Torii Hunter Teaches the Little Things

There's been a lot of cyber ink spilled over the ejection, tirade and now suspension of Torii Hunter for arguing balls and strikes on Wednesday. Rather than debate the justifications for it, or weigh in on the great "inspiration"/"childishness" debate, we'd like to imagine how this little event will affect future Twins franchises.

We take you now to a tape room in the Twins' Fort Myers training compound, some March day in the not-so-distant future. A crew of young prospects, chatter anxiously awaiting the appearance of the franchise legend who will address them today. A hush falls as he enters the room, but the nerves are set at ease when he flashes his trademark mega-watt smile:

"Hey guys! What's happenin'"

"Good morning, Mr. Hunter," they squeak in unison.

Unphased, Hunter sits backwards on a chair, "listen y'all, you can relax. This isn't a big talking too. I'm not gonna lecture you, we just want to go over some of the finer points of your game.

"You've been coming along nicely for a little while now. I know one of you led the Midwest league in homers, and I saw another one hit 97 on the gun yesterday. Real good, man, real good. But to make it to the bigs you've got to know how to lose your cool properly....

"I mean, I've seen the tapes of you guys when you're upset, groanin' and shakin' your heads. That doesn't do anything man! You gotta get wild! You gotta make a point! So let's look at the tape here.



"First, ya gotta start with the little things, light weight stuff, elbow guards, wrist guards, you know, easy stuff. Warm yourself up! You there, McGillacuddy, you're a big fella, but if you start chuckin' the bat and the helmet and everything right away you could strain a forearm, a muscle, how's the manager gonna feel if you have to rest a day because you couldn't be bothered to warm up first?"

"Uhh...not very good..."

"Your damn right not very good!

"Now secondly, don't lose track of your point in this, everything you throw you have to punctuate with another yell, turn back to the ump, the crew chief especially, because that's the umps boss, let him know that it's a protest, it's not a performance, it's a political statement. Yes Diaz?"

"What should we say to them? Should we reemphasize the rule with references to the section and subsect--"

"Nah, they can't think logically about it at that point, just say what's in your heart...let the coaches and the lawyers talk specifics, you do you man, you do you.

"Alright, finally gentlemen, the climax: the jersey toss. Now some might say it's over the top, some might say it's foolish, but this is a special move. It's the point of no return, and think about it, if you want to continue to emphasize your protest what else could you throw?"

"Your shoe?"

"No, Moskowitz, that's a protest common to Iraq and the Arab Peninsula. Do we play on the Arab Peninsula?"

"No, sir"

"That's right, the Bagdad expansion franchise isn't coming in for another three years. Who else?"

"Your belt?"

"Your belt? Stop for a second a think there, Henderson, how exactly is a little ol' Minnesotan lady in the stands gonna feel if you start strippin' down out there?"

"Oh yeah..."

"What about equipment from the dug out?"

"Not a bad idea, Van Nostren! But that's a little played out, and remember you've got teammates and fellow pros out there, don't want to risk anybody's safety. That's why I recommend the shirt toss, it's soft, it's light, it flutters down beautifully after a long throw, its arc and trajectory gives you more time to shout at the umps, it's perfect."

A tentative hand rises from the front row, "But Mr. Hunter--"

"Yeah?"

"Sir, I was just wondering, wouldn't it be safer not to say anything at all and just file an appeal after the game..."

Torii blinks, and stares back at the player. "What's your name, son?"

"Uhhh...Middlecamp"

"Uh-huh, Middlecamp....well you're not on my sheet here, son, I think you might be looking for Joe Mauer's Seminar on Increasing your Midwestern-ness, that's room 203 not 302..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," says Middlecamp, gathering his belongings and heading for the door.

"Its okay, man, its okay, it may be helpful some day. Now the rest of you, let's talk about how much to tip the batboy after he picks up the stuff..."

*AND SCENE*

Lessons from a mom

Yesterday for mother's day I helped honor the woman who taught me how to irrationally love a bunch of wild, punk kids...she had practice with my brothers and I, and it's clearly served her well as a baseball fan too.

My mother is a die-hard, eternally loyal and unflaggingly optimistic, and permanently enamored of the Twins. She cheers for Mauer when others boo, she cheers for Nishioka when others leave him for dead, somehow-someway, she even cheers for Matt Capps. But over mother's day brunch yesterday, after I told the whole table "we're rebuilding this year," she looked me dead in the eye and said, "Thank God!"

We can't believe it either Ron
(Credit Pioneer Press)

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Truth be told, I still find it hard to fathom that it IS like this. I mean...for a decade the Twins average record was 89 and 73, their average runs scored was 775 while giving up only 720 (that +55 is well above the league average). We had two sluggers still ascending into the prime of their careers who hadn't had a WAR under 3 since they were punk kids. Did last year stink? Sure! But it seemed like a one-off aberration, a trick of the light or the ghosts of pine trees or something. 

That the Twins are the worst team in baseball right now is staggering. Last in runs scored. Last in home runs AND home runs allowed (we don't hit them and our opponents do). Last in total bases. Last in ERA. Last in strikeouts per 9 innings. Last, Last, Last. 

It is, as the cliche puts it, a very short trip from the penthouse to the outhouse, but the Twins didn't so much take an express elevator as they took a Wil-E-Coyote Style Face plant to the bottom of the standings.

Could we spend time analyzing how and why it all went so wrong? Second guessing signing Jason Marquis, triple guessing the Nishioka deal, dectuple guessing Bill Smith's Santana trade? Yeah, but why bother? It happened. It can't un-happen. Move on.

I'd say Joe looks sad but I don't
Have much to compare it to.
(Credit: Sam's Spam)

Could we spend time fixating on the failures of certain players we've come to expect more from: the sudden aging of Carl Pavano, the power outage of Joe Mauer, the utter debacle that is Senor Francisco Liriano? Yeah, but again, why bother? I'm not as intelligent in analyzing such matters as others (see Nelson, Nick; Bonnes, John; Strohs, Seth; Hageman, Parker; Walter, Peter; Christie, Cody, etc.) so I doubt that the players, coaches or fellow fans would gain much from reading my thought that "boy, Danny Valencia sure does stink, eh?"

So, if I'm not going to analyze and critique management, and if I'm not going to whinge and bellyache about players, what else is left to do for a losing ballclub? Clearly, now would be the time to turn tail and run. To shut down the blog, to cut the cable cost, and to hide away until the Twins are once again competitive and then reemerge claiming that "I knew it all along!"

That might be the intelligent thing to do...but, and here's a shocker...I'M NOT VERY SMART. So I'll keep writing, keep finding little things in the game to make myself laugh, keep looking for  players to root for and reasons to get excited. I'll plug away little by little, because that's what the Twins themselves are doing. I'll keep hoping and wishing and appreciating the little things, saving up for the cheapest season tickets available, and loving every minute of fresh air, sunshine and baseball.

My mother raised me right. Play nice. Work hard. Make dumb jokes if it makes you happy. And above all else: love everybody (even when it's tough). She loved me when I was an insufferable teenager, and no matter how bad the Twins are they aren't pubescent teens.

So, as mind-boggling as this boondoggle of a season is. I'll keep going, just like my mom will. Just like the Twins will.

Home Sour Home

So the Twins, our loyal boys in blue, are spending the next few days in Chicago, which must come as a relief after having to spend 11 whole days at home.

I'm not quite sure why, but the Twins sure didn't seem to enjoy their respite from the road. In the 9 games the Twins lost this past home stand they averaged 1.5 runs & 6.5 hits per game, that's clearly down from the season overall, where they've averaged 3.8 runs & 8.4 hits per game. But it's not all declines against the season average! In those same 9 games the pitchers went from averaging 9.5 hits & 4.4 runs per game to 11.8 hits & 6.1 runs per game. (Note: I tried to find a more Sabremetric-y stat as per my older brother's suggestion but I'm still a novice at that...suffice to say: "something, something, something, you'd be better off putting Larry, Curly and Moe at the bottom of the order than Tosoni, Tolbert and Butera")

But enough of this silly math stuff. Clearly the Twins have lost track of what makes playing in Minnesota so special. It's not the number of pretty girls who profess their undying love for Joe Mauer in sign and shirt form. Nor is it the giddy kids, seniors and drunk guys who always find something to cheer for even in the darkest days.

Perhaps it's because they're working, instead of watching tv during the games but perhaps they simply have missed this catchy jingle espousing the greatness of the Land of 10,000 Lakes:

So next time you're in town we encourage you guys to do the things advertised in this ad and more. Perhaps Brian Duensing needs to go camping, maybe Jason Kubel could take a kayak out on Lake of the Isles, maybe Ben Revere and Alex Burnett could start an emo/hip-hop fusion band (hemo?) or maybe our local renaissance man, Michael Cuddyer, should make time for a trip to the Minnesota Renaissance Festival.

Whatever the case guys, please come back ready to win some more games...it's a little tough to watch when you play like Joe Mauer sings. For now, just beat the White Sox and we'll all be happy.

(I'm sorry, that was mean and not constructive...but seriously Joe, I thought singing four part harmony was part of Minnesotan citizenship. Maybe you can slip some voice lessons into your offseason routine.)

The Most Constant Presence in Twins Territory

You might not recognize the fellow at the top of this post, but he's been around all season long. So long in fact that he might have been asked to pinch hit when our bench was particularly thin last week. His name is Dissotiera Injuria, or in layman terms, "the Injury Bug".

How much of an effect has the injury bug had on the Twins season? Put it this way: in 126 games the Twins have had 107 line-ups. By comparison the Yankees have fielded 53 squads in 123 games. We're on a pace to have 137 different sets of 9 take the field, that's 137 combinations of players wearing the Twins' red, white and blue. If the entire population of Dassel, Minnesota put on Twins jerseys, they could make that exact same number of rosters.

And hey, who's to say that Dissotiera Injuria is done yet? We must be about due for Danny Valencia to twist an ankle rounding first, or Alex Burnett to dislocate a shoulder in an innocuous warm up session, or Carl Pavano to snap a tendon while packing his suitcase for the next roadtrip, or Drew Butera to spontaneously combust.

Honestly your guess is as good as ours. In this wild season, where few things are certain, the only thing we would bank on is that Gardy will lead the league in Tylenol consumed and the Dissotiera Injuria is going to be around until the last out is recorded.

MAKE IT STOP!!

After yesterday's loss--which I did not see but which was described to me by my father, fellow blogger and friends as: "a hosing," "a total screw up," and "completely f*ing ridiculous"--I'm reminded of the great quote from Casey Stengel (the dentist turned mediocre outfielder turned genius manager of the Dodgers, Braves, Yankees and Mets): "I been in this game 100 years and I see new ways to lose 'em I didn't know existed before"

That has been the Twins season in a nutshell. When not losing on a record setting bullpen implosion, we manage to lose on three errors by the same shortstop (even when we keep changing the shortstop throughout the season), or on suddenly impotent hitters, or four umpires completely misunderstanding the major league rule book. It's not even games, we lose players in shocking ways too: there was the flu virus that sidelined four guys for a week, feet that got injured while turning a double play, and leaping for a home run ball, and the mysterious "bi-lateral leg weakness".

I can't explain it. Nobody I knows can explain it. I might have doubted our ability to make the playoffs this year, but I never expected it to be bottom-of-the-majors bad (and neither did anyone else apparently). So I have no other recourse but to plea with the baseball gods, the bringers of spring and sunshine and hot dogs and those little frozen lemonade cups: please, for my own sanity, MAKE IT STOP!

Graphs are the Sunshine of My Life

Whenever I'm down, I try to brighten up my day with a few fail-proof pick-me-ups. I think about my friends and loved ones; I go through a solid yoga flow; I put inappropriate tags in facebook photos of my brother; I destroy a feeble USA Today Crossword puzzle and I cheer the Twins.

Lately, cheering the Twins has not exactly brought joy into the Mudville of my heart. But as good fortune would have it there's a cure for that too! GRAPHS! The fine folks at fangraphs.com will break down pitch velocity, BABIP/inning with Runners on 1st and 2nd and the whole baseball genome. Meanwhile, here at Peanuts From Heaven, we break down much more irrelevant/irreverant things--here now, two graphs that encapsulate our season thus far.

First! Let's look at Runs/Game. Both the "runs" that count as points and help to win the games, and the "runs" people make to the refrigerator to get Ben & Jerry's ice cream to help dull the pain of a poor offense.

Clearly the Twins trail behind the MLB avg., they also trail behind the runs/game that Twins fans believe they would score if given the same opportunity. And while Twins fans have a very high "runs to Ben & Jerry's/game rate" (R2B&J/G), Prince Fielder has gamely contributed as much as possible to the R2B&J/G rate for MLB as a whole.

Next, let's look at the pitching, by measuring both the staff ERA in given innings and how that relates to the percent increase in Ron Gardenhire's blood pressure, and the cumulative amount of tears shed by Twins fans (measured in oz) over the same span of time.

I know it's early yet, but clearly when our pitchers' 4th innings average out to an ERA of 9...that's not good. Nor are plus 7 ERAs in the 9th and Extra innings. It's also interesting to note that while Gardy's blood pressure rises and falls with the team's pitching performance, fans seem to be all cried out by about the 7th inning. (Until we lose in extras when tears of sadness and tears of fury commingle in a bucket o' weepy).

Now, this might make our situation seem dire, but c'mon...if you spend a few minutes trying to graph Ice-cream consumed or Gardy's blood pressure then you realize that baseball is baseball, and however long you look at stats, it might as well be entertaining. Still we look forward to bringing graphs of happiness back just as soon as the team obliges. If you have ideas for graphs feel free to leave them in the comments below or tweet them at us (@heavenlypeanuts)...more will come...wether you want them or not.

Enjoy the game and remember happiness is just a silly graph away.

Coping with the loss of Pat Neshek

Okay, so if you're a frequent reader of this blog you probably have been wondering: "hey, why haven't the heavenly peanuts written anything in a month? Are they trapped under something heavy like an armoire or a zeppelin?" No gentle reader, we were only trapped under the soul crushing obligations of graduate school; in particular, I was up to my neck in Masters Thesis frooferah. {Long story short: after many revisions, speeches, extra revisions and technological snafus I am a Master of my (intellectual) Domain! This means less with the working, and more with the obsessive Twins following, so win-win!}

I'm also writing today because I was personally surprised at how much a little blurb on ESPN affected me yesterday morning. Quoth the behemoth of sports journalism: "The San Diego Padres have claimed right-hander Pat Neshek off waivers from the Minnesota Twins."

I saw that and my first thought was: "What? No...this has to be some kind of mistake." But sure enough, Sideshow Pat's taking his side-slinging act to southern California. My next thought was: "What the fuchia Twins? Don't let this happen! Stop it!!" Then I thought: "Didn't we get anything for him? A prospect? Some cash?!? Something?" And then, I sighed, remembered that for as much effort as we care about the Twins, Pat might have a better career in an easier league with a team that can play him. Then I smiled at the happy memories and wished him the best. I talked with Stinky through most of my reactions and she had many of the same feelings. I called my mom and she too felt as flabbergasted, confused, but ultimately hopeful for him.

After all this, I realized that I had gone through a minor form of the stages of grief over a baseball player...not a dead one, a traded one...and not a big star, a middle reliever whose best year was 3-4 years ago. I suddenly imagined what some of my non-sports-mad friends would say at my behavior. Sitting around, rolling their eyes, clucking their tongues and saying: "shouldn't you worry about something more important than this?"

So I wonder...is it wrong of me to have so much emotional investment in a ballplayer that I grieve when he leaves my team? He's a professional athlete doing what he loves to do, and he does not know me, or (probably) care who I am and how I feel. I've just written a masters thesis, I need to find a job, there are tsunamis and civil wars and police actions and everything...am I totally nuts to care about Pat Neshek?

Answer: Yes. Yes I am...and what's more, I like being this nuts.

See, I think that our modern society lets us live in our own little bubbles. We plug into our i-pods and walk numbly down the street. We watch cable news personalities who endorse our personal views. We cling to what's ours, guarding our belongings, our personal space, our everything with fierce tenacity.

But if you're a baseball fan, you have to connect with other people, you high-five other random fans at the game and nod your approval when you see someone else walking down the street wearing the right baseball cap. Even players in the game have to rely on each other because no single player can dominate the game. You can't play right field and third base simultaneously. You can't hit a double, then call "ghosties" and knock yourself in. Baseball forces us to rely on each other, and I like that.

And over the long season fans and players grow together, and it feels like we're all buddies or neighbors or second cousins. You learn weird trivia, like that Neshek was a vegetarian who went to Butler University. In my imagination, I could have seen Neshek at any Twin Cities grocery store nodding his approval at a guy in a Twins cap and offering his recipe for picking out a ripe eggplant if you said you were confused. Maybe this wouldn't have happened...but I feel like it's more likely to happen among baseball fans/players than among the rest of the populace at large, and I love that feeling.

I don't want to just think about those things that are "more important" than Pat Neshek getting traded, I want to connect with them. The first word of the tsunami, sent me straight to e-mail to check if my old students were okay. And when a gas main blew up in south Minneapolis last week, right away I thought about who could be near the area and how I could help them if they needed me. I want to be connected to other people, and being a Twins fan makes me feel connected with lots of people, the fans and the pros, and even the guy who just got traded.

I hope Pat Neshek does well, I really do. I hope he gets a major league roster spot, and a condo with a view of the ocean and a vegetable co-op next door, and a couple moreButler Bulldog miracles. I hope everybody gets what would make them happiest in the world. And now that my thesis is done and a return to Minnesota is on the horizon, what would make me happy is having some more people to share it with...my family, my friends, my fellow Twins fans and maybe even Pat Neshek (assuming he finds out I exist).

A week in retrospective

Okay--so this last week has been a little busy here on the ol' home front. So let's try to do this as best we can:

Here's the last week in Minnesota Twins action

Wednesday the 4th--Delmon Young continued a ground balls hit just hard enough to avoid rally killing double plays and adding to his RBI total and our win total

Thursday the 5th--While Stinky worked at a--what do you call it: Job?--Scruffy felt a terrifying sense of impending doom. (Ron Mahay's alien arm will do that to you) Then Scruffy's mom (the Knitting Queen) made two predictions:

1) "The baseball gods, in their infinite wisdom, will not allow the Twins to lose this game when they so clearly should have won it. Sure, we may have gotten deprived of other games, but this one we clearly deserved to win and so...win it we will."

2) "We will score two runs in the 9th. I don't know how, but we will."

And low and behold we did score two runs, thanks to a suprising/distratcing double off the catwalk, The Knitting Queen was proved prescient, Scruffy no longer felt doomed and Stinky got a welcome distraction from work

Friday the 6th--Bad waitress, bad game. No more to say about that.

Saturday the 7th--Then Jason Kubel hit a home run to remind us all that running is stupid, and Carl Pavano's (and his mustache) saved the day again.

Sunday the 8th--Instead of watching the game, Stinky and Scruffy went to see Inception. Presumably the Twins beat the Indians by invading Shin Soo-Choo's dreams and convincing him to spin a top...or something...

Monday the 9th--Day-off in Chicago, the Twins snuck into a posh restaurant in enemy territory by posing as "Abe Froman: Sausage King of Chicago"

Tuesday the 10th--To celebrate the birthday of Scruffy's older brother (Chicago resident/Twins Fan) Scruffy arranges for fireworks set off by the Twins line-up. Unfortunately the team assumes that this was a metaphorical request and therefore only hits home runs rather than actually lighting fireworks.

Wednesday the 11th--Despite the haunting quack of "Swarzak" the Twins use Glen Perkins in the middle of a playoff race--the result is a foregone conclusion.

Thursday the 12th--Deprived of television, Stinky and Scruffy listen to the radio and are forced to chew their fingernails throughout Francisco Liriano's Bogus Journey in the 5th and 6th innings...but victory is achieved and all is made well.

And that brings us up to today. The Knitting Queen is off to the game tonight, and Scruffy, Stinky and Scruffy's little brother will be off to the game tomorrow night. Then Scruffy returns to Ohio and Stinky heads to Montana...but we'll be here...maybe not every day, but as often as we can be.

Until then,

The Peanuts from Heaven

Random observations

While listening to last nights game Stinky and I made the following observations in order of coolness:

1) Momentum is a tricky thing...the team with the momentum doesn't necessarily get it from a big strike out, or amazing catch, or two out rally--it just seems like you've either got the magic or not...and last night we were short on magic. So...that blows

2) Euphemisms are amusing: Transcript from our talk/radio broadcast

John Gordon: Here's the new pitcher, a veteran port sider...

Scruffy: Did he say a port sider?

Stinky: Yes, yes he did...and every person listening to him said "Guh, Whaaa?!?"

3) Band Names are AWESOME! (Another extract from our conversation)

Scruffy: I know which arm Ron Mahay throws with...and I can't believe I committed the useless bit of information to memory.

Stinky: Is it his fifth arm? His alien arm?

Scruffy: Yes...and that's a great band name

Stinky: It IS my new Band name!

So look out for "Ron Mahay's Alien Arm" coming to a bar near you soon!

PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!!

Oh Twins, my Twins...I'm so so so so soooooooo sorry

I have finally landed back in the United States and I turn on my computer to actually browse the internet leisurely for the first time in 36 days and what do I see...our once mighty lead and sterling record have....oh, what's the word...Exploded-into-a-bajillion-pieces! That's one word isn't it?

Now I'm sure that those of you who have actually, you know, watched the games have your own theories as to why this is, from what I can glean the hitting has been feeble and the pitching has been suspect and while I'm sure that playing the game bears a large effect on how many games you win, I'm also sure that the largest effect on the Twins performance is me.

Witness: 2007 (when I was in India)--no playoffs

2008 (when I returned from India)--surge into a tie for 1st place

2009 (here all year long)--Win the division

2010 (When I was gone for all of June)--Great...until the month of June.

I'm not saying I'm the greatest human being EVER...just the most important. But clearly our recent "June Swoon" is directly attributable to my being in west Africa throughout the month.

This is no one's fault but my own. I take full responsibility.

I beg of the Twins organization to return to their winning ways just as I have returned to the country. Pitchers can once again pound the zone. Hitters can go back to crushing the enemy. Gardy can continue being adorable when he's angry. As penance for my transgression I will say 20 "Hail Mauers" and eat as much crow as can be concealed in old dome dog wrappers. I promise, it won't every happen again, please Twins? Forgive me?

Our Dream (Gah!! Pt. 2)

Let us not dwell on what happened this afternoon. Let us instead imagine a wonderful thing that would make all the evil of the stadium which shall not be named fade into nothingness.

Imagine, if you will, a typical sight: a demon in pin stripes trotting gamely around a dirt track, smiling broadly in acknowledgement of the nefarious deed they have just committed. We've seen this several dozen times before, it is what usually happens to the Twins in the Bronx. We stand there, frozen like a bunch of Greek demi-gods faced with Medusa, frozen in time and space, wondering what the f* just happened to our awesome team.

But in our imagination there's a different ending. As the lap comes to a conclusion, our catcher, whomever he may be, says: "F-this noise!" and cocks his right arm, then follows through with a massive haymaker, clocking the pinstriped hoser and sending him crumpling to the ground crying out for his mama.

Suddenly the spell is lifted. From 3rd base to Right Field our boys suddenly realize: "hey! These guys aren't deamons or medusa's or anything remotely frightening. They're just smarmy, smug punkasses. If we beat them up we'll take away their power!"

And so, en masse, the Minnesota Twins (in our imagination) grab bats and chase down the team which shall not be named. They throw fastballs at their shin bones and cackle like Yosemite Sam saying: "dance you cotton pickin' varmint, DANCE!!!" They use their bats as cudgels and rampage through the clubhouse swinging their weaponry like marauders of yore. They wage an epic war of brilliance and awesomery and aren't even punished for it because, let's face it, the pinstriped punkasses had it coming, and every baseball fan outside of the Bronx would love to see this happen.

This is our dream--more violent than most, but that's what the Yankees do, they bring out the worst in us (also, I'm taking mefloquine, which doesn't help). It could never happen because our team's just not that violent (I mean, seriously, Cuddy, doing anything that wasn't adorable? Not possible). We just can't stand to see the defeats happen over and over and over again, it's like rewinding Bambi to watch his mom get shot time after time after time.

Today we fully expect that the Twins will be shot, and Ron "Bambi" Gardenhire will be forced to fend for himself in the scary, scary forest. (And the whole world weeps a single tear in sadness)

Slide into the Danger Zone

The less said about last night the bet--

So let's focus instead on something stupid that we can control, namely avoiding becoming the Yankees and Red Sox. See...the Yankees have 27 World Championships, the Red Sox have fewer but just as much prestige. Both are perennial contenders. Both have budgets that make Vanatu go: "sigh". Both are consistently in games they play rarely suffering for long because there's always another prospect to call up another trade to make and so the "lean" times are the kinds of things that the have nots like the Orioles and Blue Jays can only dream of.

In short, there's no need to whine if you're a Yankees or a Red Sox fan. Theoretically, you've got the best teams, with the best payrolls with the best management in baseball. Why on earth would you waste ink, newspaper pages or bytes of space on the interweb with incessant complaining about how your bed of roses is slightly wilted.

We Twins are lucky, we've been plucky and scrappy underdogs for a while now, but as Tigers fans Dr. Stats and CPH pointed out last night, we've got a new stadium we've got a big payroll, and we've won more division titles than anyone else this last decade...we're a power. (For the record though, we still spend $30 Million less than the Tigers). Still, they're right, we've got a good team, great management and we're always a threat, we really don't have anything to complain about.

And then I read this. Now...I'm willing to believe that many people may disagree with me about many things, politics, art, Cake V.s. Pie. But to react to your team going 14-7 over its first 21 games, to react to your team spending more money than it ever has before, to react to excellence in the early days of spring with whining and moaning over how "pitchers are coddled sissies" is absurd! We're winning! Life is good! Sure we'll eventually lose a couple games in a row, but for right now, let's just enjoy life. For a nominal fee each year (a fee we ourselves decide on) a group of men will play a game that will provide us with 486 hours of entertainment, if not more! And if you're a member of the press who is PAID to be entertained for 486+ hours each season then complaining over how you are entertained, is like being a movie theatre usher yelling at Denzel Washington mid-fight scene.

It's a slippery slope from plucky underdog to ungrateful schmucks, a slippery slope I hope we never slide down. If you want to go sledding into the Red (sox) Zone of annoyance Peter Reusse, go ahead, but don't expect me to join you for the ride.

Silver Linings

So Delmon Young just got a double after getting nailed in the balls. There is a silver lining to every cloud.

OK, I know this is a family-friendly blog, but there's just been a lot of balls and balls-related discussion tonight, mainly propagated by the excessive repetition of awkward Viagra commercials.

Ridiculousness from the TBS announcers:

"Wow! A-Rod! Look at how strong his arm is! But between this and his home run it's just amazing how strong he is"

Our interpretation: "Amazing! He threw the ball across the field, like a professional baseball player is meant to do! He took the ball from his glove, with the other hand and threw it - incredible! You know, this is a team that's really been excellent at using both hands this season. Also, it's remarkable how unbelievably, practically inhuman his strength is. It's as if it isn't natural at all. I mean, you can practically feel the chemical reaction when he connects."

"Andy Pettite is so tough in every at bat, he's an incredible competitor."

Our interpretation: "With Andy Pettite, it's not an at bat, it's a seduction."

"What an incredible play by Jeter!"

Our interpretation: "Jeter just softly lobbed the ball to first base with plenty of time to make the out. If Brendan Harris did this it would be merely mediocre but when Derek Jeter does it it's AMAZING!!!"

Also notable was their palatable lack of enthusiasm when Denard stole second base. Not to mention the fact that when we took the lead they were quietly awed, when A-Rod tied it, and Posada took the lead it seemed like it was all they could do not to run down on to the field and plant a big sloppy kiss all over the Yankees' collective rumps.

I was going to write about how inexorably sad this all makes me (particularly after Nicky just tried a little too hard), but why fixate on the toolish announcers, the damnable Yankees and our "gaffes"? We all know this is what it is, we can't change it, the Yankees are what they are, network tv is what it is, but best of all we are what we are

WE ARE AWESOME! And we don't need to win no stinkin' playoff series to know it! This has been an incredible season, we have a team full of guys who play it the right way and play it clean and will come back next year ready to go another step (last year we just missed it, this year we made it, next year...?). Bottom line, we are awesome, what else do you need to know?

Kristina again:

Yes, we are awesome. But as much as I know that, and as much as I tried not to care that we were probably going to get swept in this series... it still totally sucks. Honestly, I'd rather we just plain lost - it'd be better to walk away from this series saying "Well, we played our best, but we just got outplayed," instead of "Well, we f***ed it up so many times, it's no wonder we lost."

OK thinking positively.

Even though this series has been really painful (especially for Delmon's pistachios), I'm sitting here tonight, watching through the pain with some of my best friends - grilling brats, laughing together, yelling at A-Rod together, groaning in pain together, trying to solve a problem like the Yankees together (throwing star to A-Rod's larynx perhaps?), and making inappropriate comments about Viagra commercials together. Even the worst loss doesn't seem quite as bad when you're among the ones you love.

We love the Twins, we love our friends, and as long as we're all together, we're happy--and will be happy through the long cold winter.

Deadline's coomiiiiin'--

Fans you better hide your heeeeaaarrrrt! Your lovin' heeeeaaaarrrt!

Look, we all know the story here. We want a trade. Gardy wants a trade. The players want a trade. But try as Bill Smith might, there's just not a team out there who will give us a quality infielder or pitcher in exchange for a pile of magic beans. (Note to self: do not invest as heavily in magic bean futures next year)

Our trade targets are once again a long list of the overpriced and untouchable:

Freddy Sanchez--snapped up by the Giants (would have cost Swarzak or better)

Marco Scutaro--verboten unless Roy Halladay moves (which he won't)

Jarrod Washburn--The Yankees want him, which means we don't stand a chance.

Chad Qualls--Way too pricy

Michael Wuertz--Local boy, kept under lock and key by Moneyball Ogre Billy Beane

Orlando Cabrera--Aging and being treated by Moneyball Ogre Billy Beane as though he were the second coming of Honus Wagner.

Deadline's coming and the cards say: A broken heart!

Let's go and get the Angels regardless, eh fellas?

Trite but True

Okay--this needs to stop. The losing and the not playing so well and the whatnots.

Fixating on what's gone wrong doesn't help.

Demanding perfection in the near or immediate future doesn't help.

Playing hard, playing well, playing your best whenever you have the chance, giving 110% every time you take the field, focusing on what you can do in each individual at bat, taking the season one game at a time.

That is Zen baseball, that is Twins baseball. So repeat after me: Ohm Ani Pani Ooom, One Game At A Time, Ohm Ani Pani Oooom, Love the Twins Win or Lose, Ohm Ani Pani Ooom.....

I feel better already

Some thoughts...

Sadly, after the awesomeness of Friday and Mozart and 12 runs we have now been forced to confront the sadness of a shutout defeat.

As usual this sadness has been wrought by the evilness of Fox broadcasters. Last year, when the Twins played on Fox Saturday Baseball, in front of a (semi) national audience they would become flummoxed and fail...this year started in in a similar manner, with Mark Grace and Thom Brennaman ruining our trip to Chicago.

During this desperately desolate game a few thoughts occurred to your loyal authors.

1) Leaving Runners on Base=not so good--It's not that the White Sox were exceptionally better than us today, it was just that they were exceptionally better at getting runners who were on base to come in and score. We could have tied the game, if  we had hit the ball...also we might have won the game if we had thrown or caught the ball better...but we'll save that for tomorrow's INCREDIBLY OBVIOUS ADVICE post.

2) Football=stupid--I'm going to explain this simply to you Fox. Just because people wear football jerseys and enjoy football, doesn't mean it's a relevant topic during a baseball game. You know what's relevant to a baseball game? BASEBALL.

3) Luis Ayala=good--we approve of this.

4) Corgies=Better than Corky's--FIE ON YOU CORKY MILLER!!! FIE I SAY!!

5) Fox=obsessed with boobs.--Their network programming obsesses over busty women, sports programming, over guys without shirts on. One gentleman with a torso ample enough for two chest paint letters (the "GO" in "GO SOX") was featured more prominently than Ron Gardenhire (maybe if Gardy managed shirtless....). We could also mention Thom and Mark's obsession with the fitness and good looks of the "S" and "X"...but we'll be professional.

So Saturday stunk. But it was Fox's fault. Sunday will be wonderful, I promise.

Now THAT'S more like it

One fine day in June, the Minnesota Twins were chilling in the dugout, contemplating strategies for beating the Washington Sucktasticals.

CARLOS GOMEZ: Guys...this sucks, man.
LIVAN HERNANDEZ: I know what you mean...it is like a stake, a stake into my heart.
DELMON YOUNG: But...how is it like a stake in your heart? You had a win last night.
CARLOS GOMEZ: Yeah barely. I mean...we came very close to not winning.... the last thing I want is Di--fat-ri young laughing in my face.
DELMON YOUNG: Hey b*** that's my brother! Besides that wasn't even a good joke.
JOE MAUER: (pats Gomez on the back) Hey man, it's OK....not everyone can make good fat jokes. Remember how hard it was to come up with fat jokes for Sidney Ponson?
ALL: (nodding in agreement) yeah....
JUSTIN MORNEAU: Fatthew Lecroy made it so easy, we forget what it is like to struggle.
(All nod, but don't really know what he's talking about because Lecroy is before their time)

CARLOS GOMEZ: OK let's get back to business... I mean let's face it... the Washington Nationals suck.
KEVIN SLOWEY: Maybe they only suck in Washington? Their sucktastickness may be non-transferrible.
CARLOS GOMEZ: What does that even mean?
JUSTIN MORNEAU: Guys, don't think so hard. But seriously though, I think it might be simpler than that. So simple, it's right in front of our faces.. (crosses eyes to see in front of face)
JOE MAUER: Hey guys...why don't we try to...hit the ball?
ALL: Huh?
JOE MAUER: Well... I mean... you know how in those 3 games we lost to Chicago, our runs in all 3 combined weren't even enough to win one game? I think maybe if we hit the ball more...maybe that wouldn't happen as much.
SLOWEY: Also, I'll try to throw the ball so the other team can't hit it.
LIVAN HERNANDEZ: Hey maybe I should try that.
JOE: so...are we ready?
ALL: YEAH!!!
And they all trotted out to the field, ready for victory.