Low Expectations...

We bloggers failed to actually be near televisions this weekend, but we repeated a new mantra:

"Low expectations, low expectations". If we don't demand in our minds that the Twins win every game--maybe they will. If we don't expect the bullpen to hold leads--they probably will. If we don't expect Justin and Joe to hit back-to-back home runs every game--it will happen.

Our mantra worked wonderfully well all Friday and Saturday, and seemed to be working Sunday, until the topic in the dugout turned to Mothers Day.

Dr. Cakeburn: I love my mom, she's the one who introduced me to Betty Crocker

Cuddyer: I love my mom, she's the one who made me so adorable.

Princess Mijares: I love my mom, she taught me about magical fantasy worlds, like the one I live in!

Morneau: I love my mom, she's the one who gave me food and made me strong.

Jesse "Ubermensch" Crain: I love my mom, she taught me about the nihilistic overtones of colored blocks in Kindergartens

Mauer: I love my mom, she's the one who gave me my sideburns.

[Pause]

Dr. Cakeburn: My mom's not expecting anything 'cause I'm pitching, I baked a seven-tiered cake, one for every shut out inning I pitch.

Cuddyer, Morneau, and Mauer: Our moms don't expect anything because we're playing today, but we're going to drive in runs with pretty pink bats, then decorate the bats with hearts and hollow them out to hold flowers.

Princess Mijares: Why did you three guys speak in unison?

Cuddyer: I don't know it just seems like what awesome people would do.

Morneau: What are you getting your mom Jose?

Princess Mijares: Ahh, I didn't really have time...so...maybe I'll call or something later. Excuse me while I go pitch [Mijares gets crushed, and returns to the bench, shaken up]

Mauer: You've got to do something for your mom Mijares, isn't that right Ubermensch?

Crain: Actually, I'm sure my mother believes that the capitalist conditioning culture of Hallmark has coopted genuine affection and replaced it with a string of lewd, suggestive cards.

[Pause]

Cakeburn: So...you're not getting her, anything?

Crain: Maybe a few seeds for future flowers or something...Excuse me while I go pitch [Crain is also hammered, and returns to the bench in tears]

Cuddyer: Yeah, guys I don't think that's the right thing to do.

Morneau: Yeah, I'm sure your mothers love you, and while they'd like any gift at all, a special gift would make them super excited.

Brandon Morrow [Seattle Reliever]: Don't listen to them my fellow relievers, Mothers appreciate whatever you give them. I wrote my mother a poem "Uterus/ You Tear Us/ Tears/ Fears/ Little boy crying in Target/ Uterus"--she said it was "really special."

[Silence]

Morrow: Excuse me while I go pitch

[Mauer, Morneau and Cuddyer simply stand there in shocked silence while Morrow throws wildly]

Brendan Harrison: RESPECT MOTHERS DAY JERKWAD!!!!!!!!!!! [Harris swings at a pitch he probably shouldn't and grounds out to end the game]

So this is all a silly way of saying--Mothers are great, and mothers are masters of low expectations, and when you exceed those expectations through love (not bad poetry) everyone's a winner. 

Especially mothers who teach their sons to photoshop.

Happy Mothers Day