Eat your Vegetables!

[The Twins are sitting in the visitors clubhouse at Chicago, bemoaning their sad fate after being slapped around a little by Gardy and chowing down on Twinkies.]

DENARD SPAN: Man... Gardy totally just yelled at us like we were little pansies. And look how much he scared Carlos!
[points to Gomez, who is curled up under a bench with his hands over his ears]
GOMEZ: I DIDN'T EAT THE COOKIE I PROMISE!!! *sniffle sniffle*

MORNEAU: Yeah... ouch dude. Well, I mean he has kind of a point - we are little pansies. [pauses] Well, most of you guys are little pansies anyways. The Joes and I are definitely not pansies, except occasionally Joe Crede. But mostly not at all. [sighs] I don't know what the problem is...

TOLBERT: Hey cheer up guys! I have more Twinkies!

BLACKBURN/CAKEBURN: Ooh almost like cake!

CUDDY: And I have the latest season of "Rock of Love" on DVD! Even if we don't win, we can still have a super-bad-ass time hanging out like bros and being totally awesome and adorable [smiles so brightly that some of the mirrors in the locker room crack and Carlos has to cover his eyes]

CREDE: I don't know...I feel kind of fatigued. Tired. Not quite myself.

GOMEZ: I'm sleepy....

MORNEAU: Yeah you're right, I do feel strangely iron deficient.

CREDE: Wait... haven't we been eating nothing but Twinkies for the last six days?

SPAN: You're right! Man that's no good at all, we need some nutrition! Matty, go get the spinach!

TOLBERT: [Blank stare]

MORNEAU: Um... you did remember to get the spinach right?

TOLBERT: Wait I was supposed to get spinach? WHY DON'T YOU GUYS EVER TELL ME THESE THINGS, ALL I GOT WAS TWINKIES!!!

CRAIN, ZE UBERMENSCH: The rookie is always supposed to get the spinach, Tolbert you fool! What will we do without our spinach - without it we're weak, fallible, and vulnerable to being crushed under the vast metaphorical shoe of any team with stronger hitting! BAHHH I CAN'T BE WEAK!!! WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO!!?!?!?

SPAN: It's ok man...just...calm down.

CREDE: Wait! I have an idea! [all turn to look at him simultaneously] ...I know where the White Sox keep their spinach. If we sneak in, very quietly, I might be able to get some for us. But I'll need some help. Someone small and quick -

GOMEZ: OOH me!!! mememem!!! pick me!!!!

CREDE: - and quiet, who won't say anything stupid and give us away. So...not you.

GOMEZ: [sad face]

SPAN: What about Little Nicky Punto? He's super-stealthy and can grab things that are moving fast. You guys are two of the best fielders we have, besides me obviously... with the two of you working your magic we can't fail to get that spinach! Hurry, we only have 5 minutes!

ALL: YEAH!!!!!

[2 minutes later, in the Sox clubhouse]
CREDE: Knock knock!
THOME: Hey man! Uh what are you doing here?
CREDE: Oh I just came to say hi to my old buddies! Where's that little whippersnapper A.J.? [begins walking towards other end of clubhouse]

THOME: Oh I think he's right over - HEY OUR SPINACH!!!

[Crede has reached the White Sox spinach stash and grabbed several cans]

CREDE: Nicky, catch!!!

[Out of nowhere, Nick Punto appears, having hidden himself behind Joe Crede in order to sneak into the clubhouse. He bolts for the exit and effortlessly catches all 20 cans as Crede throws them towards the door]



PUNTO: Wheeeeeeeee!!! [Runs away]
CREDE: SEE YA, SUCKAS!!!! [follows]

[Back in the Twins clubhouse]

CREDE: Victory is ours!!! Spinach is ours!!! Yeah! [Breaks out a can and begins chowing down] I feel better already! Here you go Cuddy, you look so freaking cute I can't help but give you some of my spinach. [Shares spinach wtih Cuddy - totally adorable].
CUDDY: RAAAARRR!!! [Muscles on Cuddy's arms baloon up to a ridiculous size] Let's go kick some ass!!!
[Crede and Cuddy proceed to hit back-to-back homers]



[Later on]

TOLBERT: Uh so I guess you were right about the spinach. Twinkies are mostly empty carbs anyways...umm...can I try some? [Cuddy flashes him another blinding smile and passes a can of spinach. Tolber takes a bite] YARGGGGHHH!!! I FEEL INVINCIBLE!!! [Goes out and hits a three run homer]

[And the Twins proceeded to win 20-1, which just goes to show that if they'd had their spinach from the beginning we totally would have won all of those games. This is coming from the daughter of a nutritionist. Twinkies = bad. Spinach = good. Happy memorial day!!!!]

Ze Ubermensch on Balks

Last night mi madre was wringing her hands, sighing, moaning ready to pick up a lamp and hit herself in the head when Jesse Crain came in for not one, but TWO! innings of work.

It seemed that Ze Ubermensch would acquit himself surprisingly well, until Curtis "Crashing-into-Walls-is-my-middle-name" Granderson (his monogrammed towels are pretty big) hit a triple, and then again when C. C. i. W. i. m. m. n. G. feinted to home and caused a balk, which made my mother cover her eyes with her hands. And led to the following conversation in the duggout throughout the middle and the bottom of the fourteenth:

[Twins walk dejectedly into duggout]

Crain: What is that umpire talking about? Balk! What is the meaning of this word? To fail to stop motion prior to delivering a pitch? This is a logical fallacy of the highest order!! [Kubel singles, and Nick Punto quickly runs away from Crain to pinch run] 

What is motion? The action or process of being moved, but moved through what? The rule is needlessly vague. [Span runs away from Crain to bunt Punto to second, and comes back to sit on the duggout steps rather than next to Crain] 

I will grant that motion normally occurs through space, but what of time, what of the eath's rotation. We are all of us moving at all times. To come to a "complete stop" is impossible. [Tolbert dashes up to the plate, and singles home Punto to tie the game. After sliding home Punto crawls back to the duggout to avoid Crain] 

Every second my arms move forward in the slow march of history towards their inevitable death. [Filled with this morbid thought Mauer grounds out then goes to call his mom to hear about happy things] 

And given the earth's rotation, we are each of us moved, perhaps we are only moved millimeters, but we are moved simply by staying upon this rock. [Eager to hit Morneau watches four wide pitches for an intentional walk, but asks for four more just to clear his head of Crain's gobbledegook]

Furthermore. If motion is an action, then the failure to move is also an action. An act of inaction, that therefore negates the totality of "actions" and "motions" [Cross-eyed and bumfuzzled Cuddyer fortunately watches four balls go by to load the bases]

Ultimately, the combination of external forces as well as the self-negating definition of stopping ones motion (which, as I have shown is itself a motion) the previous run should not have scored and we should have already won the game, isn't that right Joe Crede?

[Crede is the only person sitting within 9 feet of Crain, as Carlos Gomez has stuck his head in a Gatorade jug and Delmon Young is warming up for relief, Crede can only nod his head and step to the plate. His brain full of complex thoughts and notions each more complicated than the last, rendering his whole psyche a whirling torrent of the cosmos and infinite meanings of man. Then he sees a curve ball]

Crede: CREDE SMASH!!!!WITH BARBED WIRE BAT!!!!!!!!! CREDE SMASH!!!!

Crede Smash, Crede Smash Indeed.

Dies Irae

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

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

[Twins clubhouse. R.A. Dickey is sitting on the bench with his headphones on and a look of steely determination in his eyes.]

Cre-D (walking by): Hey man...whatcha listening to?

Dickey:  Just some music, to get pumped up.

Cre-D: Oh sweet.  Metallica?  Young Buck?  Satan rock?

Dickey: No, man.  Mozart's requiem.

Cre-D:.......oh.  That's, um.....oh.  OK.

Dickey: Just listen.  You'll understand.

Cre-D: [puts on headphones.  after a few seconds, his eyes widen and burn with the fury of a thousand suns]  BAD-ASS!!!!

Dickey:  I told you!

Cre-D:  BAHH!!!   DAY OF WRATH!!! DAY OF DESTRUTION!  I WILL DESTROY BLAAAGHHRAHGHGHHGHH!!!!

Dickey:  Here's what I'm saying - nobody appreciates the bad-assitude of classical music the way they should.  *sigh*

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

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

Amen.

T minus 4 days!!!!

A;KDJPQIOHA;SDKFJ!!!!! I am so excited!!!!!!!!!!!
Baseball starts on Monday! Fortunately, my dad has tickets to opening day....unfortunately he only has two. Fortunately my mom is a kind soul and recognized that I would probably spontaneously combust if I didn't get to go, and shot my dad down so that he could invite me. So it all turned out well in the end.

In addition to kick-ass seats and season tickets, my dad also has this beautiful baby residing in his office:



I want to steal that thing in the worst way. I mean, I recognize that it's "real", and probably needs to be installed in the "new stadium", and that I probably would have to donate a ridiculous ammount of money plus my pinky toe and my first born child in order to actually own it...but couldn't we just bury it and say it was stolen by pirates...?



.......?

Anyways I digress.

Spring training was fun. I'm ashamed to admit though, that I wasn't really paying a whole lot of attention to the finer points of who was playing up to snuff and who was having an off-day, mainly because I was trying not to melt to my seat in the 90-degree heat with no breeze and no shade. I'm pretty sure I drank about five gallons of soda just to keep from dehydrating. But I did take a lot of photos that looked like this:



mmmm...............
Morneau......
I feel like I've gotten off track here......

Oh yeah baseball. Young played well - very well. He seems much more solid this year. The outfield selection was Young, Cuddyer and Span. I have a feeling this is how we'll start the season. Crede hit a home run, which almost dragged me fully onto the Crede bandwagon. But, he still needs to prove himself to me because I've been burned by one too many overhyped home run hitters, and I still need some time to heal. I still have nightmares about Rondell White (and I know, Rondell was no Cre-D!, but I'm still waiting to see definitive, consistent proof of awesomeness in the regular season).

On Monday (or more likely Tuesday since I'll probably fall asleep in the car on the way home on Monday) - PfH's first game recap of 2009!!!!

Another new addition

Okay, I'm going to confess something dark and ominous about my past. [Deep Breath] When I was a little kid...I...[deep breath]...I...[closes eyes]...watchedprofessionalwrestling! It actually feels kind of freeing to say that outloud. And admitting you have a problem is the first step in solving it.

Why do I tell you this, because after locking away this deep dark secret in the innermost recesses of my soul for the last two decades I finally confronted the truth in the wake of the stunning news on Sunday. 

We signed Joe Crede. An All-Star Free Agent. A Scott Boras Client. A man who, if talk radio is to be believed, can simply step up to the plate at any time and hit a home run. And we didn't give away everything to do it. We didn't acquiesce to Boras' insane demands for 3 years, 21 million dollars, or Alaska. We even made our nemeses in Chicago all envious.

But something still felt a little wrong. The wrasslin' part of my brain was confused. As anyone who ever watched the squared circle can attest you get used to hating the bad guy. The guy who seems to grab folding chairs to whack your hero whenever possible. And for the last 4 years Joe Crede was that guy to our beloved Minnesota Twins.

I pictured him villainously snickering while he hit one of his home runs. Sneering as he tagged out a baserunner at third and slammed his head into the base (like a turnbuckle). Cackling after one of his maniacal predictions came true. I pictured him yelling to poor, scared Scotty Baker: "You pencil necked geek!! I'll make sure you experience pain in a new dimension! CRE-D!! BLAAAAGHURRRAGHURAGGGGH!!" Then hitting a home run, and charging the mound to club Baker over the head with the bat then biting the head off of a pigeon.

So it's bizarre when the guy you normally expect to blaaaaghurrraghuraggggh all over your pitching staff is suddenly the guy you're rooting for. Such unexpected changes in temperment happen all the time in wrasslin', but it's not the easiest thing to get used to. You've been booing him for so long, suddenly accepting him as one of the gang is a little difficult. Sudden betrayal is easy to fathom, sudden revelation...not so much.

So, Joe Crede, I invite you to prove your mettle. You seem like a good guy, but perhaps you can explain your change of heart a little bit better. I recommend blaaaaghurrraghuragggghing all over Scott Boras and your former teammates. Once you do that. You'll be our man...and we'll all revel in a new dimension of awesomeness: 

CRE-D!!!