our lore

The glorious year Nineteen Twenty-Four.

“I was a catcher, and I did what I could

to help our team win, like any man should.

But the Senators, well, they couldn’t quite hit,

or field, or win...they just played like [Radio Edit]

“But man could they pitch, oh boy what a sight!

They could strike out the side at day or at night.

With Mogridge and Zachary and their truly big gun,

No, not Firpo Mayberry, but Walter Johnson.

“You’ve never seen anyone sling it as fast,

His arm looked just like a fly fishing cast

It swooped and it swiveled, it zigged and it zagged

It quickled and frickled and raggeldyragged

“When Walter pitched for us the team was a force,

But every team needs something extra, of course.

A well timed jolt, to give us some traction,

A little thing we liked to call...............Supraction!”

“When we made the World Series, for the first time in history

Just how we would win, remained a big mystery.

To make matters worse, Walter, he struggled,

he lost both his starts, and our chances were muddled.

“We got to game seven, back in D.C.

But we only had one run, the Giants had three.

Then Walter came in and, with his arm, saved the day

We got the scored tied and went on with play

“Through the ninth and the tenth and eleventh we went

And on to the twelfth, which seemed heaven sent.

They dropped my foul pop, so I ripped a double,

Walter reached on an error and then they had trouble.

“As you can tell, I’m not that athletic.

It’s not my fault, it’s purely genetic.

So to score from second I needed some help

And it came from Earl MacNeely, a rascally whelp.

“He hadn’t played much in the course of the year

The Giants thought they had no cause to fear.

Earl hit a week squib down the third base line

And while Fred Lindstrom closed in, the moment was mine.

“I raced for third and as I sped there

The bouncing ball rose up in the air

So I kicked my leg high and with my big toe

I poked that weak squib off a divot, you know.

“It took a wild hop, and Lindstrom was lost

His error was huge, and oh, what a cost!

If you don’t have the ball, you can’t make a throw

And since there’s no throw, homeward, I’d go.

I dashed ‘cross the plate and thus we had won

for the first time since ever: Washington: #1!!”

“I don’t understand.” Said Del, rather snitty.

“How will this help me stay in the Cities?

Why did you tell me this and take up my time

Worse still, why did you have to do it in rhyme?”

“The point, dear Delmon, is simple my friend.

You’re part of the journey, not just the end.

You’ve got to remember you’re part of a story,

A win for you, brings all of us glory.

“Respect the city, the state and the fans,

Then the cheers will rain down from all over the stands.

Honor your teammates from starters to subs

Help out your pitchers, ya’ understand bub?

And always remember that though you are strong

Some of us were here before you came along.

“Before Opie came Earl, and before Joe there was me

Before Francisco and Blackburn, there was Walter, you see?

Be one of us Delmon, be part of the team

Supract them with rhymes, and your talent will gleam.

With a smile and a wink, Muddy stood up to go

Delmon looked tired, but now he did know

He knew why we all come to watch and be loud. 

He knew how to play and make the team proud

We cheer/play for the Twins not because it’s in fashion,

We cheer/play for the Twins because it’s our passion.

As he walked into shadow, Muddy turned and he said

“It’s been a big day now trot off to bed, 

and what ever you do, don’t ever forget...

SUPRACTION SUCKA!!” *Poof...there he went*



Merry Christmas everyone :) I know it's not actually Christmas yet but I've been hanging up garlands and listening to "Baby It's Cold Outside" and Frank Sinatra's Christmas album since mid-November, so you all can just deal with it.

I decided this year to have a Santa Look-Alike Contest inside my head, and although it was a close call between Ron Gardenhire and Paula Deen's husband Michael, Gardy won out in the end...because he's Gardy. Congrats on winning this prestigious award. And on terrifying small children.

So from all (2) of us here at Peanuts from Heaven Inc., a very Merry Christmas to all (5) of our readers! Remember, as my colleague pointed out at Thanksgiving, and as I try to remember all year, the true meaning of Christmas is being thankful for the people you love, and showing them how much you care. I know that sounds cheesy and ridiculous, but it's true. I feel truy blessed to have such amazing friends and family, an awesomely smelly (and just generally awesome) blogger-in-crime, and of course, the Minnesota Twins.

So I ask all of you, go out tonight, play in the snow, sing some carols, eat some pie (please) and above all, give someone (Little Nicky Punto?) a hug and tell them that you love them. Because really, that's what Christmas is all about.

Peace and joy to all of you (even the Yankees and the White Sox...the holiday spirit has overcome me to the point of madness).


I love Christmas.


Last Minute Presents

If you have not yet completed your holiday shopping and are desperately searching for something, ANYTHING that looks like it might be a passable gift, then stop your browsing now!

In conjunction with Denard's, Peanuts from Heaven is proud to offer great deals on this years must have Twins memorabilia! Just look at these great prices and incredible gifts


As he glides smoothly through the Metrodome outfield, preying on lazy fly balls and screaming with an unfathomable (and, often, irrational) energy, Carlos Gomez truly seems to be the contemporary equivalent of a Velociraptor. Now you can see the incredible fusion of these two remarkable beasts in the must have toy of this holiday season! With Carlos' head fused on to a Velociraptor body you'll see life like motion and authentic, primal screams from the man himself. For just $49.99 you too can experience the "oh-my-god, this-could-either-be-horrible-or-awesome" terror that only Carlos Gomez and Velociraptors can elicit with the Remote Control Carlociraptomez!

*Please note that the remote control does not actually control the Carlociraptomez at all. If it did, don't you think Gardy would use it in place of the real Gomez?


If you love beauty, music and/or Ron Gardenhire you'll love this practical item. (And if you don't love any of those things, I'm sad for you.) Free from the garden, Gardy the Garden Gnome has gone metro and has produced a miniature action figure who will be happy to explain the value of eyebrow waxing and pocket handkerchiefs to every man who is otherwise hopeless. Additionally, if you attach him to the official Metrognome Metronome, he'll make sure that you keep up the tempo as you rehearse your recital music! Order the Metrognome doll for just $17.99 or add the Metrognome Metronome for only $8 more!

This deceptive deck of cards ($4.99) may seem like just another deck of cards, but with the help of Cuddyer and Young it's so much more! Kids will learn how to supract others just like the pros do. Fan out the cards and ask someone else to pick one, memorize it and return it to the deck. Then throw the cards in their face and shout out "SUPRACTION SUCKA!!" Then run like the wind.* With this and dozens of other Supractalicious antics, your children will become Twins material in no time!

*Warning, not to be attempted on anyone who can out run you.

All of these high quality products are available only at Denard's! Located at the intersection of Highway 7 and the Orion Nebula, across from the Piggily Wiggily. Hurry down and have a happy holiday!!


Further Proof

Kristina's ground breaking report about the Yankees as vampires is shocking to say the least. But it begs the question, have the Yankees always been vampires?

Probably not all of them. Plenty of guys go to the Yankees, do poor to okay and then leave because they aren't judged to be "Yankee Material". (Looking at you Doug Mientkwitcz) This might hurt their feelings, but ultimately, they are saved from the gruesome fate of vampire life. Those who come up through the system and excel, or those who are stolen away from other teams and excel, they are the true Yankee vampires--or Yankpires, if you will. 

I mean, Dave Winfield is definitely not Yankpire. He was never the king of New York, and ended up playing his best ball in San Diego and Toronto--that doesn't meet our standards. And while Lou Gherig was totally awesome, he also died of a debilitating disease so rare it was named for him, that's hardly the stuff of Yankpire immortality (it is the stuff debilitating disease immortality).

Heck, think back to the very first Yankees, the original 1903-08 Yankees. Go ahead I'll wait...can you picture them?...No? Of course not, because the Yankees used to stink. Really stink. Stink so bad they went twenty plus years without a title. Stink so bad that even we peanuts have an issue with them. That all changed when this man--seen here in a rare candid home photo--came into their midst.
OF COURSE!! Babe Ruth hit the ball harder and farther than any man before him! He was both a great pitcher and a great hitter. He played his best baseball on a diet of soda pop and hot dogs. NO ONE OUGHT TO BE ABLE TO DO THAT (Unless they garnish the hot dogs with the blood of virgins.) He began the Yankee Dynasty, and begat the legions of Yankpires to come.

The Sultan of Swat.
The Collosus of Clout.
The Vice-Admiral of Vampires.

Babe Ruth. Yankee. Vampire. Progenitor of both a dynasty, and a demonic underbelly in baseball.

Just one more reason, to hate the Yankees.


Food for thought (haha...no pun intended)

So I read that book "Twilight" a couple of weeks ago.
It wasn't exactly fantastic literature, but it was sort of addicting and it also made me think...specifically, it made me think about the New York Yankees.

I refer you to the scene where the vampire family is playing baseball. Just to inform everyone who hasn't wasted several hours of their life reading this book, vampires apparently love baseball. A LOT. Mainly because they totally rock at it. With their super-human abilities, they can hit the ball really hard, really fast, and really, really far.

This is what led me to the conclusion that the New York Yankees are, in fact vampires.

So go ahead, free agents. Join the evil leagues of the undead. Just don't say I didn't warn you.


If we don't study history, we are doomed to repeat it

Well, Chicago, you forgot. Good job. As I'm sure you are aware, Illinois governer Rod Blagojevich is being generally ridiculed and possibly asked to resign because he tried to sell Barack Obama's soon-to-be-vacant senate seat. This added to the audacity of having the last name "Blagojevich", which is impossible to spell and sounds like a frog with leprosy, was just too much for the Prairie state to handle.

All I can say is, the (questionably) good citizens of the city of Chicago should have seen this coming a long time ago. This isn't the first time someone in Illinois has been tempted by the golden idol (aka money). Need I remind you that the GREATEST SCAM of ALL TIME, the one that nearly ruined America, the world, and possibly even the galaxy forever, was perpetrated by none other than the Chicago White Sox? Yes friends. I refer you to the 1919 World Series, aka the Black Sox Scandal.

Much as Blagoaisndflaksdhgch was thinking when he said "Gee, I could use some extra cash. Maybe I should do something highly illegal and sell a senate seat to the highest bidder," so were Sleepy Bill Burns and Billy Mahrag thinking when they said "Gee we could use some extra cash because our owner is a cheap asshole. Maybe we should do something illegal and throw the series so we can get paid off by gamblers!" Smart idea...not.

So congratulations, Rod Backenfusswitch. You have now joined the illustrious ranks of the worst people of all time - the 1919 Chicago White/Black Sox. Let this be a lesson to all Chicago-ans (Chiago-ites? Chicago-ese?) - karma is a bitch.

In a related story, C.C. Sabathia's contract with Satan in which he signed over three years of his life, his soul, and his firstborn child into slavery, is worth approximately 3 times as much as the Twins entire salary budget. So congratulations also to the Minnesota Twins, paragons of decency and honor, who when saddled with low salaries, just continue to play awesome baseball. Cheers :)


Told you so

At the beginning of this week we suggested that Twins' GM Bill Smith had a lot to get done. He only needed a power-hitting, right-handed third-basemen, two or three middle relievers, a non-craptastic substitute at third base and a cure for cancer, for less than 38 cents. 
At the end of the week, Smith walked away with a grand total of none of those things.

What went wrong? Investigative Peanuts From Heaven reporter Merlin the Dog, kept tabs on Smith throughout the meetings and has the following account of the GM's actions.

11:30 AM--Yet again, Tony Oliva and Jim Kaat do not get elected to the Hall of Fame. Smith and all Twins executives start to cry a little bit shouting out: "It's NOT FAAAAAAIIIIIIIRRRRRR!!"

3:00 PM--Still on Time out from his 11:30 temper tantrum, Smith misses a phone call from third baseman Alex Rodriguez who tearfully confesses that his quest for worldly wealth has deprived him of love and family, and now that he understands the true meaning of baseball, he wants to be a Twin so bad he'd even tattoo "Mauer is God" on his right butt cheek.

3:07 PM--A frantic call back to Rodriguez reveals that the Twins are this year's victim of a classic A-Rod punking. "Hahahahahahaha, you got your hopes up," laughs Rodriguez, "your pain is funny."

8:48 PM--The Twins officially give up on signing 3rd Baseman Casey Blake, when Blake asks to be starting third baseman at age 40. Believing that Blake is already 45, because he plays that way, Smith passes.

8:49 PM--The Dodgers do not.

2:08 AM--Smith dreams about signing Francisco Rodriguez, and CC Sabitha on the same day

7:10 AM--Waking up and believing his dreams to be real, Smith calls a press conference to announce the good news.

8:15 AM--After watching Sportscenter, and realizing it was all a dream Smith announces to his press conference that the good news is that Lost will be bringing back new episodes in January, and that he's totally pumped to find out what happens to Desmond, Sayid and--"the coolest guy on the planet"--Sawyer.

9:00 AM-11:00 PM--Smith and the rest of the Twins staff buy the LOST season 4 DVD set and watch all episodes from start to finish.

11:28 AM--Smith smooth talks his way into crafting trades for Seattle Third Baseman Adrian Beltre in one deal, Chicago Infielder Mark DeRosa and San Diego Third Baseman Kevin Kouzmanoff in another, and Colorado Third Baseman Garret Atkins and Reliever Houston Street in a third.

12:45 AM--Smith arranges lunch dates with GMs from Seattle, Chicago, San Diego and Colorado.

1:28 PM--Smith suddenly realizes that he's accidently scheduled his lunch dates for the same time and the same restaurant! The studio audience laughs uproariously as the GMs from each of the other teams slap Smith in succession and storm out of the restaurant.

1:30 PM--Smith goes to the bar at the restaurant and where former GM Terry Ryan that hopes he has learned a valuable lesson.

1:09 AM--Having failed to learn any lesson at all, Bill Smith marries Bellagio cocktail waitress Kelli Kalloway at a one hour wedding chapel/photo-mat with two Elvis impersonators as witnesses

12:28 PM--Smith and Kalloway go to city hall to get a quick divorce

2:29 PM--While finishing the divorce paperwork, Smith misses a phone call from reliever Kyle Farnsworth volunteering to pitch for $1 a year, in homage to his hero Lee Iacoca. 

2:30 PM--Smith quickly returns Farnsworth's call only to hear that Farnsworth has decided to stop being such a lame-o and take as much money as he can get from anyone stupid enough to give it to him.

2:31 PM--The Royals come in on cue and give Farnsworth the keys to the safe. 

11:18 PM--Defeated and dejected, with none of the jilted GMs returning his phone calls, with the only calls from free agents jeering him endlessly and Kelli Kalloway out of his life forever, Bill Smith sits down at the bar to wash away his sorrows.

11:19 PM--Despondent and downtrodden, scared by the big city boos in New York, the foul fermenting cheese steaks in Philadelphia and the toxic air quality in Los Angeles, Nick Punto sits down next to Smith to wash away his sorrows.

11:20 PM--Quoth Smith to Punto: "Vegas Sucks."

11:21 PM--Quoth Punto to Smith: "Yup."

11:22 PM--Quoth Smith to Punto: "Wanna play for us?"

11:23 PM--Quoth Punto to Smith: "Sure thing."

11:24 PM--Punto and Smith share a moment, their eyes meeting over a beer and appletini, the music around them swells and they confront their feelings with complete human honesty, and slowly, ever so slowly, their heads incline towards one another, lips purse, eyes close and...

11:25 PM--The bartender asks if they want anything else. Both men suddenly straighten up and stammer: "uh, no, no, no...we're good....yeah, definitely good." Then stand and walk away.

So something got done, nothing big, nothing mind blowing, nothing that got ESPN all twitterpated. But we got Nicky P. So we're on our way.


What happens in Vegas...

...will probably have no effect on the the Twins.

It's time for the annual General Manager meetings, a time for big time baseball business men to get together and talk about the simple joys of spending their lives working in a children's game.

Twins General Manager Bill Smith will be on his way to Vegas today so that he can participate in the meetings, and, according to most sources he has a rather extensive shopping list to keep the Twins in contention. All he really needs to do is get a right-handed power-hitting third basemen, two or three middle relievers, a non-craptastic first base substitute and a cure for cancer and come in under the Twins budget of 38 cents. So, 
you know, no sweat.

We here at Peanuts from Heaven are happy to
 know that Mr. Smith will be doing his best, but we're even happier to give him some suggestions to help him do his best. Bear in mind, of course, that we are fans, and not as smart as he is, so rather than suggesting any particular individuals we'll be giving general advice.
  1. Learn from the past: The past two years we have signed such unstoppable forces as Ramon Ortiz, Jeff Cirillo, and Mike "Grizzled ol' Prospector" Lamb. These men have several things in common. They are old and have a proven track record for consistently average performance. Unfortunately, when you combine consistently mediocre with old, you usually end up with: Not Very Good. Eventually, you have to drop them off in a farm upstate where there's room to run and play with the other veterans, and a whiskey spring to bathe in.
  2. Focus on the present: Shhh...I'm about to say a dirty word...recession. [Pause] The distant scream you hear is super agent Scott Boras screaming in agony at his lost millions in commissions. Nobody has money to spend nowadays, so with everybody cutting back, what we usually spend should seem like a king's ransom. We need to focus on the present, and rather than acting like wallflowers, we need to be confident, smooth, totally badass. We are good, we are offering what most teams can offer, all you players would be lucky to get with us. C'mon Bill Smith, be the Pick-Up Artist.
  3. Don't destroy the future: Few things are worse than ransoming the future to survive the present. So let's not get hasty in our trades. There are demands I've seen that getting any solid third baseman will require giving up one starting pitcher and one of our outfielders. Give up Denard and Slowey for Colorado's Garret Atkins? FAIL. Give up Gogo and Perkins for Atlanta's Yunel Escobar? Give up Delmon and Cakeburn for strikeout machine Adrian Beltre? Why would we give up our greatest resource for comedy for a Scott Boras client who will grumble through a year before begging for umpteenbillion dollars? Why on earth should we make this man, this happy?
Hopefully that's a simpler shopping list Mr. Smith. Do those three things and we're happy. We'd be happy with some sort of deal that leads to us getting Alex Rodriguez for a pile of magic beans...but we'll make do with what we have (we always do).


My Name is "Scruffy Rube"...

...and I'm a Twins-a-holic.

The gradual decline of posts on this website is not a sign of laziness, apathy or disinterest. The fact of the matter is, both my colleague and I are under graduate school pressure. And while we would like to simply put "see heavenlypeanuts.blogspot.com" in place of all application essays, we realize that's impractical.

But just because we have prioritized and placed writing this blog below studying for graduate school does not mean we anything has supplanted the Twins as the coolest, most totally awesome thing in the world.

Witness the sentences I wrote to help memorize vocabulary for the GRE:
  • "Among Mr. Morneau's accolades are an MVP award and two of K's 'Best Ass' trophies."
  • "Denard Span's burgeoning talent ameliorated the Twins' outfield situation."
  • "The Yankees/Red Sox hegemony in the American League is boooooooooooring."
  • "My idolatrous affection for the Twins may violate the first commandment."
  • "Gardy's irascible tendencies made him a danger to umpires everywhere."
  • "Whenever Mike Lamb starts at first base the Twins infield reaches its nadir."
  • "Delmon Young's use of supraction obfuscated the game, and enabled another victory."
  • "'Isn't it obvious,' Carl Pohlad shouted, 'I'm a parsimonious A$$#@*#!'"
  • "Dread Pirate Nathan and his parrot pirate LOST for the Bangkok DVD market."
  • "Faced with the Twins pluck, the Yankees quailed and quit."
  • "The search for sanity in Carlos Gomez's mind is quixotic, to say the least."
  • "Dread Pirate Nathan is a scurvy scallywag, and my hero."
  • "Supraction stupefies all the Twins enemies."
  • "The Twins surfeit of comical characters will always give me something to write about."
  • "Our pesky piranhas are Ozzie Guillen's greatest vexation."
  • "I am such a zealot that I would tatoo Alexi Casilla's face on top of my own, if I had the money."
And the one that proves my dorkiness more than any other:
  • "Gardy the Garden Gnome's trenchant managerial acumen obviated late inning crises."
Maybe it's wrong that I incorporate my love into my life so often...but at the risk of being cliche or even hackneyed: "how can something wrong feel so right."