The 2013 Twins by the Only Stat That Matters (Pt. 1: The Stat)

This is the first in a series of three articles evaluating the Twins 2013 Season. First we introduce the stat, then we use it to analyze hitters, then we use it to analyze pitchers.

There's plenty of time to dissect the Twins' season, and there are plenty of people to do it. Rather than crunch the numbers or analyze the trends, I prefer to dissect it in the best way I know how: poorly!

It's in that spirit that I offer the following new statistic: AARP or Amusement Above Replacement Player. [I am well aware that AARP is also the name of the American Association of Retired People, which gives AARP a 8.43 AARS (that's Amusement Above Replacement Statistic) score.]

Copyright/schmopyright.

Why invent such a meaningless statistic you ask? Why not? I answer.

Statistics are not fixed or holy things, they get to be whatever we want them to be. While much of baseball is designed to be measured and quantified (from the 90 feet between the bases, to every degree of drop on a curve), much of it has yet be measured or quantified (from how important it is to have "good guys" in the clubhouse to how willingly we as fans will watch bad baseball because the way a hitter waggles his bat makes us giggle). And since no one else was doing it, I figured I might as well.

Assigning a number to something like "amusing antics" may seem unnecessary or even stupid. Of course it's stupid. So is measuring the degree of drop on every pitchers curveball. This is America, and this is the internet. If you're looking for necessary and intelligent things, you've clearly come to the wrong place.

So, what is AARP and how do we measure it?

As I envision it (and since I'm making it up, that's all that matters), AARP measures a player's contributions, on the field and off, to provide amusement and enjoyment to fans. Certainly a player's actual performance has an effect on that: hit a homer, boost your AARP, come into a tie game and give up five straight hits, your AARP takes a hit.

We like successful players, but we also like players just because they are themselves. So the statistic also considers things like: a player's ability to earn and maintain a nickname (and no, adding -y/-ie to the end of a name doesn't make it a nickname--sorry fans of "Frankie" Liriano); their notable physical and personality traits (thereby giving credit to the short, the squat, the bearded and the crazy); their general attitude and demeanor (the more personable and interesting and less robotic the better); and miscellaneous oddities (i.e. Delmon saying his favorite book is The Great Gatsby or Eduardo Escobar's at bat music being a song from Grease).

Like WAR (Wins Above Replacement) or VORP (Value Over Replacement Player), AARP can have a positive or a negative score. Each category has a range of -2 to +2 and totals up to give their overall AARP. A positive score reflects a player who makes the game enjoyable to watch (however mildly), zero reflects someone whose existence you forget about between games, and a negative one reflects a player who leaves you so bored, depressed or upset that anything (even Kardashians, Ginsu knife infomercials, and "Channel Not Available" notifications) seems to be a more valuable source of entertainment.

How would the stat work? Consider these examples

Eric Fryer: The Forgettable type (-.5 to .5)

Play: Below average at an inconsequential time -0.1

Nickname: None -0.2

Traits: None noticed 0.0

Demeanor: None noticed 0.0

Oddities: None 0.0

AARP: -0.3

Jason Bartlett: An everyday major leaguer (.5-2.0)

Play: Adequate (slightly better once he left the team) 0.7

Nickname: None -0.2

Traits: Little scruffy goatee 0.2

Demeanor: Calm 0.2

Oddities: Name might remind you of The West Wing or a book of quotations. 0.4

AARP: 1.3

Ben Revere: A local favorite (2.1-5.0)

Play: Great in the field, great base runner, terrible at hitting 0.8

Nickname: None (Save for maybe Midnight Rider) 0.0

Traits: Big smile, giddy laugh 0.7

Demeanor: Happy and excited 0.4

Oddities: Superman style leaps after balls, summersaulting triples 0.4

AARP: 2.3

Michael Cuddyer: a nationally notable player (5.1-8.0) 

Play: Impressive arm, above average bat. 1.7

Nickname: "Cuddles" "Magic Man" 1.8

Traits: Big dimples, fondness for magic 2.0

Demeanor: Personable, engaging, happy to talk with fans 1.3

Oddities: Not many--typical dude. 0.0

AARP: 6.8

Carlos Gomez: A player who captivates casual and serious fans alike  (8.1-10)

Play: Phenomenal defense (recently, good offense) 1.5

Nickname: "Gogo" "Mojo Gogo" "Go, go, Gomez" "Rin-go!" 1.8

Traits: Hyperactivity, silliness, goofiness, sporadic bouts of petulance, funny little beard 1.9

Demeanor: Happy, excitable, willing to talk about anything even if you don't understand him 1.7

Oddities: Smelling bats, raptor yells in dug out 2.0

AARP: 8.9

Alex Rodriguez: A player who irritates casual and serious fans alike (< -.5)

Play: Very good at the plate, above average in the field 1.9

Nickname: A-Rod, A-Hole .2

Traits: Really toolish, egotistical, self-obsessed, obnoxiously pretty -2.0

Demeanor: Egotistical, better than thou, convinced of massive conspiracy against him -2.0

Oddities: Supposedly has a portrait of himself as a centaur, has movie star girlfriends feed him popcorn -2.0

AARP: -3.7

Sure there's room to debate the accuracy of these scores, especially since what is amusing to me may not be amusing to you. After all, if a statistic is subjective, is it really a statistic anymore?

Then again, this is a totally made up statistic that doesn't actually exist beyond the confines of this weird little corner of cyber space, so maybe we shouldn't spend too much time worrying about that, and just use this as a mildly amusing way to pass the offseason.

In that spirit I'll use AARP to analyze how the Twins did in 2013, staring with a few notable hitters, then moving on to the pitchers and front office staff. And while the management seems generally disinclined to consider statistics in their evaluations of talent, maybe a made up statistic will have more credence with them and we'll build for a future when the Twins are both talented and fun!

Getting the Band Back Together

Years ago, back when there were frequent playoff berths and easy jokes to crack amid winning seasons, we debuted a segment called: Sargent Gardy's Lonely Hits Club Band. Part Beatles homage, part McLaughlin Group homage, all goofy. Few people read them...but I was amused enough to make a t-shirt in their honor. I was wearing that t-shirt yesterday when my father-in-law sent the following text message: "Morneau is gone-hope they can get him back next year."

My wife and I reacted as most fans did, simultaneously upset and yet hopeful that Morneau gets a shot at the World Series. But soon enough I realized that Morneau's trade would officially end Sargent Gardy's Lonely Hits Club Band...in Minnesota...but now that three of the four members are in the National League, perhaps it's only the beginning.

 Below is the first installment of their reunited panel discussion show, almost four years in the making:

[Theme Music plays, lights come up on four men in various far flung hotels, all wearing Beatles inspired military regalia]

McNeau: Welcome, at last, to the reunion of Sargent Gardy's Lonely Hits Club Band. The most elite roundtable of baseball minds ever to play in Minnesota.
Ringomez: AND MEE!!!!
McNeau: I'm Justin McNeau, the adorable one, and with me as always are Denard Spannon in Washington....
Spannon: The cerebral one.
McNeau: Brendan Harrisson in Round Rock Texas...
Harrisson: The quiet one.
McNeau: And Carlos Ringo-mez in Milwaukee...
Ringomez: BOODLEDEE BOP!!
McNeau: Gentlemen, I'm new to this whole playing for a totally different team, what is the best part of going elsewhere?
Spannon: You have the magical appreciation of a new realm of potentialities which, of late in Minnesota, have diminished in attainability to becoming a mirage of athleticism in a desert of despair.
Harrisson: Yeah...the chance to win is nice, but I really like getting to know real people elsewhere, beyond the bright lights big city scene [the other three snicker], seriously [snickering grows louder] I don't need to play in the majors [everyone just laughs] I AM MY OWN MAN!
McNeau: Good one Brendan...Carlos, what's your favorite part of playing elsewhere?
Ringomez: CHEESE CURLS!! Oh, and I hit home runs now!!
McNeau: Sure you do...
Spannon: No...actually...he does...
McNeau: Huh, well, issue number two, what differentiates the National League from the American League? Brendan?
Harrisson: There is a real beauty in the purity of having pitchers hit.
Spannon: Even if they hit better than you do?
Harrisson: They do not!
Ringomez: Hehe! Brendan can't hit!
Spannon: Ancient systems are uninteresting to me, we are only whatever we can be in the moment. The National League has won more recent all-star games and the world series. This is the thrill of what is immediate and makes it truly both a and the present.
Harrisson: Even if your team's barely over .500?
Spannon: At least my team's playing in front of more than 500 people!
[Everyone begins talking at once]
Harrisson: You guys are too fixated on the fame and the popularity of what we do, what about the art behind it! My sitar teacher's been telling me that I need to focus on my own sense of inner peace, and that's what I'm doing, if you can't respect that...
Spannon: Winning isn't everything, that's part of this culture's over emphasis on competition that no one appreciates the little things any more, these fasco-capitalist oligarchies pretend we can only be happy if we win; but winning is lots of things, like enjoying your family or teaching Bryce Harper not to say "bro" as often...
Ringomez: I have a  love-ly bunch of coconuts! deedle-dee-dee! There they are all standing in a row!! Bum, bum, bum! Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head...
McNeau: Gentlemen! Seriously, I'm kind of freaking out. I'm not an MVP any more and while Minnesotans had happy memories of my glory years to keep the cheers coming, what if Pirates fans boo when I only get a single and strike out three times?
Spannon: Embrace the victory of the self Justin. You are strong and powerful and you can help them have their first winning season in 20 years, they might not love you, but they'll thank you.
Harrisson: And even if they don't, it doesn't matter. You're a good person, with a family and a successful career. Besides, when you return to Minnesota, they'll still cheer for you.
Ringomez: And you are a good mentor! You make winning easy and playing fun!!!
McNeau: Thank you guys. As we wrap up today's analysis, do you guys find yourselves missing anything from Minnesota?
All: Joe's Sideburns.
McNeau: I thought so.

Wha' Happened #7 (V.s. Boston; @ Atlanta, Detroit & Milwaukee; V.s. Milwaukee & Seattle)

There was agony during the last two weeks of Twins baseball (including 7 straight losses to run a losing streak to 10) and ecstasy (including winning 6 of their last 7). The season continues tonight in Kansas City, but before you see that game, let's review what happened in the last few weeks.

Game 40
Red Sox 3 - Twins 2
Remember about a month ago, when we went into Boston and dominated the Red Sox to win 3 of 4? Turns out they didn't like that very much. And brought a rather curt "Don't Mess With Boston" attitude back to the Twin Cities.

Game 41
Red Sox 15  - Twins 2
Make that very curt.

Game 42
Red Sox 5 - Twins 1
Yup...Boston...don't mess with it...we get the message.

Game 43
Braves 5 - Twins 1
Hitting the road again, the Twins returned to Atlanta for the first time since the 1991 World Series. In a sign of true southern hospitality Braves fans' loudly and persistently whined about how Kent Hrbek's "T-Rex Tag" play in Game 2 stole the World Series from them (leaving aside the missed opportunities in the rest of that game and when they failed to clinch in Games 6 or 7).

So dumbfounded were the Twins and Kevin Correia (who only remembers loving Zubas in 1991) that they promptly lost the game.

You stay classy Braves...

Game 44
Braves 5 - Twins 4
Did you realize the Braves' still do the "Tomahawk Chop"...I mean...really...really? Really...Just yikes. I can only assume the Twins team was all so mad about that, that they couldn't focus on the game...and lost again.

Game 45
Braves 8 - Twins 3
Interesting factoid! Several of the Twins are avid students of history including Vance Worley. When he realized he would get to pitch in Atlanta, the final destination for General Sherman's march to the sea during the Civil War, Worley practically exploded with joy: "It's awesome! All that history! the end of the campaign that crippled the rebel forces! We should celebrate guys! We should...We should....WE SHOULD BURN THIS MOTHER DOWN!!"

Hearing this, Aaron Hicks made a simple suggestion: "You mean, play well, hit a couple homers and break our losing streak?"

Worley replied: "No! Let's keep this losing streak burning! Let's go down in a fiery blaze of glorious death! 8 RUNS IN THE FOUR INNINGS! HERE WE GO!!!"

Burn it down they did...and nowVance Worley will be able to continue his study of history in Rochester...hopefully he doesn't try to get to the ballpark by building an underground railroad...

Prince Fielder
Eater of Souls

Game 46
Tigers 6 - Twins 5
Trying to end their week plus schnide, Josh Willingham entered Comerica Park and proclaimed: "BY THE POWER OF ASGAARD, WE SHALL NOT LOSE AGAIN**" [Note that he punctuated his claim not with exclamation points but with a pair of home runs.]

However, Jared Burton does not believe in the Willinghammer or Norse Mythology (he prefers Celtic Lore, after all). And after ceding a double to tie the game, he was doomed when Prince Fielder announced: "BY THE POWER OF TOFURKEY, WE SHALL NOT LOSE!"

For those keeping score at home, it appears Tofurkey > Asgaard.

Game 47
Tigers 6 - Twins 0
At last! We were all able to witness the return of Samuel De-Dude-Bro. Who seemed so cool in the World Baseabll Classic, like he'd never ever hurt us...then came the second inning...and the third inning...and then the Twins were helpless against Anibal Sanchez and we lost our 10th game in a row.

Meanwhile, in the mind of Bert Blyleven, who insists on calling Sanchez "Anna-belle" the Tigers pitcher followed each strike out and inning-ending escape by fluttering her glove in front of her face and saying "I do declare!! These Minnesotans are terribly droll aren't they Colonel?" Presumably at some point Jim Leyland spat tobacco in front of Annabelle and she proclaimed "dear me! how terribly uncouth, Colonel! Behavior like that is simply intolerable!" Then Anna-belle huffily sat in a corner plotting our downfall and the resurrection of her Peach plantation. This concludes another installment of "The Anna-belle Sanchez Diaries" by Bert Aalbert Blyleven.

Game 48
Twins 3 - Tigers 2
True story, I didn't realize the Twins were playing the afternoon until the 7th when I told my wife Stinky aka Mrs. Peanut that we had a lead. Her response: "yeah...I'm not holding my breath". A good choice because we needed another hour to win the game. Sure we were happy to win a game for the first time in over a week, but I was happier still that my wife didn't pass out trying to prove a point.

Game 49
Tigers 6 - Twins 1
Ben Franklin once said: "guests and fish start to stink after three days", were he alive today he would likely say: "guests and fish start to stink after three days; Mike Pelfrey starts to stink three pitches after people think he might get through the sixth inning".

Game 50
Twins 6 - Brewers 3
On Memorial Day, our great and noble leader Chairman Joseph Mauer paid homage to the fallen by providing his own epic parade of run scoring. For as long as Minnesotans have toiled in the fields and the factories, the Chairman has watched and sought to repay that greatness with greatness of his own. So it was that each time the Chairman reached base he proceeded to circle all the bases with his customary precision and clarity of purpose to bring honor to Twins Territory.

Game 51
Twins 6 - Brewers 5
The annual Twins/Brewers sleep over at Miller Park was just so much durned fun that the Brewers did not want it to end, least of all, Carlos Gomez who recently discovered that it is just as much fun to hit the ball as it is to catch the ball. As he said to his old pal Justin Morneau: "I DON'T EVER WANT TO GO TO BED! LETS PLAY BASEBALL ALL THE TIME!! WHEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Luckily, Gardy heard the ruckus Carlos was causing and said that he would allow the Brewers to sleep over in Minnesota the next two nights. Gogo celebrated by jumping up and down cheering as his new BFF Aaron Hicks stole a home run, hit a home run and a ground rule double that lead to the game winning run in the fourteenth. Quoth the Gogo: "WHEEEEEEEE BASEBALL!!!!!!!"

Samuel DeDudeBro totally
has some wine coolers...

Game 52
Twins 4 - Brewers 1
In preparation for Grand Ol' Day that weekend, Samuel De-dude-bro prepared his best stuff to drop on the drunken honies, including classics like "did it hurt...when my curveball dropped right underneath your swing?" and "Hey baby, if you like my pitching you should see the way we hit it off" and finally: "'Sup?"

Deduno dominated the Brewers...no word yet on how he did with inebriates in St. Paul.


Game 53
Twins 8 - Brewers 6

Kyle Loshe (but not quite)

The Twins/Brewers sleepover came to an end with the return of Kyle Loshe to a Minnesota mound. Then everyone remembered what a tool Kyle Loshe was, and promptly extracted revenge, launching 3 home runs in 5 batters.

Additionally, Chris Parmelee continued his one man campaign to overwhelm the appeal of Wisconsin Cheddar by using his power hitting to emphasize the importance of Parmesan. Because what is better: oily greasy deep fried cheese curds, or a glorious eggplant parmesean? (...hmm...on second thought...)

Game 54
Mariners 3 - Twins 0
Once again the bionic pitching machine known as Mike Pelfrey broke down just after multiple Twins fans thought to themselves: "Hey Pelfrey might just make it!"

WRONG!

Game 55
Twins 5 - Mariners 4
Once upon a time there was a Twins catcher...no not the sideburn-ed one, the other one.

No not the feeble hitting back up, the other other one!

Pretty good weeks for Ryan Suave

Yes, that's the one: Ryan Doumit. Mr. Unbuttoned-Jersey. Mr. Sexy-And-I-Know-It. Mr. Sure-I'll-Ride-The-Bench-Catch-a-Couple-Days-Play-Right-Field-And-Keep-On-Hitting-Like-It-Ain't-No-Thang. (He'd make a terrible substitute teacher). And what did this man do of note you ask? Not much, just clear the bases with a triple and institute the first "Oh-my-god-the-Twins-won!" shared between random strangers since 2010.

Bravo Ryan Suave, Bravo!

Game 56
Twins 10 - Mariners 0
Dear Jeremy Bonderman,

We missed you. Come back soon!

Love,
The Twins

Mr. Peanut--Ryan Doumit (since going to Detroit, Doumit has had a Win Probability Added over 1.1--so he has given the Twins one more win than an average hitter in his same spot)
Nutty-Buddy--Mike Pelfrey (Please send all spare nuts and bolts to Scott Boras Labs to repair Mike Pelfrey)

Side Note: The school year ends on Friday, so hopefully I'll be able to post more regularly as of next week, but I'll also be travelling to Washington DC on Friday to take my 2 year old niece to her first baseball game when the Twins visit the Nationals. And to answer your question, yes, I will teach her to sing "Save Big Money" when Denard Span runs near by.

Something old, something new...

This is it. After months of reading pointless commentaries by baseball pundits, after days and days of no news but Scott Boras' latest ransom demands for major league talent, after the weeks of winter finally, at long last, baseball is in the air again.

Last week the other 29 teams in baseball turned up in their training complexes, began trading stories of fishing trips and bar hopping escapades, and this week the coolest team in baseball (the one whose name starts with an "M" and ends in an "-innesota Twins") arrives in Fort Meyers to start pitching, catching, and feeling the warm rays of Floridian weather before returning to what the Twin Cities laughingly refers to as "April".

We've kept a steady eye on the news outlets gathering all manner of information, and though our time in graduate school has precluded us from posting as often as we would have liked to, not posting did allow us to, you know, learn things. But before everyone arrives we'd like to take a moment and say a "Hi, hello," to the newest members of the Twins family.

First, the former Milwaukee Brewers short stop and Betsy, Katie, and pretty much every lady Twins' fans favorite new piece of eye-candy JJ Hardy. To be sure, JJ offers better hitting than most of our recent short stops...but we'd rather focus on his ability to offer unparalleled mystery solving abilities (as is evidenced by the series of novels based on his childhood)

Second, JJ's new double play partner, Orlando Hudson, whose arrival caused Twins fans excitement to reach a high not felt since he of the Radiant Sideburns first arose to the Major Leagues. Best of all, we here at Peanuts from Heaven get to reuse two of our favorite nicknames from last season which we had thought would fall into desuetude with the departure of Orlando Cabrera. Lucky us: two

seasons, two Orlando's (question: did either Orlando's mother name an older son "Oliver", if so, Shakesfan would be most impressed)

Finally, there's Ol' Smokey. You remember him, the guy who tormented us, destroyed us, ravaged our hopes and left them crumbled like the dusty remnants at the bottom of a box of Cheeze Its? Well, now he's on our side...which, I guess makes our team Sawyer to Jim Thome's Faux-Locke (or Flocke, as we might like to call him)

Yet, all the elation at these three arrivals is tempered by the fact that it came at a hefty price. Namely, the one, the only, THE Carlos Gomez. He has, throughout the past two seasons, inspired us to call him a super villain, a cranky pants, a Ringo Starr body double, and a Velociraptor. He talked to his bats, he screamed in primal fury, he leapt, he dove, he refused to take a pitch. He is, without doubt one of the most entertaining players we have ever seen. And while we wish him well in Milwaukee (Algonquin for the Good Land, don't ya know) we have chosen to honor the memory of Carlos Gomez by making him the second member of the Peanuts From Heaven Hall of Fame.

Good night sweet prince wherever you are, and good morning new princes. Glad you're on our side at last.

A day like every other day.... except that it isn't

So today I'm sitting at work, chatting with my scruffy co-blogger on g-chat and drafting trade show fliers while following the Twins game on Gameday. This describes many of my baseball season workdays over the last couple of years, and although this day appears to be the same it's actually quite different.

First of all, today's game is the last Twins game that will distract me from work... at least at my current place of employment. After tomorrow at 12pm, I will clean out my cubicle, load my peace lily and picture frames into the back seat of my Volkswagen and become, no longer a full-time employee but a full-time grad student -- a transtion that comes accessorized with expensive textbooks and little to no income. It's going to be a fun two years. Dear Target Field: please don't raise ticket prices (too much).

Secondly, my chats with Scruffy, which were normally between various locations in and around the Twin Cities, are now between Minneapolis and Bowling Green, Ohio, making Scruffy officially a long-distance blogger.

Moving on to the importantish things: the KC series.

Friday:
Bad. Bad bad bad. Ridiculously, horribly, offensively bad.
Ever had one of those dreams where you're trying to run away from something but your legs can't move, and time seems to move more slowly as your peril grows? Yeah. This was like one of those dreams but worse because it was real.

Also did anyone notice the weirdness on the jumbotron? During the fan-cam, the video was being crowded out by some unidentifiable white blobbish menace. Either the demons in our pitching staff have infiltrated every corner of the dome, or the jumbotron video shrinks in proportion with our dignity.

On the other hand, Friday night was the first and only time my dad succeded at not getting BBQ pork on his pants. It's been a personal goal of his for some time, so go dad! (I'm not kidding about this, btw).


Wednesday: Was better because a) we won and b) Scruffy and I were talking on Skype so it's almost like we can still watch games together.

Side note: When chatting with someone on Skype it's ridiculously entertaining to plant your finger on the video of the other person's nose and just leave it there. You're poking them in the nose and they don't even know it - HILARIOUS! Just trust me... please... I'm not as weird as I sound, I promise...

Today: 5-4 is better than 5-1. On the other hand, having the bases loaded with one out and failing to drive in a run is not really that good. On the other other hand, that happens a lot. Like... a LOT.

On the other other other hand... Gomez is catching for Crain while he warms up. It's like some freaky alternate universe of Gomez. Whenever something weird is going on, he's bound to be there. He makes strange things happen. He's like a wizard. Or a poltergeist. Peevesmez.

As Scruffy rationalized:
"Well...
Mauer's DH
Redmond's actually catching
And we have no other catcher
So we have the bullpen catcher down there...
and then....
Gogo
Because...
Why the F not?"

Why the F not indeed?

And in conclusion: BBQ Pork

Sweeps and Duct Tape

First things first: SWEEP BITCHESSS!!!

Moving on.

Directly in front of me on my cube wall is a two-page spread, torn out from the April 6 Star Tribune, which features Perkins, Liriano, Baker, Slowey and Blackburn (looking totally bad-ass) and a tag-line which reads: "Up in Arms: the Twins have one of the most anonymous - and effective - starting rotations in baseball. The five are good friends who became a unit last season, and they're ready to get the Twins back to the playoffs."

...who would have thought that by the end of July we'd be trying to piece together our starting rotation with the baseball equivalent of tape and some Elmers glue. Throwing Duensing in there had a definite "Look ma, I fixed it!" feel to it - very similar to when my caretaker decided to keep an invading squirrel out of my living room by slapping some boards on the window, putting a few strips of duct tape in random places and calling it good.

Luckily, it all turned out fine. My apartment is still squirrel-free, and Duensing did what we needed him to do - put in five solid innings before handing things over to Ze Ubermensch, Jesse Crain.

I'm pretty sure the credit for our win on Monday goes primarily to whoever put butter all over the gloves of White Sox infielders - Butter Gloves brought to you by Carlos Gomez, who apparently used the same butter to send his bat on a death mission into the stands.

Credit for Tuesday goes to Karma. I mean, one guy can only get so many outs in a row - clearly, the universe owed Buehrle some hits. Deal with it Mark - you got your "perfect game" and your "major league record" already... give us a series win and we're happy.

Credit for yesterday's win goes to small ball and stellar relief pitching - good old Twins baseball. That's what we like to see :)
In conclusion - squirrels in your living room are bad. Fixing things with duct tape is not ideal but occasionally it gets the job done.

Have a lovely off day.

Momma said there'd be days like this

Sometimes, you encounter something so terrible that it makes you want to give up on all of humanity, hide away in a rocky little cave somewhere and spend the rest of your days catching fish, living off the land and chasing away any small children who come near you by waving a large, knobbly stick at them.

Things that fall into this category include but are not limited to:
- Bagel Cheddarwurst from my elementary school cafeteria
- The Movie "Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay"
- Sanjaya (well mainly his hair. and voice.)
- Last night's game.

I don't really want to talk about it. We all know how bad it was.

God I hate the Yankees so much.

Moving on. Happy thoughts.

Despite...things...that were bad... there are Kudos to be awarded:
- Go-Go Gomez, for his *amazing* defense, saving us from even further destruction at the hands of Alex Rodriguez.
- Nicky Punto, for some good walks and some great fielding plays.
- Cuddy, for his feel-good home run and his dimples.
- ... and a big, giant massive hug for Scott Baker. *hug*

Side note - Random Ballpark Obvservation of the Week:
Do not teach your children to boo at players. Even if they're A-Rod. It's not cool. I know there's the stereoids and the prostitutes and Madonna and the whole not being able to go out in sunlight or see his reflection thing, but really...come on. Yes, I'm talking to you, mom sitting next to me at the game last night with her 4-year old daughter. Don't make me give you the beat-down.

Yes... we're all about classiness here at PfH.

The evil empire must be destroyed.

Silliness and Intelligence are not incompatible

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

DELMON YOUNG: OHHHHHHHHHH!!! Ba-dabbadee doop--

MICHAEL CUDDYER: Ba-doobedy-bop!

JOE MAUER: Bop-bop-a-doo-wop

JUSTIN MORNEAU: Skeeb-a-dee-

JASON KUBEL: Babba-dee

JOE CREDE: Shabba-dee

ALL [In harmony]: DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-OO.

Just then Carlos Gomez comes running into the clubhouse, panting and wheezing, looking about the room frantically.

CUDDYER: What is it boy?

CREDE: Yeah, what's wrong Gogo?

MORNEAU: Did Timmy fall in the well?

KUBEL: Is the barn on fire?

YOUNG: Is there trouble down at the old synagogue?

MAUER: What is it Gogo? Tell us boy.

GOGO: I hear that the Astros are starting...are starting...[Gasps in terror before continuing in a whisper] Their magic WANDY!

ALL: [Everyone pauses, looks at eachother and then in unison goes] HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA!!!

GOGO: Why are you laughing, you noble men, you band of brothers? Why doesn't the threat of the Astros Magic Wandy scare you?

KUBEL: Because you're being silly Gogo.

CREDE: Yeah, magic isn't real 

CUDDYER AND YOUNG: [after sharing a brief glance] Yeeeeahhh....magic isn't real...

MAUER: Besides, I'm batting over .400

MORNEAU: And I'm due

YOUNG: And I've finally remembered that hitting the ball is a good thing to do.

MAUER: Besides--it's Magic Wand, GoGo, Magic Wands would be scary, if they existed, which, they don't.

CUDDYER: And even if they did--

YOUNG: which they don't--

CUDDYER: He's an Astro. No sweat Gogo. We got this.

GOGO: But--but--but--

KUBEL: Does someone need some juice?

GOGO: But...but..........maybe?

MORNEAU: I got it [Walks away, suddenly groaning as his legs become stiffer and sorer, so that when he returns he can only murmur] Energy failing, must rest...must...rest--

GOGO: MOMO!!!

[The game begins and Mauer looks awful in his at bats]

MAUER: *cough*cough*AH-CHOOO!

GOGO: MAU-MAU!!!

KUBEL: Swing! Swing! BLEEEEEECCCCCHHHHH!!!!

GOGO: KOOB-KOOB!!!

CREDE: Hey! That's my sound effect!!! [Runs off crying]

GOGO: CRE-CRE!!!

YOUNG: [Walking to plate] Time to repeat my mantra: "See ball, hit ball, see ball, hit ball, see ball...see ball..."am I missing something? OH YEAH! "swing and miss ball!!!"

GOGO: DEL-DEL!!! Well...It's up to me now!! [Gomez strides to the plate to start a rally with his mad bunt skillz] MOJO GO-OW!!!! [Gomez bunts the ball into his face]

CUDDYER: Wow...I guess that really is a magic Wandy...

If you see a Magic Wandy matching this picture, please report it to local authorities. Prolonged exposure to this magic Wandy can result in soreness, sneezing, vomiting, crying, messed up mantras and bunting the ball into your own face.

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

Victory! and some other stuff

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

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

He needed to send them home defeated - but how?

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

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

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

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

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

"I like stories!" squeaked Carlos Gomez.

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

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

"Like cake??"

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

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

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

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


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

A new addition....

[ It is a dark and stormy night. The Twins Superfriends are hiding out in their cave, awating the beginning of spring training and their next shot at world domination and defeating their enemies, the infamous Yankpires, while watching "Flavor of Love" on VH1]

DELMON YOUNG, MASTER OF SUPRACTION: Flava-flaaaaaaaaaaaav!!! Man that guy is so sweet. Dude can you pass me a beer.
DREAD PIRATE NATHAN: Yar. (tosses beer)
CUDDYER, MASYER OF SUPRACTION: Man maybe you shouldn't drink so much during the offseason. Your supraction skills are getting a little soft, and do you really want to get benched for....this guy?
(gestures to GO-GO GOMEZ who is building a nest of shredded newspapers in the corner)
GOMEZ: Sleepytime!
CUDDYER: No man... hibernation time is over. We have to play baseball now.
GOMEZ: (tear forms in eye) But.... I'm sleeeeeeepy......
YOUNG, MoS: Yeah. I see what you mean. (pause) But... I like beer.
CAKEBURN: And I like trashy reality television. What's on next?
JESSE CRAIN, ZE UBERMENSCH: G's to Gents marathon! That show is so awesome, mainly because it subverts Christian morality to allow for all sorts of sneaky plots and schemes, allowing the man who is truly great to come out on top. I love that shit!
CAKEBURN: I like cake.
ALL: We know.
CUDDYER: So, what do you guys wanna do tomorrow night?
YOUNG: I dunno. Maybe drink some more and watch a movie with Will Ferrell or Seth Rogen, and then TP the Pohlads house?
ZE UBERMENSCH: Dude we did that last weekend....
YOUNG: Oh yeah...
CUDDYER: Beer pong?
CAKEBURN: Cake pong?
ZE UBERMENSCH: What the...? That doesn't even make sense.
GOMEZ: CAKE!!!!!!!!!! CAKIE CAKE CAKE CAKE!!!!
ZE UBERMENSCH: Welp that woke him up. But seriously guys. Look at our lives. We're superheroes, yet we sit around watching trashy reality TV and drinking and talking about cake. We have no culture. No.... je ne sais quoi.
YOUNG: Dude. NOT true. You just said something in French - that's totally cultured. And reality television tells the epic story of man's quest for perfection. And look at DP Nathan - he's a pirate! That's very refined.
DP NATHAN: RAAAAAAAAGGHHHHHH!!!!!! YARRRRRR JOE NATHAN RAAAAAAAARAG;FLKAJGHH!!!!
YOUNG: OK I see your point.
ZE UBERMENSCH: I mean, I'm the only one who even stops to ponder the greater questions in life. We need someone... classy. Someone with intelligence who can complement our lack of literary and cultural knowledge.

[R.A. Dickey appears in a puff of smoke]

DICKEY: Why, hello there.



CUDDYER: Dude. Who are you?
DICKEY: An excellent question, and one that requires the utmost consideration. Who am I? Who in fact are you? Who are we all? Would you like a fine cuban cigar and a glass of scotch?
ZE UBERMENSCH: Seriously though. Who are you.
DICKEY: My name is R.A. Dickey. I am a rather accomplished knuckleballer but I also have a degree in English literature. I alone can assist you in transforming your uncouth ways. I also have impeccable grammar.
YOUNG: Dude... cool.
CAKEBURN: Do you like cake?
DICKEY: Indubitably.
CAKEBURN: He's in.
CUDDYER: But wait.... how do you fit into our legion of superheros? What does being smart and having an english degree have to do with helping us defeat the Yankpires?
DICKEY: Ah but you don't understand. My combination of witty banter and killer knuckleball allows me to transform into.... THE MASTER LIBRARIAN!!!

ALL: Whoah.

DP NATHAN: Yar.

And so it was that THE MASTER LIBRARIAN joined the ranks of the Twins Superfriends, to fight alongside them and to help them defeat the Evil Yankpires.

[ Giving credit where credit is due, this post was like all great things in life, a true team effort. Smelly sent me the photoshops while I was working. Mad props]

An explanation of awesomeness

Now that we've both gotten our adoration out of our system...back to silliness.

I must explain one of the reasons we won. The triple hitting, bunt making, whirling dervish of pure energy: Carlos Gomez. Or, as he is known to frequent readers: Mojo GOGO!

At the start of the game, Mojo Gogo was not his unstoppable self. He was...in fact, not much of anything at all. He even ran into his compadre Denard in right with a thud so audible it almost broke my heart.

But a few batters later, after Kevin Slowey had been felled by a line drive off his body (while being jeered by a sox fan in my bar), the following conversation took place, as Slowey lay prone on the ground.

SLOWEY: [Cough...cough]

GOGO: No...Kevin...speak to me!

SLOWEY: So cold...so very cold...

GOGO: Sorry, I was thawing hams on your legs. 

MORNEAU: Hey, why are you guys suddenly all black and white?

GOGO: SHUT UP! IS IMAGINATION LAND!! Stay wit me SloSlo!!

SLOWEY: If I don't make it through this-- [Wretching Cough]

GOGO: Don' say dat!! You will make it!! We'll buy dat Shrimping Boat!!

SLOWEY: But I don't like--

GOGO: SHRIMPING BOAT!!

SLOWEY: Okay. [Coughs up small piece of lung] But Gogo?

GOGO: Yes SloSlo?

SLOWEY: Avenge me.

GOGO: Avenge?

MORNEAU: It means to seek retribution for a wrong done. Like beating the crap out of a team that's hit a ball right off of our pitcher.

GOGO: Thank you mountainous first baseman type man. SloSlo?

SLOWEY: [Cough] Yes Gogo?

GOGO: I will avenge you, and these bastardos will DIBIMIHAN!!

SPAN: And mine!

PUNTO: And mine!

MAUER: And mine!

CASILLA: And mine!

GOGO: In the 10th inning!!

ALL: Whaaa?

GOGO: For dramatic effect.

ALL: Ohhhh.

So it had been declared...and so it was.

The Return of Mojo Gogo

I watched most of today's game with my mom. Which included the immensely amusing shout at Brian Buscher on a hard hit ground ball:

"WHATEVER YOU DO BRIAN DON'T E-MAIL IT!!!"

She meant AIR Mail it...but the mental image of Buscher catching the head high hop, rushing to third base to scan the ball into the system, save it, open his g-mail (account: BuhBuhBuhBuscher@gmail.com), attach the .gif file of the ball and send it to Justin (account: "mrmountie@hotmale.com) was too amusing. In writing, not so much, but she's my mother so laughing at her expense is fine...as long as you're willing to get flipped off.

But my mother had another point to make: "Now, Carlos, don't go crazy!" when I suddenly remembered, it's been a long time since Carlos Gomez has gone crazy. Mostly because Carlos has been to busy swinging at fastballs low and away to do anything but fan the atmosphere. His playing time's been cut, he's moved to the bottom of the order, he's not the same man any more. But when he was plunked by Justin Verlander you could see a flash of the old crazy eyed Carlos. And when Verlander threw to first base four times the gleam grew brighter and brighter until, at last, mild...okay...medium-spicy tempered Carlos Gomez transformed into:

MO-JO-GOGO!

"He hitted me!" screamed Gogo, "He hitted me in de body!!"

"Yeah, I suppose he did," explained Denard, who had not yet encountered the crazed Gomez.

"He must now DIBIMIHAN!"

"What?"

"DIBIMIHAN!"

"Why are you shouting?"

"HE MUS' DIBIMIHAN!! DIS IS AN UNCONSCIONABLE INSULT TO MIMUDDER AND MIFADDER AND MIGREATAUNTSALLY AND MI--"

"I don't understand..." said Denard

"You see Denard," explained Alexi Cassila, who still has not found an amusing persona, but is used as the foil in this situation because we miss him and want to include him on the fun, "Ben finds that phrase funny, so he made it Gogo's catch phrase back in June when the blog first started."

"How many times has he used it?"

"How many times has Carlos determined whether or not we won the game?"

"Fair point."

"Thanks. Now, Carlos is now repeating his catch phrase for Ben's amusement, and the amusement of anyone else who finds it funny"

"So...just for Ben then?"

"Precisely"

"--AND MILETTERCARRIERPERSONAGEPHIL AND MIKIDDIEKORNERNEYBURLYDIA!! oh...I can bat now...so Verlander will DIBIMIHAN!!"

And so Gogo did mightly smite the ball for a two run double to give the Twins the lead and make me so happy that I quickly wrote this post.

Unfortunately the bullpen sucks. And now we are losing again...where's the love bullpen? Huh? Where?? Perhaps its stuck in cyberspace with the ball Justin was supposed to hit out of the park for a walk off grandslam. Damn the interwebs!!

The Final Battle

Three of the four Pitchers of the Apocalypse lay broken and beaten across the dusty fields of Interleagia.

Pestilent Johnson ambushed behind a bluff by Matt Macri and an acorn crazed Craig Monroe.

Warring Webb surpracted in Domey Dale by Alexi Cassila and Brian Buscher.

Deathly Peavy, and his horse, Trevor the Terrible, taken apart on the sands of San Diablo by Buscher and Brendan Harris, Comic Foil at Large.

Now only one remained, Maddux, the Harbinger of Famine, the man who deprived all of hits with both pitches and his glove. Who had risen to the lofty ranks of the greatest and most terrible of all the historic Pitchers of the Apocalypse.

Maddux, the Harbinger of Famine, began well, he outdueled hitter after hitter, menacing, yet aloof. And then he made his greatest mistake.

For he chose to pester Gogo, the Majordomo of Mojo, hitting him in the elbow.

"Did you see that!?" Said Gogo, his eyes blazing with the heat of of a thousand fiery suns. "He hit me in the arm!"

"Yeah, did it hurt?" asked Jerry, Gardy the Garden Gnome's happy little helper. 

"It hurt too much...now, he must DIBIMIHAN!"

"Debbie Mahan?"

"DIBIMIHAN!"

"Dibs on my ham?"

"DI-BI-MY-HAN!"

"Oh, die by my hand...."

"MY--HAN!"

"Okay, okay, your hand...whatever, just don't go crazy."

But it was too late...For Gogo of Mojo had begun to channel his crazy Gogo powers. He soon scored on a double from Chairman Mauer, but he was not done. Soon, with Maddux the Harbinger of Famine fading, falling behind the mighty bats of the Twins, Gogo returned to first and blazed past Maddux, leaving nothing but scorched earth in his wake.

Brendan Harris tried to calm his fiery rage. "Hey, Gogo, did you see that I hit another home r-"

"HE MUST DIBIMIHAN!" Screamed Gogo vaulting past Harris, who had no alternative but to roll his eyes toward the camera.

And then again Gogo did smite the last attempt of the Harbinger of Famine, delivering the final blow against the Four Pitchers of the Apocalypse and speeding merrily past Maddux's slowly broasting carcass. "HE HAS DYDBIMIHAN!!" he bellowed into the sky turning all the heavens above into a bleeding orange and wreaking the last of his terrible vengeance upon the foes of justice, and consistent hitting.