On Words and Numbers

Anyone who seeks out more writing about the Minnesota Twins, clearly cares about the team. They have opinions aplenty about the best direction the franchise could take. They think about it, they weigh pros and cons, and they argue with passion when they feel like they are right.

In that regard, there's very little that separates blog readers from the Twins front office. But in the last few weeks a font of frustration has welled up, particularly as regards recent roster decisions. I am no kind of astute baseball analyst (I mean, a large number of my posts turn in to abstract satires of North Korea...), but I think I know why this is.

It all comes back to a key division between baseball fans: the fans of words, and the fans of numbers.

Fans of words like the story telling aspect of the game: the heartwarming narrative of a player coming into his own or coming back from injury; the mythical prowess of a 100 mile per hour pitcher or a Ruthian Home Run machine; the emotional love of the game.

Fans of numbers like the statistical and factual aspect of the game: the value a player brings to the field, their role in creating runs and wins, their failure to avoid defeats, the logical appreciation of the game and its players.

While I normally think about the separation between fans within the stands, the same split occurs when we try to evaluate players, and can be expanded to apply to when anyone evaluates someone else.

Think of it like this: if you work in a job where you get performance reviews (and I'm struggling to think of a job where you wouldn't), your boss might highlight your productivity by saying something like this:

"Wow Johnson, your coworkers and supervisor have been telling me all the great things you're doing this year. They rave about your contributions to the Snarflebargle Project and from what I've seen of you during meetings, I think you're ready for a step up."

Or they could highlight it by saying something like this:

"Wow Johnson, you've been incredibly productive this year. You've been averaging 50 hours of work a week, and the Snarflebargle Project has contributed to a 32% increase in our Doohicky sales alone! I think you're ready for a step up the ladder." 

But in reality, they probably have a mix of both the words that colleagues use to describe you and the statistics that they can measure. (As a school teacher I admittedly have no earthly clue what business meetings sound like, but I do know that I'd rather be judged by both comments from other teachers and student performance on standardized tests rather than just one. I suppose I'm hoping that other people have similarly rational evaluations.)

That's really what we argue about when we talk about who is ready and who isn't ready for the major leagues. We're used to the Twins scouting department (a more word savvy crew) running the show, basing judgements off of what they see in the minors and what the manager sees during Spring Training. Meanwhile, many of the fans (including those who seek out articles to read on-line) are hungry for a more number-friendly crew. But for as much as we talk about the Twins' statistical analyses (or lack thereof) as a catchall for the team's failings, we have to remember that there are benefits and drawbacks to both ways of evaluating people.


Word lovers may be able to accurately describe a person's character, demeanor, attitude and potential, but they risk falling so in love with a concept of performance that actual performance means nothing. (After all, if word lovers like me ran teams, somebody would be feeling a nine man team of Air Buds)

Number lovers may have a more accurate measurement of a player's performance on the field, comparisons with others their own age, and insights into areas for growth, but they risk turning an individual strength or weakness into a career defining fact. (After all, if statistical measurements of skills were 100% infallible, Moneyball favorite Jeremy Brown would have been an All-Star, and Ryan Leaf would have proven more mature, intelligent and effective than Dan Marino).

The best case scenario is as old as Aristotle: moderation in all things and extremity in none. Evaluations should mix words and numbers, and while there's certainly anecdotal evidence to suggest the Twins could use more numbers, that doesn't mean that words are totally irrelevant to evaluating a player.


There is far more that unites we Twins fans and the team management than divides us. Fans and management want a good team. We may have different ways of approaching that goal, but just as we accept both written and statistical performance reviews in our own jobs, just as we enjoy a beer with fans who talk about VORP as much as those who talk about "intangibles", we are better when we use both together.

Joe Mauer, Michael Bradley, and The Problem With Artistic Athletes

So I've been more or less completely consumed with the World Cup this month. Watching every match I can, reading interviews, reports, reviewing highlights, and writing like a maniac. But I still think of baseball, perhaps never more clearly than when I was watching a World Cup match with some friends last Thursday.

We needed a point against Germany, or some good fortune in another match. Being Minnesota sports fans, we fully anticipated that everything would turn against us at any given moment. As a result, every flaw, every foul, every mistake increased our anxiety and our ire, and nobody got under our skin as much as Michael Bradley.

Bradley--mid-mistake. (From Slate.com)

For those who don't know, Bradley is widely believed to be the best American player. A creating midfielder he basically serves as the point guard, distributing, defending, inventing and supporting every aspect of the game. A favorite in European leagues, bigwigs and pundits think that Bradley could easily make every one of the other 31 teams at the World Cup (even intimidating German and Brazilian squads).

But that didn't excuse Bradley's lackluster play. He was nowhere in the first match. He gave away the ball that became the equalizing goal against Portugal. And in the final match versus Germany he was sloppy: losing the ball frequently, making clumsy/ineffectual challenges. Suddenly my friends were out for blood.

"Bradley, what is wrong with you?!?!"
"Bradley gives it away every time, I'm telling you!!!"
"God, Bradley, just stop! STOP!!"

I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard so many people, so upset, with such a talented athlete. Until I remembered my last trip to Target Field and the shouts at #7...Joe Mauer.

Joe Mauer Misses the Cheers (From CBS Sports)

"Mauer, what is wrong with you?!?!?"
"Mauer grounds out every time, I'm telling you!!!"
"God, Mauer, just stop! STOP!!"


I sort of assumed it just revolved around the old story: big name, big expectations, minimal delivery, maximum reaction. But there's a little something more to it than that I think. After all, we seem perpetually enamored of other players, even though they certainly have down moments too...why be enraged by Mauer and Bradley and not the others?

I think the reason might lie in our selection of heroes. We love the strong, the powerful, the mighty men who never cease to amaze with their offensive exploits: think Harmon Killebrew, Jim Thome and, in the soccer world, Clint Dempsey. We also love the daring, the bold, the unbelievable save-the-day types: Kirby Puckett at the wall, Johan Santana at the end of a losing streak, Tim Howard any time of day.

But those two styles of heroes do not match well with either Bradley or Mauer. They won't win things single handedly (either with goals or home runs). They won't save the day (either with sparkling defense/pitching or miraculous goal keeping). They are more like artists than heroes. Doing things that seem unusually beautiful and nearly impossible to quantify. They distribute the ball where it's least expected (either with passes or with spray singles hitting through defensive shifts). They provide a team with a reliable pillar requires opponents to develop specific plans. They are lauded by many--particularly those who see them at a distance and know their reputation. Sure some artists can also be powerful or save the day (Magic Johnson comes to mind), but if you can't you drop in stature rapidly (looking in your direction Ricky Rubio)

Of course there's one big gap between an artistic athlete and a straight forward artist: artists don't need to win anything, athletes always do. So, when an artistic athlete goes from great to average, it's easier to abandon them than hold on to the quietly valuable work of the past. And if they have a run of bad form while the team succeeds in spite of them, fans can get down right angry at the waste of talent who should be making a good team great rather than holding them back.

What the hell Strathairn?!!

Those who hate on Mauer and Bradley would be rather like if art fans got pissed when Monet refused to change style when Seurat and Van Gogh got more experimental, or if movie goers whined about David Strathairn never getting back to his Oscar nominated potential.

Of course, that hate doesn't have to last forever. Every World Cup match brings a new slate of heroes and raft of scapegoats. In the last week alone, Joe Mauer went from washed-up to offensive lynchpin. A weak bit of artistry inspires nothing but frustration, but even the weakest artist is still an artist, and capable of transcendent moments.

When those moment comes, I look forward to hearing all the jeers and frustration die away, and for one word to supplant them. One word when Bradley hits Clint Dempsey in perfect stride. One word when Mauer knocks in two with a single to the opposite field. One word, in city/state/nationwide chorus: "YES!"

Those Damn Yankees: Dealing With Yankee Fans

Most people have a "Yankees fans stink" story.

Back at the Metrodome, my wife and her father sat in front of three "woo-girls" from Iowa, so desperate for Derek Jeter's attention that they squealed and shouted "pretty much every time he existed". The game didn't matter, just Jeter's existence.

I was in a grad school class on research methods in education, proudly sporting a Twins jersey during game one of the 2009 ALDS. A guy in a gray Yankees jersey standing outside the room stared me down until I turned to see him. He then pounded his chest like a silver back gorilla and mouthed a few "you sucks" at me. Later in the class he returned having written down the scores from different innings to gloatingly inform me of the Twins' loss.

I trust that many readers have their own stories: stories about bandwagon hoppers, profane screamers, self-deluded wannabes who think their shirsey is partially responsible for one of the last 27 World Championships. It's the kind of self-important egomania that is totally anathema to Minnesotan humility/shame/self-deprecation.

The easy solution is to get mad, get defensive or get dismissive, but consider--for a moment--the tragedy of being a Yankees fan.

Part of this has to do with a long standing theory of we Peanuts from Heaven (one that might answer Nick Nelson's supposition that: A record that horrible [23-61 over 10 years] goes beyond what would be expected with even the most lopsided talent differentials. No, there's something else at play here, as if the universe were conspiring to keep the poor little Midwestern Twins under the thumb the Evil Empire"). 

Don't be fooled by
the sparkles...he's a Yankpire

You see, years ago Stinky/Mrs. Peanut discovered that, according to recent scholarship: vampires are the fastest, strongest, most powerful baseball playing creatures on the planet. As my wife reasoned, the Yankees are that fastest, strongest, most powerful baseball playing creatures on the planet. Ergo, the Yankees are vampires. (Or for the sake of our trademark: Yankpires) Over the years we have found a lot of photographic evidence to support this accusation. 

But there's more to vampires than simply dominating baseball games. Since Bram Stoker first reported Count Dracula's ability to exercise total control over the minds of others, innumerable others have suggested that vampires possesses psychic powers. So its reasonable to assume that the Yankpires also have psychic powers...psychic powers which they use to drain unsuspecting Yankee fans of their money, brain cells and human decency. By doing so, they add to their payroll which helps add to their speed, strength and power through free agency, thereby creating more Yankpires who need more Yankee fans to feed upon...it's a vicious circle.

Yankpire victims...oh the humanity

Sure there are decent Yankees fans just as there are jerky Twins fans. I have a former student from New York who politely applauds everyone, a cousin who wears pinstripes to fit in at middle school, and a friend from grad school who disdained the jerk out the window as much as I did. But if we have any hope of ending the Yankpire hex on us--and any interest in making the world a better place, we have to cut off the Yankpire's source of sustenance...Yankee fan stupidity. 

[Cue "Arms of an Angel"]

Won't you please help us save as many potential Yankpire victims as we can.

Won't you please help this baby
avoid a future of jerkiness.

It's so simple. Just donate your time and energy to not being a jackass.

When you encounter a jerk-Yankee fan, don't repay their stupidity in equal measure. Chances are, there are other, embarrassed, Yankee fans near by.  By just not being a total tool, you can help diminish the appeal of being a knob-ish Yankee fan instead of just a regular fan.

Also, if you happen to play for the Twins...beating the vile vampires might also be helpful.

You can make a difference, both to our present and to your children's future.

Thank you for being a Twins fan, a Yankees fan, a baseball fan...AND a decent human being.

Root, Root Root for...? (Our Extremely Biased Guide to the Postseason)

Well, we're a few days into the playoffs but better late than never! We know you've been waiting with bated breath for us to instruct you as to who you should cheer for in the post season...but we're not going to. Instead, we are going to make logical (hah) pro and con lists for each matchup, tell you where our hearts lie, and let you pick from there.

ALDS: TEXAS V. TAMPA

Rangers - PROS
- Everything's bigger in Texas...so...make of that what you will.
- I dare you to find a cooler name than Yorvit Torrealba.
- Josh Hamilton
Rangers - Cons
- I really have nothing against the Rangers, but I traveled to Dallas once for work and wasn't a huge fan.
- ...it's Texas.

Rays - Pros
- I know they're this big power hitting team now, but in my mind the Rays will always be the ultimate underdogs, which makes them cool in my book.
- Their late-season run to eliminate the Red Sox was quite glorious, and very Twins-Circa-2006. Reminds me of when times were good.

- They play in an incredibly ugly dome, which also reminds us of good times.
Rays - Cons
- Johnny Damon

Verdict:
This one's kind of a toss-up. I think I'd feel good either way - but for some reason my heart seems to lie with Tampa.

ALDS: NYY Vs. Detroit

Yankees - Pros

- I'm super excited for the Verlander/Sabbathia matchup tonight after being cruelly robbed of it on Friday.

- Derek Jeter
- Mariano Rivera
Yankees - Cons
- Nick Swisher
- A-Rod
- Smug and obnoxious Yankees fans
- Emperor Palpatine

- Lord Voldemort

Tigers - Pros
- AL Central Solidarity
- Delmon Young... that trade made no sense to me, and I miss my Delmon. I hope he gets a better shot with Detroit than he did with us.
- Justin Verlander
Tigers - Cons
- I make fun of Tigers fans all year (except this year)... it's hard to go from cheering against them to cheering for them
- Detroit

Verdict:
As my dad would say, "Go Delmont!!" I wish to see him prance to a World Series Victory. Go forth and prosper, Detroit Tigers.

NLDS: St. Louis Vs. Philly

Cardinals - Pros
- Albert Pujols
- Nick Punto
- We visited St. Louis on our baseball road trip two years ago: it's a nice city and the fans seem like cool people.
Cardinals - Cons
-.... I honestly can't think of any

Phillies - Pros

- Delicious Cheese Steak

- My friend Lewis lives there

- Amazing pitching rotation of awesomeness

Phillies - Cons

- I once got lost in Philly trying to get back on the highway after stopping for a cheese steak. It was miserable - we were lost for probably an hour and got stuck in ridiculous traffic. You fail, city of Philedalphia.
- High payroll. Pinstriped jerseys. Eastern division domination. Remind you of anyone else we know?

Verdict:
I'm gonna go with St. Louis, more because of how much I like the Cardinals than because of any bad feelings towards the Phillies.

NLDS: Milwaukee vs. Arizona

Brewers - Pros

- Prince Fielder

- Ryan Braun

- If you haven't heard Bob Uecker call a game, you're missing out

- Neighborly love

- New Glaurus

- Cheese

Brewers - Cons

- Neighborly hate

- Constant drunkenness: we also went there on our baseball road trip and saw people passed out on the concourse.

- Strange phallic hot dog races

D-Backs - Pros

- Scrappy young underdog of the NL

- I dunno...I'm generally a positive person

- ...that's about it really.

D-Backs - Cons

- D-Backs sounds suspiciously like D-Bags?

- Douchey Fans: D-Backs hit a home run over Ben Revere's head and a fan yelled "YOU SUCK REVERE!!" When interviewed after the game and asked what he had yelled the fan proudly repeated the sentiment. So apparently Ben Revere sucks for not owning a jet pack? Bad form, D-Backs fans.

Verdict:

We'll give our support to the cheeseheads next door!

Well, that's all we have for now. If you'll excuse me I have to try to stop the cat from eating Ben's tie and shirt buttons.

Our Love Don't Cost a Thing

The long baseball season is finally over, and this year it felt especially long. The Twins stunk...clearly and badly...like moldy limburger, like fermented clouds of Axe Bodyspray, like Scott Boras' soul....they stank, stunk, stinked.

And yet we watched as much as we could. We cheered when they did well, and shook our heads disappointedly after loss 99 just like we did after loss number 1. We found reasons to cheer: a few solid whacks by Mauer and Thome, slick fielding by Denard and Ben Revere, amazing pitching from Liriano and Nathan and of course the innumerable contributions of Plouffe, Hughes, Perkins, Tosoni, Oliveros, Rivera and a bunch of other names we never thought we'd say when the season began.

So, no matter what else happens, we love the Twins, loved cheering them this season and will love them on and on. So when we've heard other people saying that the organization "owes" them, we can't help but cock our head to the side and ask: "Really?"

I tried to do the math, figure out how much one might really spend on being a baseball fan, and then how much of that ends up in the pockets of the biggest scapegoats for this year. If you spend $500 on being a Twins fan, you contribute about $0.10 to Joe Mauer, want him to give it back? You want the penny you contribute to Gardy and Bill Smith...really? Can't you just chalk it up to the incidental costs of loving a team, loving a game and getting 162 days of entertainment a year?

My better half (Stinky) raised a better point. If you buy a ticket to a Twins game, you have to acknowledge that you're taking a risk. Being a fan is like being a stock holder--you buy the stock and you hope it goes up...but you acknowledge it might go down. Buy a ticket to the game and you hope the Twins win, but you acknowledge that they might lose. They could win 162, they could lose 162. If you agree to go, or watch or support the team you have to accept the good and the bad as a risky (but entertaining) investment.

Sure there were times when we wondered if we should just turn the tv off and leave it off the rest of the year, there were times we didn't want to turn on the radio or open a newspaper, or surf to the team site for fear of hearing or seeing another loss in black and white. But tonight, as we drove back from church choir, and heard Cuddy get stranded at third we sighed and groaned, when we heard John Gordon call the "Parmalee flips to Dinkle-Hughes" we laughed and decided that "Dinkleface" is bound to be a nickname for our future utility man. And when Plouffe delivered the walk off hit we cheered, and we'll cheer this winter, and we'll root, root root for the home team.

No questions asked.

Lessons from the All-Star Game

First and foremost we learned that Arizonians like to boo things, anything really: Ben Revere, Divisional Rivals, Non-Divisional Rivals, Yankees, Non-Yankees, adorable puppies, you name it and people in Arizona will boo it.

Second, Moneyball starring Brad Pitt comes out September 23rd.

Third, I learned that my father takes his prepositions very seriously. After LaVelle E Neal tweeted "Cliff Lee in for the Phillies", my father, looking over my shoulder said..."Actually, it should be Cliff Lee, of the Phillies coming in for the national league" and went on..."puts his toes on the rubber and serves up a gopher ball to Adrian Gonzalez of the Boston Red Sox for a solo home run, to put the American League on top 1 to 0." (Clearly I've inherited some nerdiness from the old man.

We also discovered that Justin Timberlake, was able to give voice to America's common rage and tossed a little smack talk at Joe Buck. "You're calling a great game Joe...just GREAT!" may replace "Heckuva Job Brownie!" as America's favorite sarcastic compliment. OH, also...Justin Timberlake has a movie coming out soon, but it will come out before Moneyball debuts in theatres September 23rd.

My mother learned of the existence of the MLB Fan Cave, but was thoroughly disappointed by the fact that it seems to be an all boys club. C'mon baseball, ladies like the sport too! So, Major League executives, please consider giving my mom a job in the Fan Cave next year. This would both make her happy and give all of America access to the excellent television of my mother knitting David Ortiz a hat, scolding Brian Wilson to shave his beard mid-interview, and wagging a finger at any player who disputes an ump.

Sixth, no one told Heath Bell that the All-Star Game was a serious business, so he slid into the mound while coming in to pitch. What do you think this is Heath Bell? Some kind of game?!?? What in the name "All-Star Game" would make you think that it was a "Game" to be "played" as though you were child-like and carefree?!?!? Seriously! Some people...

Seventh, Oh yeah...the NL won, their second all-star win in a row. After winning 2 of the last 3 World Series AND increasing their win total in interleague play for three straight years, it might be time to stop thinking of the National League as the inferior league.

And finally, even though he flew out on the first (and only) pitch he saw, Michael Cuddyer gave me a great idea for a new tv show. Cuddy would play a straight laced, All-American do-gooder doctors (with an adorable magic hobby) and Brian Wilson would play his wacky, goofball, nonsequitur-spouting, anti-establishment partner (who still gets results). I can see it now: THURSDAYS on TNT after Rizzoli & Isles and Franklin & Bash it's Cuddyer & Wilson...two men who play by their OWN RULES...and the rules of Major League Baseball! {It could even debut before the September 23rd release of Moneyball on September 23rd!)

The second half of the season starts tonight with the Twins taking on the Royals. And if you want to mull over the Twins chances to make the playoffs look no further than the next two weeks as the Twins will play 16 games against 4 teams, including 12 against Central Division rivals (all at home). And if you just want to sit back and watch baseball...well, you can do that too.

Whose side are you on?

Sorry about the delay in posting this week. A variety of factors have kept us a little preoccupied this week, not the least of which is the fact that, much as I love blogging, I will probably need to find a source of income sooner or later (preferably sooner) so as to buy the foodstuffs that will keep me alive and help me continue writing this blog!

While I've been focusing on that whole employment thing, I've still made time for the Twins (Note the Twitter feed) and in the process seen something that makes me wonder. As my last post indicates, Twins fans have been watching the return of Joe Mauer with rapt attention. But while we're all watching closely, the motivation for and reaction to watching the Chairman hit differs depending on whose side you're on.

One group, which I will refer to as Team Mauer, gets anxious, downright antsy watching the return of the home town hero, hoping that this swing, this swing right here, will be the one to start a torrid hit streak, boost his average, justify his contract, shut up the haters, save every kitty cat stuck in a tree and lead the Twins to a superlative second half. (And when he swings and chops one to second the sigh, or groan and think...okay...next time FOR SURE!)

The other group, which I will refer to as Team Dour, seems to seek the exact opposite. They hear the T.I. music play, see him step into the box and want to see that he is the overrated, overpaid, over-pampered punk that web commenters and radio pundits have slammed for weeks. He isn't the golden god that others have seen, he's barely more deserving of a roster spot than his fellow Minnesotans who would kill to put on the Navy & Red and would do it all without once taking a break for a national shampoo commercial. And with each swing and meager three-hopper, they explode with a "DAMMIT! BUTERA HITS BETTER THAN THAT!!"

Maybe I'm over simplifying by making it Team Mauer V.s. Team Dour. (Hey, I can rhyme!!) Those who explode might be just as hopeful that he snaps out of it, and those who hope may some day become as disaffected as those who scorn our side-burned catcher. I suppose that nobody is so cynical as to actively want Mauer to fail (especially when his play can so easily affect the rest of the team--both postively and negatively). But it's clear to me that these are new emotions to associate with Mauer at-bats. Where once there was unadulterated enthusiasm and a smidge of civic pride now there is fear, blind hope and critical disdain...Really?

I don't fully fathom it all...but that's what the social side of this blog is for! So leave a comment below to swear your allegiance to Team Mauer, Team Dour or just to explain what you think the problem is (with Mauer, the Twins, or society in general). I share my ideas, what are yours?

Snakebit

Yesterday my mother, die-hard fan that she is, seemed close to tears as she tried to explain why the Twins have lost so much this year. Finally she just said: "they're just snakebit."

After this weekend it seems like a pretty good descriptor. How else do you explain losing despite loading the bases in the 9th, trailing by one run with Kubel and Morneau coming up? or losing with our two best relievers coming in with a three run lead in the 8th? or losing on a sac-fly that scored a man who reached third on a feeble groundball booted by both the shortstop and center fielder? One way or another we seemed destined to lose on a single tricky play that loused up all the hard work that came before it.

But rather than bemoaning this series, or the dumb flukey luck that seems to go against us every other day, I'd like to take a moment to note one thing that got under my skin. In the fourth inning Juan Miranda hit a home run to give the D-backs the lead, now I'm not going to complain about Miranda or the gopher ball, or the loss--but I will complain about the fan who got the ball (you can see his reaction here).

Clearly this grown man was happy that he caught a baseball, happy that his team was on it's way to winning it's 6th straight game, probably happy that he had gotten to drink some beer. But why, on earth did that inspire him to look down at little Ben Revere and shout "YOU SUCK!"? (He also boasted of this to local broadcasters--as twitter confirmed)

Really random Arizonan? Ben Revere sucks? Do you realize that Ben Revere plays baseball in the major leagues while you pay for the chance to watch him? Do you realize that, even as a rookie, he has more hits in the major leagues than 99.9% of other Americans (including you)? Do you think the he sucks because he was unable to jump 25 feet in the air to rob Miranda of the home run? Does he suck because he doesn't own a jet pack with which to take away that home run you caught? If Ben Revere sucks because of any of those things...then pretty much everyone sucks...including you. Seriously this guy really makes me want to change the "ck" in Dbacks to a "g"...but this is a family blog...so I'll let you readers do that yourselves.

In a just world, this idiot would get his comeuppance, Ben Revere would prove he does not suck and the Twins would come away with a win. But instead, we remain as we have been all season...snakebit.

Throwing in the towel...literally

Well... I don't really know what to say about any of this. So maybe I just won't say much.

Morneau went 0 for 4.
We lost by 10 runs.
Toronto fans threw towels at us. Seriously. Towels. Who throws towels??? AND why do you even need to throw anything at all when you are winning by a large margin. I rest my case.

It also doesn't help that we are starting off our season with what is arguably the cruelest road trip ever designed. Toronto, where we always inexplicably suck, followed by the Yankees, who we always inexplicably suck against no matter where we're playing. We could be playing on Mars and we would still choke against the Yankees.

You know it's bad when the announcers resort to talking about how great it is that tomorrow will be a "nice day" (aka 40 degrees and possibly not rainy). Le sigh. Let's move on.

Towels though? Really???

Dr. Cakeburn Rises Again! (A silly short story)

Last week, when Kevin Slowey left the rotation a cry rose up from the panicked citizens of Twinnesota: "WHO SHALL SAVE OUR ROTATION FROM IT'S DARKEST HOUR!?!?" The situation was dire. We could hear our rivals in the Kingdom of the Pale Hosers cackling with glee as our resurgent Slo-Slo suffered a painful set back. We needed a hero, someone to step up and rescue us before a bad situation got worse.

The General Magistrate of Twinnesota (Bill Smith) conferred with the wise little Garden Gnome. "Shall we trade our livestock?" mused Smith "Perhaps the bear cubs might give us a hero if we send them a dozen cows, seven pigs and a sheep to be named later."

"Nay," said the Gnome, "it shall not be"

"Can anyone in our pen of bulls help, just as Sir Duensing has done?"

"Nay," said the Gnome, "it shall not be"

"Swarzak?" quacked a hopeful duck in the corner. (No one listened to him)

"We shall call on the Doctor," said the Gnome with a smile. "Yes," grinned the Magistrate, "the nefarious doctor!"

And so it was announced to the people: The Nefarious Dr. Cakeburn, he who had been cursed and vilified and banished for crimes against the ERA, would return to Twinnesota.

And there was much gnashing of teeth and rending of garments and tearing of hair and burning of effigies and eating of cheese curds. "HE STINKS!" cried the citizens. "HE SUCKS!!! DRESS HIM UP AS A SHEEP AND SEND HIM TO THE BEAR CUBS!!!" (This had been their cry for many months before, and it was their cry again.)

But the Dr. Cakeburn was a changed man, a man with a new cupcake at home that needed to be cared for, and so he reapplied his mastery of pitching and baking to the needs of his friends in

Twinnesota. He tried to implement psychology to his advantage. To know what his rivals feared and exploit it. Tasked with besting the Seatilians, he remembered that Mariners (especially

Ancient ones) would run in terror from an albatross cake (or so said his literature teacher). So first went the cake, next came the fear, and finally came the pitches like so many divebombing albatrii...albatrosses...something.

And thus did Dr. Cakeburn regain his former glory to much cheering and hooting from the Twinnesotans who had only moments ago called him many dirty things, and who will likely do it again when next he struggles...but Dr. Cakeburn does not care, he will fight for Twinnesota all the same. He may not be the hero we want, but he is the hero we need.

P.s. Seriously, congrats to Nick Blackburn on starting a new family (and the win too...but I'm guessing the family's a little more important)

Dear Gardy Clause

Remember when you were a kid and you used to write Santa about all the things you wanted? This post is a little like that: only instead of writing to Santa I'm writing to his cousin in Twin's Territory "Gardy Clause" the gnome, who is like Santa--only better because he answers requests all summer long rather than on one night in the middle of winter AND because he entertains us all with tirades against umpires.

Dear Gardy Clause,

I've been a very good fan this season. I have done my best to keep up with this blog and even watched a game on my computer in India AND I racked up a hefty cell phone bill in Africa getting play by play from my parents.

Because I've been such a good fan, I want to ask you for something a couple things early this year:

1st: Could you maybe have one of these games against the White Sox end before 10:30--it means I stay up until 11:30 out east and then get up at 6 for work...I love the Twins but I also love sleep.

2nd: As nice as all the extra media coverage about the Twins is (ESPN suddenly remembered that we exist!) it does come with the side effect that Yankees fans snootily pronounce our imminent demise come October. Please help Yankees fans learn the meaning of humility...or at least the right way to spell it.

3rd: Like I said, I've been a good fan, I have tried not to say anything mean or bad about anybody...but John Rauch and Matt Capps give me heart palpitations. I have many funny names that I could tease them with (well...okay Johnny the Grauch is funny...Matt Capps is just an allusion to his weight) but I'm trying not to because calling people names is wrong. Then again, so is blowing saves. Please ask them not to blow any more saves and I will in turn avoid name calling.

Those are the things I want right now, but I hereby reserve the right to change requests at a later date. (Especially if these requests are answered and rendered moot)* If I can't have these things, then please send me a firetruck...or Ken Burn's Baseball on DVD.

Thanks!

Scruffy

*Note: I actually did include that kind of legalistic language in my letters to Santa...why? Because I'm awesome, obviously.

Intelligent acquisitions

First, let's all say "Woot-Woot!" for the sweep in KC. We avoided blogging on the beat downs here just because while we do a lot of things well (chicken-mushroom quesadillas for example) we don't do a great job of gloating. Also it's just mean, and we are not mean...we are from heaven.

But now let's focus on the bigger fish in need of some frying namely: the trade deadline which is now a mere two days away. While the Twins always seem to be hunting for someone or something to complement the team for a stretch run rarely do we actually pick up the big gun.

And this, actually is okay by me. Sure I'd love to have a Cy Young winner like Roy Oswalt or a significant talent like Dan Haren, but it seems more and more like the major league baseball trade deadline is like a block long string of garage sales. You walk down the road and see something that's strange and amusing and would actually look pretty cool on your bookshelf...like, say, a ceramic giraffe doing the splits!

I mean...look at that! it would totally tie Target Field together! We must have it!! Except...a whole bunch of other people at the garage sale are convinced that the ceramic giraffe is perfect for them too, and all at once everybody starts yelling offering obscene prices for that ceramic giraffe. Someone says: 10 bucks, you say 20, a third person goes to 30 bucks plus their girlfriend!

While this is happening a bunch of other people gather round and tell you that you have to buy this ceramic giraffe--it's an absolute neccesity they cry...once you have that all your problems will be solved! Unfortunately the giraffe seems to be sneering at you, like it doesn't really want to go home with you no matter how much you want it. Finally this hot shot from New York comes in and offers 50 bucks, their girlfriend and their first born child and that's that the ceramic giraffe is theirs.

So you're bummed, because, well...if you had 50 bucks or weren't so fond of your girlfriend then the ceramic giraffe would be yours. But you walk down the road and see a ceramic crocodile pot! It's hilarious! You must have it!!

...but so do the other three guys who missed on the ceramic giraffe...

Ultimately, the trade deadline is a massive crap shoot...the kind of thing where you're almost guaranteed to overpay for whatever you buy and will be unlikely to notice it for very long afterwards. Take last year for example: sure Orlando Cabrera did a great job for the months he was in town...how many of us can really remember his stats though?

A great deadline deal is as rare as a Rembrandt in a garage sale. So don't hope for too much...and keep an eye on the waiver wire after the deadline. It's like the transfer window in futbol...you conduct your business in private and pay just enough to satisfy the team and the player you want--done and done!

That's how we got Carl Pavano from the Indians...and Danny from Valencia CF. (He made a pretty bad soccer player carrying a glove into the field.)

Seriously...baseball...outdoors...GEEKING OUT!!

So I finally went to Target Field last night, amid the rain drops that made my mother say: "oh dear" and made my father call home to repeatedly encourage me to wear rain pants to the game that night. But after everything I had heard it was something I had to see for myself, and when I saw it...well...geekiness ensued.

I marveled at the lime stone, at the great views afforded by the entire concourse, at the bullpens, the milling people, the wide range of food options and the genial excitable nature of the fans who still can't believe their good luck. I have seen stadiums around the midwest, and though some might complain that I'm biased, I honestly do believe that we have a true gem of the game. It's more convenient than Milwaukee or St. Louis, less crowded than Wrigley, more quirky than Cleveland, Toronto or Kansas City and far more welcoming and less dangerous than Detroit. The only stadium that compares is the jewel of the Allegheny, PNC Park in Pittsburgh. But Pittsburgh doesn't have Tony O's Cuban sandwhich...so...we'll claim victory.

I mean, honestly, ham, pulled pork, melted cheese AND pickles. Tony Olivia must be some kinda genius.

The game itself was less enjoyable, and we'll be back later this afternoon with a recap of those shenanigans but I just have to ask again: "why are we booing AJ Perzinsky?" Spending the games with Stinky's parents and my mom in seats close enough to see the spit I could almost feel like I was in AJ's shoes during all the boos. I mean, I get that he was mad that we dumped him in favor of Joe Mauer...but Joe Mauer is better than just about every other player in the game, it's nothing personal AJ...we would have done it to anyone. Plus there were reports that even after he left, he still watched games and cheered us on...sure he's a pest, an irksome trickster who has never let a potential advantage go to waste, but he's out there right now fighting for his career. A bad average and continuously diminishing defensive skills may send him out of Chicago soon enough, unless AJ Perzinsky has approached you personally, slapped you around, put sugar in your gas tank or told you that you were a poophead, leave him be.

As if the fireworks surrounding AJ weren't enough, Justin provided one of the few bright spots of the night, leading to explosions over the scoreboard that ruined this picture but still allowed me to capture the hand shaking sign in centerfield. If you have an active imagination, it almost seems like there's sunshine in the darkness.

But there is darkness, and unlike the Metrodome it isn't something we're ignoring any more. The Metrodome seemed like an escape sometimes, a place where it was permanently 72 and cloudy and where the grass was unnaturally green and firm. But we are the Minnesota Twins, and the fans of that team. We ought to be in that nature, surrounded by it, seeing it happen all around us, watching the day turn to night, the spring turn to summer, and a group of men turn into a team of "our boys" for at least one season.

It's a new day in a new stadium and while it doesn't have quite the history of the Metrodome, home of our two championships, it does have a sense of where it come from and where its going. And so, walking home, disappointed at the game's result but by no means unhappy about the way I spent my time, I look forward to seeing new legends rise with moments to match the greatness of guys like Kirby, sweet Kirby, excited, elated and loyal to the end, just like us.

Don't look back in anger

Our season has been over, and after a two-day quarantine on all baseball related news (no ESPN lest they show clips again and again and again of poor Nicky P), it's time to refocus on good things.

Like the Los Angeles Angels of Anahiem. Our buddy Torii (whose favorite pancake house in Edina is the bomb-diggity, ps). And pretty much nothing else.

Seriously, if we end up with some Yankee type World Series I may boycott. If we end up with Yankees/Dodgers I will definitely boycott. C'mon, you've got to root for the Angels here, no steroid users, no jackass fans, Torii the wonderful, Bobby Abreu (who proved himself to be a non-Yankpire when he went out to check on poor Dr. Cakeburn last year--oh and further proved himself a non-Yankpire when he got the hell out of NYC), Vladmir Gurrero, and the quest for justice for former pitcher Nick Adenhart.

They also have the Rally Monkey, but with four teams left we'll let that slide.

While we are hoping for some sort of decency to win the day in baseball we're also confronted with one major problem: jackass sportswriters positing theories that are given the weight of papal edicts.

I'm looking at you Patrick Ruesse, and I'm looking at your suggestion that we trade away Dread Pirate Joe Nathan.

Could it give us some monies? Yes. Could it get us somebody to play second base effectively? Possibly. Could we survive with John Rauch, Jose Mijares, Pat Neshak, or Boof Bonser as our closer? Probably.

BUT! I beg of you Bill Smith, consider this carefully. Remember that Joe is part of us all, and though he had some pretty nuclear-sized meltdowns this year, he is our pirate, and we love him. Think of what the rest of the team will say: remember when Joe Mauer said that we need to add not subtract? Yeah, trading away his beloved closer--not so much the way to do that...

Let's be frank here: Would it be the end of the world if we traded Joe Nathan? No. Then why am I opposed to it? Because it's being presented by someone who's being a Captain Cranky-Pants after a lousy playoff series. If Ron Mayhay had given up the homerun to A-Rod in the ninth, everyone would be fine with Joe; if our starters had gotten completely smoked we wouldn't even discuss our bullpen. This is reactionary jackassery of the first order and should not be discussed as a brilliant solution to our problems, so much as it should be discussed as over-emotional panicking by a sports-world wannabe.

But perhaps Joe Nathan said it best himself. When reached for comment he told Peanuts from Heaven: "GARRRERRRARRRRERRRRR--GRRRRRAAAWWWWWRRRR!!!"

[Translation: Avast, Patrick Ruesse you billowing blowhard, unsheath your sw-ord and have at ye! Ya scurrrrvy swine!!!]

Happy Birthday America!

There were some not so good things that happened yesterday. Early in the morning we lost in the 16th inning. Our knuckleball expert/uber-nerd extraordinaire RA Dickey took the loss. Our resident pitcher/superhero Kevin "Killthrow" Slowey went on the DL. And we had seats near a guy who claimed that he had to "get in their heads" by screaming out the names of Tigers players, which did nothing more than give us a headache and inspire Magglio Ordonez to hit a 3-run home run.

But still, it was the 4th of July, it was the chance to celebrate America, and no matter how bad things were, there was no better way to celebrate America than to remember the words of one of our greatest founding fathers.

"It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shows, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more."

Those are the words of John Adams. Diplomat. Patriot. Powdered Wig Enthusiast. And the inspiration for the annual brilliance of Little Nicky Punto. As it was last year, so it is this year, and so, while he is not as well known as the home-run hitting big name founding fathers (Morneau=George Washington, Cuddyer=Thomas Jefferson), Nick "John Adams" Punto--you are our hero.

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)

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

Why We're Losing

You know what, I do not like the whole losing thing, particularly when it happens whilst we should be winning. Worse still, I cannot explain why we lost to one of the worst teams in baseball, and now we have to come home to face the flannel-wearing, bongo-patting, disgruntled-poets of the Northwest. Why, why, why?

Fortunately, I'm not the only one asking that question, as our intrepid reporter/pet Merlin discovered in Baltimore.

[After sneaking into the Visiting Locker Room, Merlin's tape recorder captures the following conversation already in progress]

Gardy:--and might I add !^!@#$^^!@#$!!!!

[Silence]

Gardy: C'mon guys...what's the deal?

[Silence]

Morneau: Uh...skip?

Gardy: Yes?

Morneau: Have you ever felt...unloved.

[Silence]

Gardy: Well...no....you see, I'm totally awesome.

Morneau: Well, yeah, obviously but--

Gardy: And you guys are awesome, so what's the problem?

Cuddyer: The fans in Minnesota don't think so...

Gardy: What?

Perkins: The fans in Minnesota can't stop talking about Brett Favre

Blackburn: They don't care about my pitching problems, so why should I fix them?

Crede: They don't care about my hitting problems, so why should I fix them?

Breslow: The only thing they care about is whether or not a 39 year old man can throw a football while wearing purple and gold laundry.

Gomez: I wanna be LOOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVEEEEEDDDDDD!!!!!

[Gomez sobs loudly, and buries his head into Fracisco Lirano's chest, receiving comforting pats from the starter while Denard, R.A. Dickey, Luis Ayala and Brian Buscher sniffle and have their lips quiver ever so slightly.]

Gardy: Hey, look guys. I know that it seems like no body cares about you, so there's no point in winning, if there's no one who cares about you. But I'm sure, that somewhere there's a group of people who don't give a flying fish fart about Fah-vray

Delmon: Fervor

Redmond: Faa-ver

Gardy: Whatever, somewhere there's someone concocting a silly blog or something about us all, because, to some people, we are so important that they would ignore civilized conversation with the rest of the entire state, just to have us in our life.

Gomez: For [Sob] True?

Gardy: For true.

Gomez: DOGGIE!!!!! [Chases Merlin from clubhouse, back to St. Paul, and hopefully back to respectable baseball playing]

And now apparently Farve, Faver, Favre--whatever, is going to stay retired--so it's back to the Twins, and all their glory (now, they just need to have some glory).

We actually DO like Baseball this much

Last night: at the dome

This afternoon: at the multiplex

Tonight: at home

We have a friend, a fine young man, who once said: "dude, nobody likes baseball that much." As I have said, he's a great guy...but the truth of the matter is, we actually do.

Last night we encountered a gaggle of guys who did not. A quartet of High School boys, sitting in surprisingly good seats, whose most insightful commentary of the evening was something along the lines of: "MORNEAU---YOU'RE A BEAST!!!!!!" (admittedly, the man is huge). By and large they focused on how much they hated the Royals, but about the best the could come up with there was: "Number 11--YOU SUCK!!!" (Seriously guys, seriously? If you're going to jeer--come up with something a little more insightful--such as: "Hey, Ponson, you're are disgrace to the royal knights of the Netherlands--Queen Beatrix must be crying over your weight!!")

Today, fortunately, we bold bloggers attended the film Sugar, wherein fans who mindlessly bellow "you suck"  had their role listed in the final credits as: "Jackass". But beyond absolving us from being "Jackass" fans--we were also challenged by the filmmakers to question whether or not baseball genuinely helps people, or if it serves as merely a distraction.

We decided that, for us, and hopefully for you, it is a beautiful, uplifting, delightful experience. We are excited, amused and entertained by the Twins, yes. We also find hope in their resiliency, strength in their dedication, and humor in their silliness.

Even tonight, as we struggle to do away with the Royals, there's joy to be had in Cuddyer supracting the Kansas Citizens by missing one catch, only to homer the next inning. There's a great challenge to be met in fighting the diabolically chocolate Coco Crisp. There's humility to be felt when Alexi bobbles a routine grounder and we fall behind again. And both tonight and last night, there was great pride to be felt in the return to prominence of our "Great Helmsman and Glorious Leader," Joe Mauer. 

We love it, all of it, the good, the bad, the down right ugly (looking in your direction--Sidney Ponson). There is nothing about any part of this game that "sucks". There is never a need to be a jackass. It entertains, it amuses, it distracts yes, but it also elevates, amazes and surprises.  IT is baseball, and however you feel about it--we actually DO like baseball this much.

Wow.

That is why you never leave a game early.
To everyone who left in the 7th: ppppppppbbbbbbbbbbbbbbttttttttt.

That one half inning makes suffering through the Blue Jays worthwhile. It makes seeing Torii rob Brendan Harris of a double worthwhile. It makes enduring Mike Socia's interminable visits to the mound worthwhile. It makes surviving the most annoying teenage girl in the universe (who sat right behind us, talked about everything that was not baseball, screamed at a deafening pitch and sang off key) worthwhile.

Seeing the Angels walk Morneau to pitch to Jason Ku-dubel, who, in addition to hitting a ku-dingle, a ku-double, and a ku-driple, then promptlly hit a ku-drand ku-dam ku-dome ku-dun to hit for the ku-dycle makes life totally worthwhile. I mean...just look at these happy people, don't you want to be like them?



Any game that can make us go from burying our heads in our hands in total despair to screaming, jumping up and down and accidentally knocking our rally caps onto the guy three rows ahead of us (sorry!) has to be the greatest thing ever. And it was.

Welcome back Awesome Twins. We've missed you.

Hero of the game: Do I even need to say it?