Observations whilst in Kauffman Stadium

So...we lost -- and our defense was so bad it almost made my eyeballs fall out of my head -- but still, we went 2-3 in games we saw, and one more win will give us a winning road trip--it won't happen because our theory of low expectations forces us to imagine situations where in the aroma of steaks and the harmonies of blues lures the Twins into a house made of ribs where they are eaten by a witch.

Until such a terrible event occurs: we thought we would share these thoughts in our last stop of this Road Trip:

1) Kauffman stadium is pretty--and pretty evil. Water fountains, a mini golf course, big sweeping stands that provide plenty of shade--all very nice. Complete failure to provide water of any kind to anyone without payment--not cool Kansas City, not cool. We also feel that this might account for our abysmal defense last night. When all our guys tried to take their special smarty pants pills, they had to take them with powerade not regular water--which rendered science and magic irrelevant and turned it all into stupid pills. (Hence the bobbling and the errors)
2) The Ball park is no place for grammar: we say this to the dude who yelled up at us: "TELL THOSE CHICKS NEXT TO YOU "PROVE" IS SPELLED WITH ONE "O" NOT TWO!!!!"--yeah, cause what we really want to do when we finally find friendly people around us is go all english teacher nerd on them
3) Joakim Soria looks like Abraham Lincoln--if Abraham Lincoln played for a mid-nineties metal band
4) Barbecue is good--no surprise there
5) "Lets Go Mauer" chants are ineffective in other ball parks--Though the chairman's magnanimous generosity may also account for the occasional double play ball of charity.
6) When it comes to manager ranting--Gardy is clearly a cut above. In our little den of Twins fans everyone stood up to cheer the man, providing commentary for our Kansas Citizen Brethren: first comes the hand gestures, then the arm gestures, then the increased promiximity to the ump, then the hat comes off, then the magic word, and he's gone. Trey Hillman's style: stand and deliver--no movement, no feeling, no pizazz.

7) Big Dudes love Cuddy. It was about 11:30 PM in downtown Kansas City. We had just parked our car and were ready to go get a drink (or several) in which to drown our sorrows when a huge, massive dude approached us from out of the shadows. "Hey," said the huge dude. "My wife just had a baby six weeks ago and man, I'm out on the highway and we just ran out of gas just over there," (points vaguely to a spot "over there") "and you know, the baby and anything you can do to help..." Stinky, being a woman and being slightly paranoid, was inclined to listen to her brain, which screamed "Run away! Huge dude in a dark parking lot!!" Scruffy, being slightly more calm, pulled out a 20 and gave it to the dude, who then told us a) how awesome we were and b) how much he loved Michael Cuddyer. Not Mauer, not Crede... Michael Cuddyer. So, did he really have a 6 month old baby? Was he really out of gas on the highway? We shall never know. But we do know that big dudes everwhere love Cuddy.

Overall, this was an awesome and successful trip. Peanuts from Heaven win percentage was above .500. Fans were (realitvely) friendly (except in Milwaukee). We were in the shade most of the time. Food was delicious. Sure, there was the occasional setback - a funky smelling hotel room, a melted bag of gummy worms, getting slightly lost in downtown KC - but no ammount of setbacks can ruin baseball, nor can it ruin the fun of burying your co-blogger in the sand and decorating them like Captain Hammer from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. These are the truly great moments in life.


Observations whilst in Busch Stadium

So...we won again--well done us. And while we headed into the game with low expectations in our hearts and heavy duty sunblock in our pores, we headed out of the game with immense satisfaction and complete glee.

Throughout the game, we discussed, as only two anthropomorphic peanuts can: truth, justice, disgusting odors, and the Minnesota Twins--although, not necessarily in that order.

1) Albert Pujols charging down a bunt, is a little like a lion charging in the savannah. For the sake of this simile: Francisco Liriano is a wounded antelope.
2) Cherry Licorice is basically sugar, corn syrup, sugar, red food coloring and sugar--it is also basically awesome.
3) According to Tammy, cashier at the Terrace Level Grandstand Grill, I have beautiful eyes--erego, Tammy is the best cashier in the history of ever.
4) When we nicely ask Justin Morneau to hit a home run, he does so.  When we nicely ask him to do it again, he grounds into a double play, which is highly unfortunate.
5) Joe Mauer enjoys flirting with .400.  Really, he should just stop waffling and commit - bring .400 some flowers and chocolates, take it out for a fancy Italian dinner and talk about how beautiful their children will be, etc. etc.  He needs to do this in order to save all of baseball from the evil league of evil stereoid users, according to Sports Illustrated.

Finally--mad props to Cardinals fans. Who, though they ignored us throughout the game, were very cool, supportive, considerate, refusing to jeer their poor performing players and quietly acknowledging good plays by Twins and providing service with a smile--even to us.

Tomorrow it's on to Kansas City - blues, steak, the Negro League museum, and thou, Kauffman Stadium.

Until then, go Twins!


The most boring things we have ever heard

So...we lost today...just like we lost when we were in route to Milwaukee. And just like when we were en route to Milwaukee we encountered something a trifle odd during the game. Nothing in the play mind you, just something in the play-by-play from Cardinals announcers.

We don't mean to be snobbish, but we've never heard two more boring announcers than the Cardinals' Mike Shannon and John Rooney. While they failed to describe any play in detail, they had no problem repeating the score ad nauseam for the benefit of the each and every individual who tuned into the game (no matter when they did). While both announcers yawned their way through even exciting plays and pronounced simple phrases with elongated syllables calling balls and Steee-rikes, and repeatedly muttering about the mind-boggling boggletude of the boggling boggleness that is boggleball.

We won't have to listen to them tomorrow. All we have to do is turn up and urge the boys on accordingly.

Tomorrow--one pm--good things.


Know Thine Enemy '09: The St. Louis Cardinals

Reasons we should suffocate the Cardinals like this sweltering heat wave sweeping through the midwest

1) There Can Be Only One: This year the talking heads have decided that the best player in baseball will be determined in one three game series. This three game series. In which our side-burned, sweet singing, glorious leader will be confronted with his greatest challenge ever: the unibrowed, omnihitting, God-fearing force that is Albert Pujols. For the Twins, for Mauer, for glory--Pujols and his team must be destroyed. *35 Loathing points*
2) '87 Redux: As Stinky and I know, the Cardinals were our mortal enemy in October of 1987, which was the first of the Twins championship seasons. And though we won that series, we fared poorly in St. Louis. Now is the time to prove that we can win in St. Louis--with a group of players who were between 3 and 8 years old when we first lost...*12 Loathing Points*
3) Joe Buck: The most onerous announcer in all sports got his start as the Cardinals announcer. Enough said. *82 Loathing Points*
4) Fame and Infamy: A little more than 10 years ago, the nation's eyes were riveted on St. Louis to see if Mark McGwire could out homer Roger Maris. A little more than 10 years later, thinking about the steroids and the scandal and the grossness involved in that episode makes us all recoil. On behalf of all those teams who did not juice. Revenge shall be ours. *21 Loathing Points*

Reasons we should just give the Cardinals a sunblock with a low SPF and watch them burn:

1) Jack Buck: The announcer responsible for: "and we'll see you here...tomorrow night!" perhaps the greatest announcement in Twins History was also the Cardinals announcer (and father of Joe Buck--but we'll forgive him for that. *-83 Loathing Points*
2) Frankie Frisch and Pepper Martin: Honorary members of the Old Peanuts From Heaven Gang--and besdies Pepper Martin used to put sneezing powder in hotel ventilation systems--what a scamp! *-28 Loathing Points*
3) Albert Pujols: Say what you will about the unibrow--the man is awfully talented and cleaner than the board of health. He's not Joe Mauer--but he is the St. Louis equivalent. *-17 Loathing Points*
4) Michael Jackson Died: So, maybe we should just sing, dance, and just not stop, not stop till you get enough. *-3 Loathing Points

Final Loathe-O-Meter Rating: 19 Loathing Points
Punishment: Sketchy leers from sketchy men with sketchy mustaches.

Observations whilst in Miller Park

As promised--good things happened (though not to our gummy worms which melted in my car).

On an ungodly hot day in Miller Park the Twins were victorious, decisively so, in fact. Which made this road trip that much greater already (1 game seen by the Peanuts--1 game won in front of the Peanuts).

But while we were winning a few things caught our attention--
1) You can hear things inside Miller Park, whereas the PA system in the Metrodome sounds like nothing so much as Charlie Brown's teacher.
2) Dick and Bert, who were sitting only a few rows behind us being awesome as usual.  Bert gave us a thumbs up.
3) Brewers fans - they're never happy.  It seemed like no matter what we did - clap, hold up our Bert Blyleven hall of fame sign, shift slightly in our seats, sneeze, etc. - they would utter something like "stupid effing Minnesota fans."  Every time a Twins player struck out, the classy dude two rows behind us yelled "Ha!  There goes a Twinkie!!"  Yes.  We get it.  We're there to see the other team.  TOO BAD SUCKERS.
4) Sausage race.  Possibly the most oddly inappropriate, strangely bizzare kids themed ride I have ever seen.  You sit on a giant sausage that is dressed like a human and try to pedal him as fast as possible to the other end of a large cage.  Later in the game, the aforementioned sausages, dressed as various ethnic stereotypes, race each other around the field.  I would make a joke about male insecurity and compensating for things, but this is a family-friendly blog.
5) When the Brewers played: "What I Like About You" we listened carefully and decided that the line about dancing would be applicable to the first Twin to get a hit in that half of the inning. Unsurprisingly: Scott Baker does not know how to dance. Denard Span--OH GOD does Denard Span know how to dance (Jump around, turn around, talk about true romance).
6) Prince Fielder is a vegetarian, which begs the questions, are the souls of his opponents allowed on his regimen? (We think--Yes--Prince Fielder: Devourer of Souls)

One final note--if you go to a ball game and drink--heavily--so much that you pass out with four cups of rum and coke in front of the women's room--you have wasted 75 dollars--$15 for parking, $20 for the ticket, and $40 on the over priced drinks. If you're money conscious during this recession, you can just pay me 60 and I'll hit you over the head with a hammer--same feeling, steep discount.

The Twins are in St. Louis, we are in Chicago (the twain shall meet again Sunday)


The most ridiculous thing we have ever seen

So we were sitting in our hotel in Waukesha, blissfully at peace with bellies full of chinese food and the sweet sense of satisfaction that comes from having Nick Blackburn on the mound, with 2 outs in the 8th and nothing--NOTHING that can come between us and a well earned victory.

But there was something amiss. That something was Brian Anderson, Brewers announcer. Brian Anderson thinks he can see the future--and he can in a way, its just, he sees the exact opposite of the future.

5th inning--"Braden Looper's hurt"--Braden Looper was not hurt
6th inning--"Braden Looper's pitching real well"--We score two runs on three straight extra base hits
8th inning--"With the outfielders playing so deep, there's no way the Brewers will score here"--Then...then...god I can't even write about what happened...it just stunk.

Perhaps we needed to have lower expectations. Perhaps we should have worried and fretted until the final nail was in the Brewer's coffin. Or perhaps this man is Nostradamus, only, you know, not. 

We're going to drown our sorrows in a hot tub. Tomorrow--Noon--good things will happen.

Before we go...

Try to keep a light on during the night, at least until 10 PM so it looks like it's occupied.
Take out the trash tomorrow, and then don't worry about it again.
Feel free to read the newspaper, just be sure to put it in the recycling when you're done.
Oh, and if you hear what sounds like moaning and groaning coming from the basement--that's just the zombie we keep in the basement--Throw him a squirrel, he'll be fine.

ALSO! We have these two brief notes about our beloved Twins:
1) We won last night, which was great, but owing to my work at the steakhouse I couldn't see much. What I could see is the Cisco Kid struggling. And then I could see RA Dickey rocking the house. This seems to be the standard operating procedure for Liriano's starts. Which has all seemed coincidental until I realized his name is: fRAncisco...and don't get me started on the even more obvious last name, where the dotted I looks like a period between Dickey's initials.

All of this begs the question: Is RA Dickey hiding inside a Francisco Liriano suit? Or is this just the best potential Western Drama in the history of ever? Picture it, it could be either Cisco's Librarian, or Dickey & the Kid. Studio executives, I await your call.

2) Luis Ayala wants a trade, to which we here at Peanuts from Heaven say: "Meh." Sorry Luis, I mean, we'd be sad if you didn't give up a run every single time you pitch, or if you had any kind of personality that had invented a character. So...MEH.

We hit the 'road around noon, and we may even get to hear Hall of Famer/Mr. Belvedere Cast Memember Bob Ueker call the game tonight--see you soon!!

And don't forget the mail.



Tomorrow, Scruffy and I are embarking on the greatest journey of all time: TWINS ROAD TRIP!!!

We looked at doing one of those professional bus tours but decided that they are just too expensive and we could probably do it ourselves for about 1/3 of the cost... granted, their budget probably includes nicer hotels and meals at actual restaurants where as ours includes the Super 8 and lots of peanut butter (I'm a grad student so Peanut Butter is pretty much the base of my diet anyways).

So, what I'm really trying to say here is, during the next few days we will be not just any bloggers, but ROAD BLOGGERS!!!

Make sure you watch the TV, because we'll be there, holding our Bert Blyleven Hall of Fame sign and dressed like...well...the only dumbass Twins fans in a sea of Brewers/Cardinals/Royals fans. We'll be at these 3 games:
Thursday 6/25 in Milwaukee
Sunday 6/28 in St. Louis
Monday 6/29 in KC

Awesomeness will happen. Shenanigans will ensue. Peanut butter will be eaten. It will be the greatest thing ever.


Silliness and Intelligence are not incompatible

On a beautiful, warm and fuzzy father's day, before wrapping up their series with the Astros the Twins were doing what all great people do when they are blissfully satisfied with their situation--they sing a nonsense song.

DELMON YOUNG: OHHHHHHHHHH!!! Ba-dabbadee doop--
MICHAEL CUDDYER: Ba-doobedy-bop!
JOE MAUER: Bop-bop-a-doo-wop
JUSTIN MORNEAU: Skeeb-a-dee-
JASON KUBEL: Babba-dee
JOE CREDE: Shabba-dee
Just then Carlos Gomez comes running into the clubhouse, panting and wheezing, looking about the room frantically.
CUDDYER: What is it boy?
CREDE: Yeah, what's wrong Gogo?
MORNEAU: Did Timmy fall in the well?
KUBEL: Is the barn on fire?
YOUNG: Is there trouble down at the old synagogue?
MAUER: What is it Gogo? Tell us boy.
GOGO: I hear that the Astros are starting...are starting...[Gasps in terror before continuing in a whisper] Their magic WANDY!
ALL: [Everyone pauses, looks at eachother and then in unison goes] HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA!!!
GOGO: Why are you laughing, you noble men, you band of brothers? Why doesn't the threat of the Astros Magic Wandy scare you?
KUBEL: Because you're being silly Gogo.
CREDE: Yeah, magic isn't real 
CUDDYER AND YOUNG: [after sharing a brief glance] Yeeeeahhh....magic isn't real...
MAUER: Besides, I'm batting over .400
MORNEAU: And I'm due
YOUNG: And I've finally remembered that hitting the ball is a good thing to do.
MAUER: Besides--it's Magic Wand, GoGo, Magic Wands would be scary, if they existed, which, they don't.
CUDDYER: And even if they did--
YOUNG: which they don't--
CUDDYER: He's an Astro. No sweat Gogo. We got this.
GOGO: But--but--but--
KUBEL: Does someone need some juice?
GOGO: But...but..........maybe?
MORNEAU: I got it [Walks away, suddenly groaning as his legs become stiffer and sorer, so that when he returns he can only murmur] Energy failing, must rest...must...rest--
[The game begins and Mauer looks awful in his at bats]
MAUER: *cough*cough*AH-CHOOO!
CREDE: Hey! That's my sound effect!!! [Runs off crying]
YOUNG: [Walking to plate] Time to repeat my mantra: "See ball, hit ball, see ball, hit ball, see ball...see ball..."am I missing something? OH YEAH! "swing and miss ball!!!"
GOGO: DEL-DEL!!! Well...It's up to me now!! [Gomez strides to the plate to start a rally with his mad bunt skillz] MOJO GO-OW!!!! [Gomez bunts the ball into his face]
CUDDYER: Wow...I guess that really is a magic Wandy...
If you see a Magic Wandy matching this picture, please report it to local authorities. Prolonged exposure to this magic Wandy can result in soreness, sneezing, vomiting, crying, messed up mantras and bunting the ball into your own face.


Bow before the Master Librarian

So we lost yesterday. And that was not cool. But...such is life...

Far more impressive was what my parents saw in the 9th, when RA Dickey stepped up to cruise through a suddenly potent Astros line-up. Particularly Ivan "Pudge" Rodriguez, he of the hall-of-fame statistics, and all-time record-holder for baseball games caught.

Reported Bruce Alan MacKenzie: Rodriguez started shaking his head before he even stepped into the box. Could be heard to tell Mauer: "I can't hit that." Stood dumbly as a fastball swooped by him, and then flailed miserably at two knuckleballs that resembled nothing so much as obese moths. And so it was that arguably the greatest catcher of his generation was rendered utterly inept by the fearsome force that is the Master Librarian.
Quoth the Master Librarian: "Happy father's day Bruce Alan!!!!!"


YOU ought to be traded, drunk guys!

So... I don't say this often, and maybe I'm completely wrong but the Houston Astros kind of seem like Jerkfaces. I feel like each team has it's own unique aura - the New York Yankees is that of pure evil, the Twins is one of goodness and light and puppy dogs, and the Astros is that of Jerkface.

So perhaps it is the Astros fault that the stench of Jerkfacitude crept into the seats in the Metrodome and infected those seated around us. At first, all seemed well, adorable sprogs free from school roamed the seats while their parents looked on bemusedly. We sat amongst knowledgable passionate Twins fans, hopeful that Kevin "Killthrow" Slowey might dominate and that our vaunted line up might vaunt all over Roy Oswalt's face.

Killthrow did not dominate (but he wasn't bad), our vaunted line up sputtered and lurched (particularly when Jason Kubel's running is stupid campaign pooped all over the basepaths after a lead off double), and beer flowed freely. Then did the Jerkfacedness seep out of everyone around us and concentrate its full fury on Delmon Young.

Now, maybe I'm just a dreamer, but I've always felt that it's not OK to boo someone on your own team. Does Delmon screw up sometimes? Yes. Do we sometimes shake our heads and bury our face in our hands wondering why?? WHY??? Yes. He might be a bit of a wally, but he's OUR wally dammit. If you boo your own guy, you're not a fan of the team, you're a fan of winning and you should just go cheer for the Yankees and leave us in peace.

Besides, every once in a while, just when you think there's no help for old Delmon (or "Delmont" as my dad inexplicably decided to call him somewhere around the 5th inning and no he was not drunk), he does something crazy like hit a line drive straight to center field and somehow get to second base. SUPRACTION SUCKAS!

We could almost hear Delmon from our seats, sulking in the on deck circle as Joe CRE-D drew his walks and gripped his back in pain. We could hear Delmon plotting, scheming, envisioning his Supractalicious acts of Doom.

"Call me a chump [mumblewumble] say I oughta be traded [mumblewumble] You ought to be traded drunk guys in Section 118 Row 9! JUST WATCH THIS!!" So it was thought and so it was Supracted.

Likewise the next inning, when Joe Nathan threw his only bad pitch of the night and Lance Berkman hit a shot to left field we could sense Delmon suddenly realizing that this was his moment. And as he took off in his little mincing run toward the ball we could almost hear him shout: "I GOT IT! I GOT IT! I'M GONNA SUPRACT THE HELL OUT OF THIS ONE!!" All while Carlos Gomez was shouting "BALL! BALL! BALL! BALL! BALL!" And then did they leap, and Delmon shouted "GOGO LET ME CATCH IT! I MUST PROVE MYSELF! I MUST SUPRACT!!!" (he has impressive lung capacity) and Gogo replied "BALL! BALL! BALL! BALL!" And it was caught and it was good and it was.....SUPRACTION

Know Thine Enemy '09: The Houston Astros

Reasons we should blast the Astros into outer space, where no one can hear them scream or see them stink:
  1. My, that's a lot of Backne you've got there: We here at Peanuts from Heaven are notably anti-steroid--probably because we never reaped the benefits others did. Sure, we had Juan Rincon pitch really well for 30 days, but we never had someone hit 756 home runs, we never hired two MVPs who admittedly used steroids, and we sure as hell never had two over forty guys throwing the best stuff of their lives. We had Brad Radke going quietly into that dark night and Boof Bonser eating Bear Claw after Bear Claw. But even after all the steroid mess got out, even after all the suspicion and taints and what not: the Astros went ahead and signed another ex-MVP whose name has been bandied about among the syringes. So...Houston, if you're expecting pity for reaping the rewards of baseball's biggest scandal since Pete Rose--don't hold your breath. *88 Loathing Points*
  2. LOOK WHAT YOU DID: The Astros thought it would be a good idea to move baseball indoors...so they did this and we did this...ugly begets ugly--shame on you for tricking us Houston...you and your melifluous accents! *35 Loathing Points*
  3. Speaking of ugly: This should never be inflicted on anyone ever. *16 Loathing Points*
Reasons we should tap the Astros on the shoulder and politely inform them: "Houston, we have a problem."
  1. Yawn: During the Astros Glory Days (yes, the Astros, oh best beloved, had Glory Days) there was no more formidible tandem than Jeff Bagwell and Craig Biggio. Two men who played hard, lived well, and were so ungodly boring that no one outside of Texas could watch them play. That's pretty much the whole of the Astros team history. They're fine, they're just dull...nobody in the history of the Astros has the spark and spunk and general insanity that there is on the Twins (or that there is in Carlos Gomez's little fingernail). It's not like the Yankees where blandness is a virtue because it helps you blend in with non-vampires--it's just plain, old, soul-sucking banality. So we could beat them, but why? Their fans are too bored to cheer for them, their enemies are too bored to beat them, I'm too bored writing this to come up with a better jab than "Houston, we have a problem." So just lose Houston...we don't care how, just lose and take your boring...ahhhhhhhnnnn...I'm sorry, what was I writing? *-100 Loathing Points*
Final Loathe-O-Meter Rating: 39 Loathing Points
Punishment: I would threaten you with line dancing to the Achy-Breaky Heart, but since that might be enjoyable in Houston, I will instead threaten you with learning the dance steps for Om Shanti Om.
(NOTE: I am not insulting Bollywood or Shah Rukh Khan--I'm insulting Astros fans who would be scared to death of this, now please pass the Kurkure)


Victory! and some other stuff

It was a sunny, slightly humid afternoon in Minneapolis. It was that blissful time of summer, after the ice had finished thawing and before the mosquitoes emerged in droves to mangle the unsuspecting folk.

Nick Blackburn was preparing to pitch the final game againts the Pittsburgh Pirates. It was only minutes before he must transform into the wily Dr. Cakeburn, hero of the land, pitcher of awesomeness and lover of cake. Being crafty and somewhat nefarious, Blackburn knew that the pirates would leave no stone unturned, no cannon unfired, no swash unbuckled, until they had returned home with all of the booty Carlos Gomez was hording in his paper nest in the locker room.

He needed to send them home defeated - but how?

"Well," offered fellow superhero and master of supraction Michael Cuddyer, "The best way to victory is to do something both surprising and distracting. Something so unexpected they'll never know what hit them."

"...Like pitch an entire shutout game?" inquired Blackburn/Cakeburn.

"...Yes..." Cuddy mused for a moment, his dimples fading momentarily as he stared mistily off into the distance. "In fact.. it may be the only way."

"You know," said Blackburn/Cakeburn. "It's really hard to take you seriously when you're wearing teddy bear pajamas." But he paused, thinking about what Cuddy had said. "I've never accomplished such a feat."

"Ah," said wise old Mike Redmond, shuffling into the locker room. "Few have...few have. I have seen only a few in my time. But I've heard the stories..."

"I like stories!" squeaked Carlos Gomez.

"Dude just go, um play in your nest for a while," Cakeburn instructed the wild-eyed outfielder. "This story is for me. You'll listen if you know what's good for you - especially if you want to keep all those hotel shampoo bottles you have stockpiled in your special corner." Gomez grew silent.

"I've heard that those who pitch entire shutout games are rewarded with their heart's desire," Redmond continued.

"Like cake??"

"...sure like cake. Why not cake? But I mean, it's just a story."

But Blackburn had already started dreaming of rooms piled high with every kind of cake imagineable. Cake, as far as the eye could see, and the smiling face of GoGo when he realized it was Cakeburn who had saved his treasure from the attacking Pirates.

"OK," said Cakeburn. "I'll do it!"

And he did. Almost. He gave up that one run in the 9th but it was so close that the baseball gods decided to give him cake anyways.

I'm also pretty sure that Adam Laroche actually belongs in Minnesota or possibly Wisconsin. I have a lot of co-workers who go hunting in Wisconsin on the weekends - they are DUDES. Adam LaRoche is also a DUDE. This video, sent to me by south-fl-steel at Honest Wagner, pretty much proves my point.

Good use of company time

This is what I do when my brain hurts from making powerpoints.

So...last night wasn't as good as it could have been.

You would think that with the bases loaded and one out, and Kubel and Crede batting, that we'd be able to bring in at least one run.

You would think that. But you would be wrong. I had the strange urge to dig my eyeballs out with a dull, rusty spoon, which would probably have been less painful than watching Crede ground out to first.

... I may have exaggerated slightly. But you get the point.

Just to clarify: I kind of like the Pirates and if forced to live on the East Coast, I'd probably adopt them as my new team.

I approve of the Pirates for the following reasons:
1) Their mascot. As we all know, pirates are totally bad-ass.
2) Honus Wagner. Also totally bad-ass. First, there's this post; there's also the book Crazy 08 which, although it was really about the Cubs, made me want to root for Wagner and the Buccs instead. I actually have a picture of Wagner on my living room wall, which is right next to a picture of Ty Cobb. If these pictures came to life like in Harry Potter, they'd probably maul each other. I may or may not have thought about this when I was deciding where to hang the photos.
3) Their fans are pretty cool. Scruffy went to a Pirates game in Pittsburgh last year, saw them win and had a great time. We also made some new friends (frenemies?) over at Honest Wagner who let us hang out on their blog even though we're fans of the other team. Apparently they drink beer and say "shit" a lot. I can get behind that.

The only problem I have with the Pirates really is Delwyn Young because come on, that's just confusing.

Tiebreaker today - maybe the best man win!
(We're obviously the best man but shh.... don't tell the Pirates fans! ;)


Shoutout to Jesse Crain

We here at PfH have a soft spot in our hearts for Jesse Crain - he's such a nice guy and, as we discovered, a true mensch [which led my scruffy co-blogger to dub him ZE UBERMENSCH]

The story of us meeting Jesse goes a little something like this:
It began at Twins Fest 2009, where we went to get an autograph from Gardy.

Surprisingly, compared to the approximately 85,000,000,000 people waiting in line to hang out with Joe Nathan, there were aproximately zero people waiting to hang out with Gardy.

Let me just repeat that in case you didn't catch it the first time.


I found this strange, since hanging out with Gardy falls near the top of my list of most awesome things ever, along with Neil Patrick Harris and chocolate cake from Morton's Steakhouse. So we chatted with Gardy for a while and then left, only to realize afterward that the quiet dude with the tattoos sitting next to him was Jesse Crain, and that we hadn't said a word to the guy. Oops.

So we went back to find Jesse during his photo session. We said we felt back for unwittingly ignoring him, and he just smiled and said "hey no problem" and then took his picture with us. So Jesse Crain - pretty cool dude.

In summary - we're thinking about you, and are sad that we don't have an excuse to sneak Nietzche references into our posts anymore (because we're nerds like that). Best of luck Jesse and hope to see you back at the dome soon.

(And I'm dead serious about the chocolate cake. You have to try this cake it's amazing.)

Another Perfect Night in Twins Territory


Prior to last evening's game against the Pirates of Pittsburgh--whose noble people shall be freed from the shackles of despotic management once they submit to the glory and the power that is Twinsism--Twins Territory Chairman Joseph Mauer--Glories and Hosannas be upon his name--decreed that the sky should open and rain should fall upon the arid lawns of all loyal Twins Territorians. 

Furthermore, in another example of the prescience and forethought that have made Twins Territory a shining beacon in a sea of troubled waters that are actually land--but will be called seas for the sake of this metaphor--his Shining Sideburnedness sheltered the playing field in a most ingenious teflon covering which is the greatest and most wonderful thing of all time (it also made Andrew McCutchen--the glowing bonfire of hope along the Alleghany--drop a ball and help us to win).

Meanwhile, a treasonous ball, which slipped from the Chairman's all-powerful hand and was labeled an error by villainous agents of the West, was arrested for subversiveness, libel and acts contrary to the best interests of Twins Territory. It shall never be spoken of for all eternity.

Beyond these acts of bravery and fortitude Chairman Mauer also stroked the ball brilliantly each time he came to the plate, fed all citizens of the bleacher seats by multiplying hot dogs and peanuts, personally provided the lighting for the stadium with his natural aura of goodness and light, saved a kitten from a nearby tree, and cured cancer...simultaneously.


Know Thine Enemy '09: The Pittsburgh Pirates

Reasons we should loot and pillage the Pirates with superior swordsmanship and the occasional swinging via long arm on to their dugout.
  1. Where do you get off? I would call the Pirates ownership criminally inept--but that would be an insult to criminally inept people. The bungling, blundering, bufoon-ish cabal that runs the Pirates has spent 14 years running off every talented player in the city, and demanding that the city build them a new stadium to contend. Only once the new stadium was built the Pirates sucked only marginally less than they had before. 
(Meanwhile it took the Twins 6 years of contention to get a new stadium) The imbecillic ignorami which have systematically alienated the good people of Pittsburgh for over a decade must be dealt with, and I say we're just the team to bludgeon them senselessly until we bring about regime change. *62 Loathing Points*

2. Title Town They won the Super Bowl, they just won the Stanley Cup, if they win the World Series too they'd be like Boston--only far less arrogantly academic. *17 Loathing Points*

Reasons we should best the Pirates through adroit witticisms rather than brute force
  1. Ownership? You know, millionaire owners are not affected by our wrath nearly as much as serious fans are. And Pittsburgh is full of serious fans. They deserve something better than total annihilation. *-14 Loathing Points*
  2. PNC/Pittsburgh I've been there. It's awesome, particularly when fans stick it out through the rain to watch an extra inning walk off home run. *-8 Loathing Points*
  3. Sid F#$@!%G Bream?!?!? I became a baseball fan when the Twins won the Series in '91. I became a baseball fanatic when the Pirates lost the NLCS in '92. Everyone else loved the Braves, I loved the Pirates--just to be different. They made it to Game 7 and they had it won. Until a back-up catcher, hit a bleeding single to left center and the slowest man in the history of baseball plodded home from second ahead of a sweep tag that I have sworn for the last 17 years GOT HIM OUT!!! The Twins taught me to love Baseball, The Pirates taught me it won't always love you back. *-49 Loathing Points*
  4. Honus Wagner--Baseball's original badass. A trash talking, hard-core German shortstop with power and speed whose reanimated corpse we would gladly hire in a heartbeat. He gets little press but he was every bit as amazing and revolutionary as Ruth and Cobb, and for that we give Pittsburgh mad props. *-15 Loathing Points*
Final Loathe-o-Meter Rating: -7 Loathing Points
I can't believe I'm saying this...but the Pittsburgh Pirates are our Friend. (Or at least a frenemy)
Punishment: In a Peanuts from Heaven First--the Pittsburgh Pirates must merely lose...nothing else. (We'll even buy them a beer afterwards)


You know what?

We went on a roadtrip, and it did not totally suck!

We did not lose 85 Gajillion to 1. Delmon actually got a couple hits. The smoke monster from LOST did not eat our entire starting lineup and then spit them out like a bad nut. The sun did not become a red giant and engulf the entire earth in flames. Gardy was not kidnapped by trolls. Overall I think it went very well.

Considering how every other time this year that we've dared to venture outside the safety of the metrodome has ended in utter disaster, I'll take 500 any day.

I was also highly entertained by our series against the Cubbies. Milton Bradley forgot how to count to three, but can you really blame him? Counting was such a long time ago, and when I think of all the things I learned in school that I've now forgotten (my entire 10th grade world history class is reduced in my mind to a squiggly line on the board which I think was the long march of China, and a few random facts about the Industrial Revolution), you can hardly blame a guy for forgetting how to count.

Also, in a random act of violence, a Twins fan was either punched in the face or hit in the face with a ball (I'm not entirely clear on the facts here). I'm pretty sure that Twins fan was my friend Paul, and that getting hit in the face was karmic retribution for being there without me and for taunting me with pictures and text messages throughout the weekend. SUCK IT PAUL.

And... a big fat welcome back to Glen Perkins! It feels nice to have our starting rotation back in action. Swarzak was good, Perkins is better.


We definitely do not approve of this message

Wrigley is marvelous. This we know.

Wrigley is marvelous because of ivy, Harry Carrey, gigantic sausages, and because we won.

However, Wrigley contains some characters. Somebody who punched a Twins fan for not throwing back Mauer's home run. A homeless man named Ronnie Woo-Woo who sneaks into every game ever (and always goes: "woo-woo" hence the name). And Milton Bradley, who shared this opinion with Jason Kubel before the game.

[During batting practice]
BRADLEY: Hey! KUBEL!!! HEY!!! C'mere a second man, I wanna talk to you
KUBEL: Uh...hi Milton Bradley, starting Right Fielder for the Chicago Cubs.
BRADLEY: Why did you refer to me by my full name, position and organization?
KUBEL: Force of habit...we do that so that those unfamiliar with baseball will understand the blogs.
BRADLEY: Cool. Anyway, dude, mad props on the Running is Stupid campaign you got goin' on!
KUBEL: Thanks Milton, I appreciate that.
BRADLEY: I got an informative campaign goin on too!
KUBEL: What's yours Milton?
BRADLEY: Counting is stupid!
BRADLEY: Think about it...how often do you count things?
KUBEL: Uh...every day?
BRADLEY: No way...what do you count?
KUBEL: Um..strikes, balls, outs?
BRADLEY: THAT'S STUPID!! I don't ever count anything! Particularly when there are so many surprising and distracting things to--SQUIRREL!!! [Bradley stands at attention staring intently into the ivy in the outfield, where he believes there is a squirrel. ] Anyway...counting is stupid.
KUBEL: Seriously, Milton, I don't think that's...
BRADLEY: Look banner Jason!!
KUBEL: Is that a piece of pizza above your banner?
BRADLEY: Yes...yes it is...
BRADLEY: This Chicago unless there is something covered in cheese, Chicagoans will not listen to your words of wisdom. Anyway man, I just wanted to come by and say nice work, and I hope to work with you on future anti-stupid--SQUIRREL!!! [Bradley again stands at attention staring into the ivy in the outfield. On the other side of the batting cage, Masters of Supraction Delmon Young and Michael Cuddyer quickly develop a plan.]

So it came to pass, that Milton Bradley's well intentioned attempt to rid the world of counting, was bested by the fine art of Supraction. And thus did the Minnesota Twins arise victorious from their day in the sun at Wrigleyville.

It's a marvelous place.

Know Thine Enemy '09: The Chicago Cubs

First this: I would not mind if the entire western coast of the United States slipped into the Pacific Ocean...except San Francisco...I have friends there...other than that, all the west coast, particularly their baseball teams who manage to eke out stinktastic wins over us by single runs when we DESERVE TO WIN THE FLUNKING GAME!!!!

Sorry...Cranky Pants returned, deep breath, think about Supraction and all its many uses...back to normal.

Now lets turn our attention to this weekend's enemy...I mean...opponent: The Chicago Cubs.

  1. Smug, Smug, Smug: One thing was made profoundly clear to me by every Chicagoan I ever meet. White Sox fans are hard core. Cubs fans are too busy practicing feng shui to be hard core. Perhaps this story tells it best--when the White Sox win a division title they, city politicians, almost all of whom are Sox fans, blow air raid sirens to celebrate. When the Cubs won their division last year they asked why the air raid sirens weren't blown. Fire Marshall said: "We wouldn't want you Cubs fans spilling yer CHAR-DO-NAY!!!!!" *23 Loathing Points*
  2. Whine, Whine, Whine: Speaking of Chardonay, it is a proven fact that the Chicago Cubs are enduring the worst championship drought in baseball history. How can you establish that fact? See anyone wearing Cubs regalia ever, and engage them in conversation for more than 3 seconds. You will almost assuredly hear them complain about this being the 101st season since they won their last championship. The one thing Cubs do better than gloat about success, is whine about failure. *46 Loathing points*
  3. They had their chance: As students of baseball history both Stinky and I love the book Crazy '08, about the last Cubs championship. However, we didn't exactly love the Cubs. They were smug in the face of adversity and whined their way into playoffs--hey, somethings don't change--they also managed to best our beloved Honus Wagner. It may be over a century late, but for Honus let there be vengeance!! *18 Loathing Points*
  4. The one true manager: Cubs Manager Lou Pinella has a reputation for being the craziest, crankiest, angriest manager ever. Ahem...your rebuttal Mr. Gardenhire? *5 Loathing Points*
  1. Wrigley: Say what you will about Cubs fans, they know how to have a good time. Wrigley is party central, and it also happens to be a beautiful place. It's like a palace you can hold a kegger in. There's singing, there's dancing, there's polka--I'm serious--there's polka, it's incredible to see and experience. *-45 Loathing Points*
  2. Maybe it will stop: If we all just let the Cubs win one, maybe they'll shut up about having not won for so long. Maybe they'll just become another team and we can all move on without having to hear paeans about their pain 29 times a season...then again, maybe they'll still be as insufferable as Red Sox fans. *-19 Loathing Points*
  3. Dorkier...if that's possible: You know the "We're Gonna Win Twins!" song? Which will occasionally sing a little bit if we're in the right mood--and a little drunk? The Cubs have a song like that too--only everyone sings it, drunk or not, win or not, all three verses. That is how dorky the Cubs are...I'm a dork, don't get me wrong, but three verses of a cheesy 70s song dead sober? That's special. *-8 Loathing Points*
Final Loathe-o-Meter Rating: 20 Loathing Points
(-12 Loathing Points from last year)
Punishment: One more incomprehensible Billy Corgan song.


Hello Delmon My Old Friend

HEY! Two victories! On the Road! That's kind of sort of totally awesome!!!

Now I could give credit for this victory to the pitchers, including Lirano* and Ayala--who I honestly expected to mutate into puddles of water like in X-men, so that the mound got very soggy and ruined the rest of the night for our pitchers. Or in the home run hit by Jason "Running is Stupid" Kubel.

*Side note--is it just me or do Francisco's struggles the second time through the order remind you of that old saying coined by our last president: "Fool me once, shame on you--fool me twice, shame on...can't get fooled again!"

But instead I'd like to give a shout out to a forgotten friend. A man we have not written nice things about since New Years. Delmon Mergatroid Young. Erstwhile Master of Supraction.
It has not been a good season for Del. He was supposed to be a break out star. Another power hitter, the sixth straight dynamite bat in an indomitable line up. And instead he has...well...sucked is a little mean...but he may well have slurped a bit.

It's not entirely his fault mind you. Sure, he ignores advice on his swing, sure he can't seem to figure out how to take a pitch and earn a walk. But he is hitting in front of Tolbert and Punto--the walking dead infield--with their sub .200 averages. So...there's not much need to challenge him. And sadder still...he lost his mom. As noted lovers of our mothers, we at Peanuts From Heaven send him condolences on that.

So it's been nice that Delmon has batted in four whole runs in the last two games. I won't pretend that this has suddenly made him the greatest player ever. But it's nice to see him back. I hope the first two months were one long distraction...so that now its time for a surprise--A SUPRACTION!!! KABAM!!

Welcome back-ish Delmon. Stick around---it's fun.


The Mollification of Mr. Cranky Pants

Last night I was torn between three dominant emotions:

1) Tenuous excitement about a slim lead
2) Tremendous excitement about a big lead
3) Tremendous terror at our 9th inning debacle

However, to be fair, if Ze Ubermensch and Pretty Princess Mijares are going to have one bad night per month that it should be during games where we have a nice fat lead.

But lost among the number of homers, and imploding bullpen is perhaps the greatest play of the night: in the 6th inning, with Jason Kubel on first, one out, and Cuddyer at the plate the following signals were exchanged between Scott Ulger and Jason Kubel.

ULGER: Right shoulder tap, left shoulder tap, brush right leg (Translation: Run really really hard when Cuddy hits the ball)
KUBEL: Left helmet touch, nose touch (Translation: I don't wanna.)
ULGER: Helmet brim graze, buckle tap,buckle tap, buckle tap (You're a professional athlete--RUN!)
KUBEL: Right elbow wiggle, belt buckle tug, brush left leg (But we've lost the last few games when I was trying to run hard--and besides, I brought my giraffes with me.)
ULGER: Chin scratch, deep knee bend, helmet shake (We are not having this debate, when the ball is hit RUN HARD!!)
KUBEL: Touch tongue to nose, pirouette, jete, jete (Can't I be a ballerina instead? It's fun look!!)
ULGER: Break down crying (For the love of everything holy, RUN!)

Kubel, out of mercy to Scotty Ulger was prepared to run, but then he looked at his banner holding giraffes, still gripping their anti-running banner but with a look of abject disappointment on their faces. So, when Cuddyer tapped the ball lightly to second, Kubel ran a little, then stopped, just, stopped, because running is stupid. The second baseman was flummoxed, confused, utterly supracted, and failed to turn a double play, finally tagging Kubel in bewilderment.

Cuddyer was on first, and then Brendan Harris, Delmon Young, and Carlos Gomez hit the ball real hard and we scored three much needed runs. Which was followed the next inning by the ultimate display of Kubel's anti-running feelings: a home run.
While Ulger and Gardy would have preferred the running, but the giraffes clearly like not running more--and there are few things more terrifying than peeved giraffe.


Mr. Cranky Pants

Maybe its because I haven't slept much lately. Maybe its because I was frustrated during work today. Maybe its because my previously ingenious photoshop for Anthony Swarzak seems utterly useless. Maybe its because I have been spending prolonged hours attempting desperately to find statistics on uncooperative websites. But whatever the case I feel obliged to say this:


Mind you I'm sure I'm not alone. I'm sure our Garden Gnome/Manager doesn't like it. I'm sure our offense doesn't like it. I'm sure our pitchers don't like it. I'm sure that if we could win every time we wanted to we would be just like the Yankees--only not evil.

I think I wouldn't mind so much if we were losing by a lot of runs, because then I would understand that we are a grossly out matched team. It would be understandable if we were losing to teams with obscene payrolls and scads of all-stars: because then our role as plucky little underdogs would be heightened, and rare victories made sweeter. It would be nice if we didn't lose to a man with as absurd a name as "Outman" because--I mean, seriously? We come up with pitchers/superheroes like Dread Pirate Joe Nahtan, Kevin "Killthrow" Slowey and the Nefarious Dr. Cakeburn, and you just go with: Outman? Lamest. Super Hero. EVER! Losing I can stand--losing to cliches I cannot. 

But this: this string of one-run losses, this streak of losses to mediocre teams, this...OUTMAN!!! I MEAN OUTMAN!!?!?!?!?

Listen, Twins, I love you, and I'm sure it will get better...my crankiness might not solve anything--but at the very least I've got it out of my system and am ready to approach the world with burgeoning optimism and serenity--maybe you should try it.

I go a journey in galleries of sound

I love being on the road.... or not....
Why couldn't the meat of our order hit their pitching? Maybe because they have the best pitching in the league?...but I digress. Also...and I mean, this is just a small detail so I can see how our guys might have missed it, but when there's guys on base, it sometimes helps to, you know, help them score. Like, get a hit, or something. Just a small point.

So instead of focusing on the fact that we lost the series, let's focus instead on the "Marineros" uniforms our fancy-pantsed opponents were wearing on Saturday to honor latino contributions to the sport of baseball.

Some observations:
1) Whenever I hear the word "Mariner" I think of Samuel Taylor Colridge and the Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Thus it follows that all of the Seattle Mariners must be tortured poets.

2) Mark Grace is boring. There were minute-long periods of silence during which I could hear crickets chirping.
3) In honor of Latino heritage, and also in honor of the Mariners being poets and also in honor of the Fox announcers sucking, I offer this edition of FSN POETRY, brought to you by Octavio Paz and Pablo Neruda. I may or may not have chosen some of this commentary by opening a book and jabbing my finger at a random page.

GRACE: Welcome to another FSN Baseball broadcast! Here with me today are my buddies Octavio Paz and Pablo Neruda!
NERUDA: to whoever is cooped up
in house or office, factory...
or street or mine or harsh prison cell:
to you I come, and, without speaking or looking,
I arrive and open the door of your prison.
PAZ: If this beginning is a beginning it does not begin with me. I begin with it.
GRACE: Deep thoughts, deep thoughts. So what did you guys think of today's game?
NERUDA: Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked...
GRACE: So...not good then.
PAZ: The stone lips of the night utter a word column of grief...
GRACE: I guess you're both Twins fans, huh. Ok...well...I mean, your boys left a lot of men on base - lots of squandered opporunities there. How do you feel about that?
NERUDA: You can cut the flowers but you cannot stop spring from coming.
PAZ: If man is dust, all who go through the plain are men.
GRACE: So true, so true. Words of wisdom.
[30 second pause]
GRACE: Soo... Cuddy's been on the DL, that's gotta be hurting.
NERUDA: A child who does not play is not a child; but a man who does not play has lost forever the child who lived in him and who he will miss terribly.
GRACE: Well it's always sad when your inner child dies. I killed mine long ago. (awkward pause) Think the Twins have a shot at the pennant this year?
PAZ: Reality is a staircase going neither up nor down, we don’t move; today is today, always is today.
NERUDA: Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities? Or will it not be a clarity between two dark triangles?
PAZ: To fall, to return, to dream, and let me be the dream of the eyes of the future, another life, other clouds and die at last another death!
GRACE: That sounds optimistic.
NERUDA: We don't do optimism.
GRACE: That's the sanest thing you've said all day.

[5 minute pause. Crickets chirp.]

GRACE: Hey look a fluffy cloud.
PAZ: Man does not speak because he thinks; he thinks because he speaks. Or rather, speaking is no different than thinking: to speak is to think.
GRACE: Are you mocking me?
NERUDA: I'm not sure, I can understand only a little, I can hardly see...
GRACE: You're not kidding.

[7.5 minutes pass. Paz begins to hum a John Cage tune.]

GRACE: Well that's all for tonight folks! See you next week!

Dear Oakland: please be kind to us. As you can tell, my sanity is slipping slowly away...


Worth Mentioning

Two things occurred on Thursday that ought to be mentioned. First Joe Mauer was named Player of the Month for May, to which Twins Territory responded with a thundeorus: "Well...DUH!!!"
Still the victory for our great and glorious catcher--all praises be unto him for through him do all well pitched games flow--is worth noticing. Please pay homage at one of his many statues throughout the Twin Cities metro area--do not be like the guys just sitting drinking in front of the statue--PAY HOMAGE DANG IT!!!

Also worth mention is the 300th career victory of Randy "Big Unit" Johnson. Whom you might remember as the first of the four pitchers of the apocalypse that we faced in successive games last season (he was also the first man to make me photoshop--as you can see I did it poorly).

Still and all the victory for the big mullet is notable because more than any other pitcher he seemed the most fierce, the most ferocious, and while I still think that Greg Maddux and Johan Santana are better than he ever has been...Johnson is by far the most intimidating. The man killed a bird that flew between his pitch and the plate...KILLED IT! I'm not pro-bird killing, but I am pro-not-making-a-man-who-can-kill-a-bird-with-a-baseball mad.

So, in the spirit of not making Randy Johnson kill us all with his fastballs of doom. Let us raise a toast, and perhaps a two foot long hotdog cooked by a Rock God to (Honestly, its on the second page of the menu) a man who might not have a statue of him in the Twin Cities, who might not have beaten us in the last few years, but who does possess perhaps the greatest mullet of all time, and is now as he has ever been--one hell of a pitcher.

Kudos Randy Johnson--you're almost as cool as Joe Mauer...if by almost you mean, not nearly at all--but still cool in your own way.

The Return of Kaptain Kubel

When last we saw Jason Kubel...good things were happening. Of course, that was a month ago. And since then many good things have happened including Joe Mauer's Return, Cuddy's return to form, the emergence of Killthrow and Pixar's UP (seriously--very good).

But we have not seen or heard much from Jason Kubel. He of the cycle, grand slam, holding down the fort till Mauer gets back prowess. Then suddenly, yesterday, he returned in not one but TWO blazes of glory.

The only explanation of this could be heard in the dugout before the game:
MORNEAU: Wow, Jason, you look pumped up. 
KUBEL: I am, Justin...I AM!!
MORNEAU: Why, I mean, we just got pummeled by the Indians last night.
KUBEL: Because watching the Indians beat the living daylights out of our pitchers reminded me of how much fun it is to hit the ball hard.
MORNEAU: hehheh, yeah...it is pretty sweet.
KUBEL: And for a whole month you've been hitting the ball hard
MORNEAU: Yeah...
KUBEL: And Cuddy's been hitting the ball hard
CUDDYER: Yeah...(smiles and a small ping is heard)
KUBEL: And Joe's been hitting the ball hard
MAUER: Yeah....
KUBEL: And other Joe's been hitting the ball hard.
KUBEL: And all that time I've been focused on running faster and faster! I mean...once you go triple it's hard not to gerflipple...
KUBEL: I don't know it's Gogo's saying--
GOGO: My nose potatoes is salty!!
KUBEL: So I've been running, and running, but now I've decided that Running is Stupid.
MORNEAU: Uhhh....I wouldn't exactly
KUBEL: No, it is! I've even got a banner to that effect.
MORNEAU: Is it being held in the teeth of two giraffes?
KUBEL: Yeah...gives it a little panache, don't you think?
We at Peanuts fro Heaven do not agree with Jason Kubel's banner, but we will defend to our dying breath Jason Kubel's right to say such things on banners held in the teeth of giraffes. {A combination of respect for the first ammendment, and just loving everything to do with giraffes}


At least the rest of the Central lost, too....

So... we got spanked last night.

I'm trying not to think about it too much. I mean, we can't win EVERY game. Swarzak can't be awesome EVERY time. Mauer can't ALWAYS hit eight gazillion home runs every game. And Lee pitched a great game. So inevitably, sometimes we will lose. Badly. Very badly.

It's also possible that Jhonny Peralta was still upset with me over this entry from last year, in which I depicted him being ripped apart by Tessa's puppy. In which case I would say - get over it dude.

OK not thinking about it.


Let's think about something happy - like pie.

Mmmmmm......... pie.
Actually the only thing that made last night bearable was that throughout the depressing last three innings of the game, I was eating apple pie.... or maybe that was the problem. It's possible that the deliciousness of pie infused me with boundless optimism and raised my expectations to unattainable degrees of awesome - SORRY EVERYONE. My bad.

In a related story, Bakers Square has free pie on Wednesdays! You can order anything - anything at all - and get a free slice of pie! I usually get decaf coffee. I know what you're thinking - "Free pie - surely it's too good to be true!" Oh, it's real people. I could not make this stuff up.

So maybe the solution is that EVERYONE needs to eat pie. If all Twins fans across the globe (or at least the metropolitan area, and maybe Gardy too) were to gather at the Bakers Square on Ford Parkway and eat pie until we passed out from happiness, the Twins couldn't not win - at least on Wednesdays.


The Battle for the Strike Zone

Last night at the Metrodome, all was well until umpire Paul Schrieber made a villainous decision, in the sixth inning that would change the course of the game.

Rather than calling a third strike looking, he hesitated, and threw Kevin "Killthrow" Slowey (he of the best record on the team, the killer arsenal of pitches, the admiration of the mass media and badass costume) into the pits of despair from whence derived the only runs Slowey gave up all night. The next inning, he again refused to grant a called third strike to Princess Jose Mijares, which led to more Cleveland baserunners and gritted teeth throughout Twins Territory

What follows is the feverish imagined encounter as Schrieber taunted Mijares and Slowey
Schrieber: Kiss your beautiful record goodbye Slowey!! 6 Innings of work for naught--NAUGHT I SAY!!!
Slowey: You will never get away with this Schrieber...you just don't have a pirate name.
Schrieber: But I have the hat!
Slowey: You look ridiculous
Schrieber: I HAVE A MONKEY!! Besides...I look cooler than Mijares...he looks ridiculous...
Mijares: You know, Kevin--
Slowey: Killthrow
Mijares: Killthrow, fine, he does have a point. Maybe he'd call those strikes for me if I could be something cooler--like a knight or a dragon or something...
Slowey: Sorry, Jose--you're still a princess in need of saving...but who can save us now?
[Out of the darkest inning in the game came the bellow of]
Schrieber: What was that?
Slowey: You're in trouble now
Mijares: There's no escaping
Nathan: BERGGGERWAGGAWAGGA-AAAAYYYYYY!!! [Subtitle: Now, that's a Pirate Name]
Schrieber: Wow...you are intimidating, but why are you in black and white, whilst we're in color?
Nathan: ARGGERWAJJASTARRRRRRGLE!! [Subtitle: Do not waste time questioning my artistry, prepare to suffer my wrath!!]
[The Dread Pirate Joe Nathan proceeded to fire pitches at blazing speeds until only one member of the Indians remains, and with two quick strikes, the Dread Pirate Joe Nathan is poised for the death blow]
Nathan: BLARGH!! 
Schrieber: Ball!
Mijares and Slowey: C'mon man, that was a strike!!
Nathan: BLARGH!!
Schrieber: Ball TWO!!!
Mijares and Slowey: You jerk face! Come on Nathan make him pay!!
[Nathan winds, fires, and slams a fastball off of Schrieber's head so hard that it drifts out to Delmon Young in left field where it is caught for the third out. Nathan frees Princess Mijares and Kevin "Killthrow" Slowey, and as he walks past Schrieber's prone body murmers]
Nathan: BLARGHARAGHBERK! [Subtitle: "Dread Pirate Nathan--PUNK!"]

Lesson of the night: Never doubt our bizarrely imagined Twins characters, whether they be intimidating superheroes, pretty pretty princesses or Dread Pirates of Doom.


I can't think of anything to say..so I'll have someone else say it for me

Oh the dullness of days without baseball, without anything to report, without anything to occupy our time, or fantasies about penguins and or moving vans to occupy us.

Its at times like this that I read--or watch Tv--or think about baseball. And when I can watch tv about things that I read and their relationship to baseball, well, that's just kickass.

Here now--Stephen Colbert on the connection between Jane Austen and Baseball--officially three of my favorite things ever

Zoom ahead to 1:43 seconds, for the good stuff.
The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Tip/Wag - Marvel Comics
Colbert Report Full EpisodesPolitical HumorKeyboard Cat

Congratulations Mr. Colbert, you've just received the Peanuts from Heaven bump