Dies Irae

So...confession: neither Stinky nor Scruffy actually saw the awesomeness of last night's game (even though we are watching today's game). The truth is, we were busy. Stinky had to sing Mozart's Requiem, and Scruffy had to appreciate the brilliance of Mozart's Requiem.

But clearly, we were not the only ones who were appreciating the brilliance of old Wulfy Wulfgang, as is witnessed by the pre-game locker room banter in the visitor's clubhouse.

[Twins clubhouse. R.A. Dickey is sitting on the bench with his headphones on and a look of steely determination in his eyes.]
Cre-D (walking by): Hey man...whatcha listening to?
Dickey:  Just some music, to get pumped up.
Cre-D: Oh sweet.  Metallica?  Young Buck?  Satan rock?
Dickey: No, man.  Mozart's requiem.
Cre-D:.......oh.  That's, um.....oh.  OK.
Dickey: Just listen.  You'll understand.
Cre-D: [puts on headphones.  after a few seconds, his eyes widen and burn with the fury of a thousand suns]  BAD-ASS!!!!
Dickey:  I told you!
Dickey:  Here's what I'm saying - nobody appreciates the bad-assitude of classical music the way they should.  *sigh*

And so the Master-Librarian's i-pod was passed from Cre-D, to Justin, to Denard, to Delmon and on to Little Nicky Punto inspiring greatness amongst them all. Us Cellular Field dissolved in ashes. And throughout the White Sox dugout there was great trembling as the Twins descended to judge all things closely.

For truly, the Twins and Mozart shall be awesome and awesomer for ever and ever.


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