Why I Still Talk About Sports at Times Like This

It's been a hard fall for me to write in these spaces. Every evening I try to sit down to write, I find a dozen other things to do. There are papers to grade and recommendations to submit and people to actually be married to. So while I love to write, and even though I want to write, it slips through my fingers more often than I like.

This past week, I had the time, I had the energy, but every time I opened up this page, I stopped and stared. And as the feeds from North Minneapolis streamed into my phone, as people I love and trust engaged in louder and louder protests for more pressing matters than quality sports analysis, I couldn't find it in myself to write.

So as I sat in front of the screen, I could think of nothing to say that wasn't horribly, dreadfully irrelevant. And when I went in to work, to discuss issues of the day with young people who lived blocks from the fourth precinct, who spent all night raising their voices for justice, all I could think was how insignificant it would be to write down potential snarky nicknames for Byung-Ho Park or warmed over jokes about how I liked St. Vincent and the Grenadines better when it was Bill Murray and a light syrup.

What reason could I have for publishing my millions of minor notions about these silly little games, while a senior boy--a young man I've worked with for four years, an academic on track for college and a major in architecture, a person I would trust to rule justly and fairly as Grand Poobah of the Universe-- while this friend of mine confessed his intense fear that the last thing he would ever see would be the somebody's boots on the curb, and the last thing he would hear would be the cocking of a gun, as he lay on the street with his hands behind his back?

The truth is, I (and many people like me) have the privilege of turning off the news, of tuning out the rhetoric, of tending to our hobbies and interests, because we don't live near the fourth precinct or worry that our lives will end with a bang and a brief, perfunctory, utterly unsurprised comment on the local news.

It's particularly easy for those of us who love sports to see successful people of color in our community, to cheer for their successes, wish them the best and forget that people like them in our community are struggling. We can bleed purple with Adrian and Teddy and dream on the futures of Byron, Miguel and Byung-Ho.  We can debate the upside of Towns and Wiggins and marvel at the cross-cultural partnerships of Ibson and Alhassan and remind everybody that we loved Maya Moore and Simone Augustus before it was cool to do so. We can, and do, hold our local heroes close whatever their background, even though--as fans in the stands--we have always looked more like Killebrew and Mikan than Hunter and Garnett.

But what's dangerous is if we start to feel that, because we know the men (and women) who wear jerseys emblazoned with Minnesota, we don't need to know the men and women, the fathers and mothers, the sons and daughters who walk the same streets, work in the same buildings, and attend the same institutions that we do.

If we confine ourselves to watching the games from the comfort of our couches and our big screens, we miss the joy of watching together. If we insulate our passions to the podcasts on our headphones or isolate our opinions to small talk with family members and friends, we turn our very public institutions into extremely private pleasures. But, if we insist on sharing our loves, if we make a point of socializing around the colors and emblems and players that we adopt as "one of us," then these silly little games can unite us in a way that few other things can.

Right now, with the ways we consume sports changing rapidly, it's easy to isolate ourselves in our fandoms. And for those who attend games on a regular basis, it's even easier to forget that what you see on the field or the court or the ice isn't reflected in the stands (even adjusted for our metropolitan demographics).

As mere fans, there's little we can do. No championship trophy is going to unite us all or solve the systemic problems that have left so many so desperate for change. We can't have one good conversation at a sports bar, or over the water cooler and end injustice.

What we can do is be open. What we can do is to talk about what we love and learn what others think. What we can do is use sports as the icebreaker, as the gateway, as the conversation starter, to come together and build a better community.

We might have to go out of our way to find new opinions. We may need to visit a bar on Lake Street rather than in Northeast to watch a Champions' League match. We may need to share more than a nod with a neighbor or coworker who wears team gear after a big win. We can invite them to watch the game on Sunday (or Saturday, or whatever day). We can take an extra ticket that a friend flaked on and try to pass it on to someone different rather than just resell it. We can donate to the team funds that make attending a game easier for others. These things won't bring justice or peace, but they will bring us a little closer together.

I talk about sports, even at times like these, not because I want a distraction from work or the worries of the day. I talk about sports because it reminds me of how great it is to be part of something bigger than myself: bigger than my job, bigger than my worries. Sports reminds me of what it is to be part of a community of fans, and how much better we are together than we are alone.

I'm not sure when I'll have time to write again, or if it'll be about sports when I do, but I know I'll ask the boy from over North--the one who still wears a Mauer jersey through every snorting laugh from his friends--what he thinks of the bullpen for next year; I'll ask the girl from Lake Street who moons over Ronaldo if she's seen Christian Ramirez up close yet. And after we talk about that, we'll talk about the next thing, and the next, and the next, until we stop being two individuals talking and start being a pair of fans in community.

How to Win Every Byron Buxton Debate

For the last week a great many Twins fans have been fiercely debating the fate of top prospect Byron Buxton. As the most prominent local minor leaguer since Joe Mauer, Buxton has been tremendously appealing to fans from Apple Valley to Zumbrota, particularly as the Twins scramble to hold on to one of the AL Wild Cards.

Yet Twins Territory has been torn between demanding Buxton's arrival and ascendancy to greatness, and hedging in the name of cautious player development. 

It may seem that these two camps are irreconcilable, but I think they're just focused on two different questions, like each camp picked a different essay question on the Twins fan final exam.

So, as we get ready to start the school year in Minnesota, here's a quick refresher on how to answer all the questions about Byron Buxton.

It's all about him...

1 Who/What/When/Where/How is Byron Buxton?

Identification questions--these are the things you can Google and answers are clearly right and wrong: (ex. A's A baseball player; a human being; the present era; Rochester, New York; pretty good, thanks for asking?)

2 Could/Can Buxton play Centerfield in the majors?

Hypothetical Evaluation questions--should be simple, with yes/no/maybe all viable based on specific known evidence: (ex. A's Yes, he can, because has all his appendages; No, he can't, two weeks of below average play shows he stinks; Maybe he can, because the world is a complex and unknowable place)

Ideal help for every essay test you
have as a grown adult

3 Might the Twins be making a mistake, by not playing Buxton?

Speculative Evaluation question--like a hypothetical question there's the yes/no/maybe answer but your evidence can be what you predict will happen than what you know from the past. (Ex A's. Yes, they will never succeed without  Buxton; no, a season is more than one player; maybe, assuming the apocalypse doesn't happen first).

4 Why isn't Byron Buxton playing/starting with the Twins?

Basic Analytical question--the answers are infinite, you only need some evidence to cite and arguments to support: (ex. A's The Twins aren't playing him because they are dum-dums who ignore minor league production; ...because they are evil geniuses who have a memo titled "Destroying Buxton"; ...because they are a cautious team who promote players slowly.)

5 Should Byron Buxton be starting in the Twins outfield?

Basic Argumentative question--Pretty direct, another one that can be answered with yes/no/maybe, but unlike the analytical question this depends more on your opinion rather than provable facts. (Ex. A's--yes, he is awesome; no, he has flaws that need more time at AAA; maybe, I'm too confused by Donald Trump's immigration plan to concentrate)

6  If the Twins call Buxton up, will/would he start/improve individually/help the team win?

Advanced Analytical question--you still need to analyze the Twins, their system and methods, but it's based on more limited conditions, so your evidence needs to be based on a specific situation and your answers are more likely to fit the yes/no/maybe camp. (Ex. A's yes, they respect performance and Buxton will perform well; no, they respect historical performance, so they may push him to a fourth or even fifth outfielder role; maybe, they don't normally push prospects, but Sano's success may have changed them)

7 Should the Twins call up Buxton, if they think he won't be starting/improving/helping?

Your other debate option

Advanced Argumentative question--Here's the core question, but too often the second half (which limits your evidence to a specific condition, even if you disagree) is ignored. You can answer yes/no/maybe again but you need to keep your argument clear. (Ex A's. Yes, every major league experience will help; no, the limited time will slow down his progress and hurt our relationship with Rochester; maybe, every player is different and you won't know until you try)

There you go. As the debates continue use these guides to answer questions, or tear the suggestions up and shout at the top of your lungs...that seems to work elsewhere.

On Words and Numbers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or they could highlight it by saying something like this:

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

A Twins Fan's Guide to World Cup Teams

Want to balance cheering for baseball with cheering for soccer? Not sure who to back other than the good ol' US of A? We've got you covered with a Twins Fan's Guide to World Cup Teams. Click along and see which players match with which nations, then cheer both baseball and soccer simultaneously.

A Twins Fan's Guide to World Cup Teams

The Plouffe Paradox

Last Friday, I attended what will likely be my last game of the year. As you would expect, I ate more than was good for me, and watched the Twins go down in ignominious defeat.

I also heard a noise I had never heard before at the ballpark.

There were men at first and second with one out when a ground ball rolled harmlessly to Trevor Plouffe. One out, easy as pie...but did he throw the ball to second base for the double play? No. No he did not.

I've heard fans boo; I've heard fans jeer; I've heard fans scream and cry and gnash their teeth in frustration, but until that play I had never heard fans make this noise in unison:

BAD PLOUFFE!!

"YAA--waahhhh--ohhhhh....uuuggghh..."

It took me a while before I realized what that was. It was the sound of resigned disappointment. It was the sound of hundreds of Twins fans having a reaction that was not only instantaneous, it was bred from months and now years of watching Trevor Plouffe play baseball.

YAA--it starts with excitement, potential, possibility, familiar thrills.

Waaahhhhh--then comes disbelief, sharp, incredulous, dumbfounded.

Ohhhhh--then there's recognition, a sense that this has all happened before, particularly when there's that number 24 on the jersey.

Uuuggghh--finally there's dismay, dissatisfaction, and acceptance that this is our lot in life. As if to say: "Of, course you did that, Trevor, of course you did."

Best of all, the sound can be reversed for a pleasant appreciation of underrated talent (only this time, when Trevor Plouffe is at the plate). A single, a double, the rare high arching home run. They're all moments of pure Plouffey pleasure starting with rumbling fear (uuuggghh), recognition (ohhhh), disbelief (waaahhhhhh) and excitement (YAA!)

That's what Trevor Plouffe adds to the Twins: a familiar face and even more familiar reaction. Whatever else we think of the Twins, whatever we think they ought to do in the offseason, who they ought to fire, hire or blow up in a quest to reverse the bad juju, we can all agree on Trevor Plouffe.

Maybe Plouffe's doing it intentionally. Maybe, like Haley Mills (or more accurately, like Lindsey Lohan), he's offering us a Parent Trap like chance to rekindle our love for each other.

Good Plouffe!

If we're torn between whether to rebuild the pitching staff internally or cast our lot amongst the free agents--Trevor Plouffe reminds us that we can all agree on his crappy fielding.

If we're arguing fiercely over whether Joe Mauer ought to move to first base or keep his catching gear--Trevor Plouffe reminds us that he too can hit from time to time.

If we're arguing over whether Trevor Plouffe totally stinks or only mostly stinks...well...you get the idea.

In a season of lost causes and hopeless false starts, it's important to appreciate the little things: Trevor Plouffe uniting us all in agreement is one of them. Bravo Trevor, Bravo.

The Nobel Prize, Steroids and You

In what will come as no surprise to anyone who reads my writing regularly, I don't like math. I much prefer words (hence the whole teaching English and writing-a-tonnage-of-words-for-my-own-amusement-thing), but I know that math has a valuable place in the world.

That's why I read London based magazine The Economist (well, that and the snarky captions & covers). In the most recent issue, one of the magazine's Science and Technology writers explained how mathematics can solve the primary dilemma that athletes, governing bodies and fans face when they face steroid use.

Using the game theory branch of mathematics, the writer explains how and why using steroids to cheat can seem to be the only rational behavior for athletes, especially those involved in direct competition with other individuals (like the recently implicated sprinters Tyson Gay and Asafa Powell). While baseball, as a team game, is a slightly different scenario, many of the same principles hold, so consider how game theory explains the use of steroids in baseball through the following goofy teacher analogy (again, I teach English not Math, so bear with me...and if you are a math/economics person please tell me to pull down this post so I can make it actually accurate).

Say you have two players getting together for a little driveway home run derby. Let's call them "Bryan Raun" and "Moe Jauer". They'll be competing against each other and have the option to either cheat or play fairly. That means that there are four possible outcomes depending on what each player decides to do. (Symbolized in the box below by "C"s for Cheat and "F"s for Fair).

The Game Board

If the player's only goal is to win, and if cheating helps them to do so (say, by making their muscles big and avoiding injuries through some magical injection or something) , it quickly becomes clear what they should do to maximize their chance to win: Cheat. If Moe cheats, he can win or have an even shot at winning. If he plays fairly he can lose or have an even shot at winning. Only 1 of the 4 outcomes (25%) can have playing fairly end with a chance to win, but 2 of the 4 outcomes (50%) can have cheating end with a chance to win. It's simple probability: Cheat.

Option 1: The Merits of Cheating

But let's say the game isn't played just between "Bryan" and "Moe". Let's say that Bryan's crazy Uncle Bud watches them to make sure that the game is played fairly (like most used car salesmen, Uncle Bud's ethical like that). Now Uncle Bud decides that he'll watch them play and if he catches either Moe or Bryan cheating they'll automatically lose. Suddenly the strategy of the game changes, and playing fair gives you a 50% probability of getting a chance to win, while cheating only gets you a 25% chance (i.e. if Moe and Ryan both cheat, but only Ryan gets caught, then Moe wins)

Option 2: Fair Play

That might be the best way to play the game, if like Uncle Bud, all you care about is ethics. But let's pretend that Uncle Bud likes money (I know, I know...odd for a Used Car Salesman), so Uncle Bud decides to let other people watch Bryan and Moe play for a nominal fee. We can also pretend that Uncle Bud invites Mike to sell lemonade at the game and promises both the fans and Mike that the game will be really entertaining, exciting and EXTREMELY competitive. (As an added bonus, whoever wins the most might earn a little more money from fans and could be hired by Mike to tell everyone how great that Lemonade is.)

Now "Moe" and "Bryan" have even more incentive to win first and foremost, and Uncle Bud has an incentive slightly greater than fairness: he wants excitement, competition and success. So Moe and Bryan have to do some quick thinking. Does the desire to win and make money trump the desire for fairness?

Many people immersed in Game Theory have argued that the most logical decision would be to think: "I can gain so much by cheating [winning, money, more money], and Uncle Bud can gain so much by not catching me [money, more money, lots of more money] that it makes sense to cheat if I can". But there's still a few people, like, say, Moe, who would illogically decide: "you know, um...I think the risks of getting caught [losing, losing money] outweigh the benefits, so I'll play it fairly." This way only one person (Bryan) wins...right up until the moment they get caught.

Option 3: Split decision

Now the first two scenarios (everybody cheats/everybody plays fair) hit the famous Nash Equilibrium (famous in part because it helped its namesake, John Nash Jr., win the nobel prize and famous in part because it was explained using pretty girls in a Russell Crowe movie). This the point at which both people playing the game have maximized the benefit to themselves. The third and final scenario (one person cheats, the other doesn't) doesn't help either player as one will likely lose the game and money for a while, until the other player gets caught and loses everything.

Now baseball is not a two person game between "Moe" and "Bryan", and there's no amount of data that cheating automatically leads to winning or success. But, hopefully that rudimentary use of Game Theory not only explains why cheaters cheat, and why testing matters, but helps us to look at the issue that really matters.

If winning is everything

The bigger issue to me is not in understanding how or why "Moe" and "Bryan" do what they do, but in how Uncle Bud, Mike's Lemonade, and all those fans react to both cheating and playing fairly. The Nash Equilibrium could be reached if we each agree that the only thing that matters is winning. Moe and Bryan want to win so they cheat. Uncle Bud wants to make more money than the game of HORSE and the flag football game down the street, so he wants winners too. Mike's Lemonade wants champions to talk about the drink, thereby selling more lemonade, so it too wants winners. And if fans care first and foremost about beating the other guy, well...then it's all about winning...and it's all about cheating.

If fairness is everything

But, and this is a huge BUT, if we decide that it's not only in our individual interest, but it's also in our collective interest to support a fair system, then we can still reach that Nash Equilibrium. Player's might individually want to keep their jobs and avoid long term suspensions. Owners might...okay...definitely will want more money from customers and partners who trust them and longer commitments from players who won't get suspended. Companies want to support the kinds of players and sports that people love. And customers want to feel respected by owners and companies as well as having players to admire on the road to success. Most importantly EVERYONE (players, owners, companies and customers) has a collective interest in keeping the game interesting and free of embarrassing scandal. That's where we can agree that fairness trumps winning, and that's the other option for equilibrium.

Again, I know that the world of baseball is likely too big to get everyone in agreement about anything (hell, the DH debate is still a thing), but there's room for things to change, and most importantly there's room for fans to take action. Companies have already turned their back on Ryan Braun, and there's almost a unanimous boycott in place around Alex Rodriguez. Owners are leery of touching admitted users with a ten-foot pole and, increasingly, baseball players themselves are turning on those who use (As suggested by the Buster Olney story that "a pitcher drilled a hitter in a game this season, and when...he returned to the dugout, [he] explained...that he had plunked the guy because he’s a juicer -- a cheater, a PED user. The teammates who heard him understood.")

Maybe we need a town hall meeting, maybe we need a vote from the fans, maybe we need a cathartic set of admissions and tears and pleas and angry denouncements and effigies and Oprah-orchestrated-hugs, but we need an agreement about what our goals are if we want to reach anything close to equilibrium. We don't all have to agree, we can't possibly all agree...but the closer we get to agreement the better for the game, the better for the fans and the better for everyone except the cheaters.

Thank for enduring this installment of an English teacher tries his hand at Math, we now return you to your summer vacation.

Wha' Happened #9: (v.s. Chicago, @ Cleveland)

Game 69
Twins 7 - White Sox 5
The Twins do not care for power hitting. It hurts the feelings of our opponents after all, and we can't have that.

But we're willing to make an exception for the White Sox.

Mauer the Great and Powerful

Said Chairman Joe Mauer of his two-run homer: "Ya know...all things are possible through the will of the Twinnesotan Proletariat and ya know umm....My power will continue to make Twinnesota the greatest, strongest most powerful nation the world has ummm...ya know...ever known."

Ryan Doumit's game winning double was slammed to left center over the sounds of sweet smooth jazz and a beautiful sunset.

Game 70
Twins 7- White Sox 4

At the ball park for the second time in as many weeks, we were a little nervous when we saw Chris Sale on the hill. Stinky's dad in particular kept muttering: "this isn't good", "Sale's tough", "he's been pitching really well" and sure enough--despite a bouncing ball that ticked Brian Dozier and a double given up to Ryan Doumit--Sale recorded four quick strike outs. Then Oswaldo Arcia, our very own Blizzard of Oz delivered a hex upon Chris Sale, blasting him with a spell/line drive up the middle.

Brian-dozer, not sold in stores

Suddenly Sale was shaken and beatable, never more so than when he faced that most intimidating of all Twins hitters: Brian Dozier. A cookie of a pitch later and the BrianDozer knocked Sale's hopes of success to the ground with a three run homer.

Somewhere a child's toy box shouted with glee as the tonka truck and wizard doll triumphed.

Ballpark Food Haiku: Cheese Curds/Sundae Cone

Gnawing on rubber

Heat lamps freeze the soul of taste

Icy sanctuary

Game 71
Twins 8 - White Sox 4 
Invigorated by the previous night's offensive outburst the young "rough-and-tumble" Twins hitters decided they wanted to do it again in the sunshine.

"PLEASE!" whined Oswaldo Arcia "PRETTY PRETTY PLEEEEEEEASE let us hit some homers Gardy!!"

"It's such a pretty day! There's lots of people there to catch them! We won't break anything we promise!!" said Eduardo Escobar.

"Indubitably, old bean!" announced Cletington Aberforth Thomas VIII, "it will be a veritable potpurri of hitting genius!"

Gardy looked uncertain, then came Brian Dozier, wailing through sobs "I...just..want...to...keep...smashing...stuff...DOOOOOWWN!!!"

With a grumble and a spit, Gardy finally allowed "Alright, you can do it...but just because it's the White Sox"

Game 72
Indians 5 - Twins 1
Fun fact! In literature there's something called: "the pathetic fallacy" in which the protagonists mood is reflected by the weather outside.

Ex. Her tears streaked down her face just as the rain streaked the window outside

Twins example: The hurricane force winds blew through the Twin Cities as the Twins blew any chance they might have had for a comeback in the 7th inning.

Game 73
Indians 8 - Twins 7
Battling a balky knee and a bitter slump, Josh Willingham, our local non-unionized Thor equivalent. Knew the one and only thing that would cheer up a Twins team gobsmacked by PJ Walters' first inning, six-run debacle.

"By the power of Mjolnar, and all that is pure and just in this world, I say that we shall unleash the THUNDER UPON THESE FOOLISH MORTALS!!"

Thunder cracked. Lightning flashed. And the universe seemingly split around all of Minnesota.

Then Chris Parmelee muttered, "Umm...Josh...we're in Cleveland...unleashing thunder in Minnesota doesn't help us at all..."

"Oh," said Willingham. "Well, I'm out of ideas then..."

Game 74

Oh ma cherie Sota,
open your heart to Livan...

Twins 5 - Indians 3
Pedro Hernandez returned to the Twins rotation and, despite frequently missing the strike zone he found a way to pitch effectively for five plus innings and give the team a chance to get a much needed win.

Somewhere in the world another former-Twins pitcher who frequently missed the strike zone, but managed to pitch quasi-effectively never the less felt at peace with the universe...as though his one true love was remembering him through the sands of time, and it brought a tear of sweet relief to his heart.

"'Sota...I love you Sota...I hope dat Pedro is as lovin' to you as you deserve...but know that I will alway be here to lovin' you as well..."

(You may tear up as needed)

Mr. Peanut of the Week: Casey Fein (establishing himself as very solid middle reliever)
Nutty Buddy of the Week: Josh Willingham (clearly feeling hurt...get well soon Joshua)

There's no Punting in Baseball

As you may know, people really like sports.

Lots of people.

Millions of people.

And they like it so much that they will furiously dissect the evaluation and selection of new players during the epic "drafts" that have come to dominate a fans' off-season calendar. (I sometimes wonder if aspiring draft pundits are standing on their elementary school playgrounds right now arguing over who Timmy should have taken third for kickball, Johnny who was caught eating paste but can run a 6.3 dash to first base, or Annabelle who hasn't had a great season 'till now but does have tremendous upside.)

While drafts are great opportunities for armchair GMs to opine and prognosticate about the future, they also signal the beginning of the end for veteran athletes who will soon be replaced by younger, less expensive talent. Such was the case for Minnesota Vikings' punter Chris Kluwe on Saturday. When the  Vikings drafted a young punter int he fifth round, pundits and fans raced to analyze the pick and debate the likelihood that Kluwe would never wear gold and purple again [outside of World of Warcraft that is].

But a change in punters' isn't normally a newsworthy event, unless that punter is a prominent personality who appears on NPR and Comedy Central [as Kluwe is]. It is even more noticeable when said punter is an outspoken proponent of marriage equality [as Kluwe also is]. Suddenly, changing punters seems to be less of a management decision and more of a referendum on a employing someone who capitalizes on his (relative) celebrity.

I don't know the Vikings reasoning for removing Kluwe, and I doubt I'll ever know. I am sure that in football, as in almost every other sport, when talent is similar the younger, cheaper option is preferable to the older, pricier option (that's just sane management). I am also sure that the Vikings are in the business of keeping fans happy, so I can see how a controversial kicker who espouses uncomfortable opinions does not necessarily help the business. Kluwe's attitude and advocacy seemed to alienate his supervisor (the special teams' coach) and also seemed to irritate a swathe a fans [if the plethora of "he-should've-kept-his-mouth-shut-and-played-the-damn-game" comments on talk radio and the internet are any guide]. Given that the NFL eschews societal controversies and that Kluwe's fellow gay-rights agitator in shoulder pads (Ravens' Brendon Ayanbadejo) was recently cut, the Vikings' real reasons for drafting a punter may well be drowned out by a public perception that a player's personal opinions partially contributed to the loss of his job.

If they have allowed his opinions to influence their decision making, then by preparing to cut ties with Kluwe, the Vikings and the NFL are punting a controversial topic downfield. But [and behold my segue back to baseball] would we be having the same conversation if we were talking about Chris Kluwe, middle reliever, instead of Chris Kluwe, punter? If Kluwe was not involved in the highest profile sport in the country, if he was just another "colorful" veteran about to be displaced by a hot prospect, would there be a public perception that his opinions were partially responsible for the end of his career (at least in the Twin Cities)?

I have to think that the answer is yes. Regardless of what sport you play, there's an attitude prevalent among the fan base for sports that playing the game should trump personal opinions. And no matter what opinion the player has and no matter whether you agree or disagree with that opinion, I personally believe that we should be rooting for players and athletes to share their opinions more rather than less.

I know several arguments against having opinionated, activist players prominently featured on your local team. Starting with the thought that they ought to just "play the game" and leave their opinions in their homes, but I can't help but feel that would do our favorite athletes a disservice if we discouraged them from speaking up when they think it matters.

I know some worry that controversial opinions are bad for business [especially since the costumer base for most major sports tends to be conservative], but with polarizing issues you can often gain as many fans on one side of the ideological divide as you lose from the other. (And when discussing gay marriage, the opinion gap between young and old suggests you may well find more long term fans.)

I know some believe that athletes are here to entertain not to agitate, but just because someone is an entertainer doesn't preclude them from having the same right to free will and free expression as a data cruncher, corporate executive, factory worker or educator. More to the point, you might not like Clint Eastwood or George Clooney's politics, but they still are free to express themselves whenever they see fit

I know some cite concerns around locker room morale as a reason to avoid the controversial, but other businesses throughout the country find ways to survive despite disparate opinions in the break room or board room. And if the armed forces can continue protecting and defending our nation with both heterosexual and homosexual servicemen and women (not to mention tolerant and intolerant opinions about sexual orientation) in the same barracks, I have to imagine that professional athletes can play a game.

I know some feel like the purpose of sports is simply to amuse, thereby providing a distraction from the controversies and difficulties of the world around us. Certainly amusement can be nice from time to time. Yet, if taxpaying citizens are going to be held responsible for financing the stadia, arena and ballparks [as we do with other amusement based public institutions like say the Guthrie theatre], it would be nice if (in addition to providing amusement and community pride) teams engaged with the issues that local citizens/financiers are facing too (like the Guthrie does with their plays).

On balance, it would be foolish to ignore the difficulties that come along with having an opinionated player in the locker room. But the difficulties are not insurmountable. Heck, they're barely even daunting. So if baseball (or any other major sport) allows fears over the fallout from opinionated players to dictate their team management, they will be be taking the easy way out of a simple situation.

This is the time to act, and few sports can do it as easily as baseball. Given the sport's historical prominence in challenging social conventions, it seems natural for baseball to take the lead in dealing with the issues of the day (and with a 162 game schedule, its only a matter of time until big issues become part of the every day routine of your life). Baseball's the sport that asked us to consider anti-semitism (with Hank Greenberg), to consider racism (with Jackie Robinson and Larry Doby), to consider the restrictions of labor laws (with Curt Flood).

Of course, simply speaking out in favor of gay rights is not the same as being Jackie Robinson, still, now is the time for sports teams to deal with gay rights. (Witness the fact that in the time between my first draft this morning and my published draft this evening, free agent basketball player Jason Collins became the first openly gay athlete in a major sport.) Opinions about homosexuality are already out there, from the in-game trash talk of Yunel Escobar to the public comments of former Twin Torii Hunter. Baseball teams don't need to go out of our way to hire opinionated players, or to protect them from losing their jobs if they aren't as effective as others, but I hope we never need to dissect the motives for releasing a player whose opinions set them apart from the norm.

If a Twins player speaks up about their opinions, whatever side of the issue they land on, I hope that they are heard, respected and engaged as part of a broader debate. With respect to Edward R. Murrow sports is now what TV once was, it can entertain, but it can also "teach, illuminate...and it can even inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends." That responsibility begins with the players and extends out to the managers, executives and owners who work with them, then to the fans who cheer them on.

For everyone involved, and all of us watching/cheering at home, I hope that baseball doesn't punt this opportunity away.

Teachable Moments 2012: Money Will Change Your Life

The playoffs are in high gear, but those who cling to hope for the underdogs might be forgiven for tuning out early this year. The league championship series featured the past three champions (Cardinals, Giants and Yankees) and a preseason favorite (the Detroit Tigers). Gone are the plucky upstarts: the Nationals, the A's, the O's, the Reds. In short all the teams who haven't sniffed the World Series in over 20 years, and in their place, much more of the same.

Baseball's competitive balance is still a little better than you might think, but that's not the point of my writing. My point is that there's a certain something missing from this years playoffs; that plucky scrapper mentality that many mid-market fans cling to as superpowers get richer each year.

Once upon a time, in the good ol' days of five years ago, the Twins were one of those scrappy franchises. Mixing and matching spare parts and raw newcomers to find startling success; while we often wished ol' Carl Pohlad would loosen his purse strings a little more often, we now know that big spending won't solve our problems.

After two years of 90+ losses and nearly $200 million dollars in payroll, frustration is mounting. At the center of all of this frustration isn't the ownership (no longer Carl, just his sons), or the management (penny-pinching Terry Ryan in his 2nd non-consecutive turn as GM), the frustration falls squarely on Joseph P. Mauer. The 23 Million Dollar Man.

We all know the story. Mauer was the scion, the natural, the local kid who was destined to return the Twins to greatness. So, we made sure to give him a contract that would keep him in town for a solid decade. We rejoiced when he signed, and while the price-tag was eye-popping, if anyone was worth it, it was our boy Joe.

Of course, we all know the rest of the story too. In the three years since Mauer signed the uber-deal, his production has vacillated from solid to injury-riddled to elite-catcher level again. At the same time, Mauer has remained the stoic, humble, home-grown star who endeared himself to Twins fans as Minnesota's own throw-back to the crew-cut, mashed-potato-munching stars of yester-year. He's got a house in Florida, but another up north, with a St. Paul-bred wife and a consistent relationship with his St. Paul loving family.

He plays the same. He acts the same. He is the same. Clearly, money did not change Joe Mauer.

And clearly it did change us.

Somewhere along the way, the promise and the paeans to Joe Mauer morphed into demands. Our affection didn't come easily anymore, he wasn't the adorable kid playing stickball on Summit Avenue, he was "the franchise," and he had better play like it! He wasn't a local boy made good, he was a local boy made off with our hard-earned money. He wasn't a great player, he was a shampoo-hawking, prima-donna who let "leg-weakness" get in the way of the game.

Before, we had loved Joe Mauer simply and purely because he was our own and he was awesome. Suddenly, we begrudged Joe Mauer some undefinable something simply and purely because he was our own and he was only "pretty good"...and, oh yeah, he was getting paid a large sum of money (much of which came from our own tickets).

Chances are, if you find your way to this page, this blog, and my style of writing, you have a more complex view of Mauer than simply "the-golden-boy" or "the-sissy-punk". Chances are you've heard plenty of this before. Chances are I'm not saying anything that you haven't thought yourself a time or dozen.

But one thing to bear in mind, as we enter a season of acrimonious bickering over cries of "super rich one-percent-ers" and "the welfare class of entitled moochers" is just how we use these words and why. It's easy to tune out the tit-for-tat argument and snark as irrelevant or impossible, but that avoids the core of the discussion. Does Joe Mauer earn the enmity of disappointed hordes in Target Field because he doesn't perform his job, because he abuses his wealth and privilege, or because class and money affect us in ways we don't feel comfortable talking about. Is it pure jealousy, the shriveled raisin of a dream deferred, the genuine disdain for misappropriated money at a time of fiscal uncertainty?

There's no clear answer to those questions, and that's as it should be. The teachable moments of our year in fandom aren't just moments where a lesson is learned and we move on with life. Teachable moments are the somethings, the anythings, that encourage us to look at things again, to consider and reflect.

I'm a homer, and I'll always love Joe Mauer for how he hits and plays. But after this year, I also have to appreciate how he offers all kinds of teachable moments

Teachable Moments 2012: The Value of Consistent Casting

I could apologize for the delay between posts, but if you read this blog at all, you know full well why the delay is here (it starts with a "w" and ends with an "orking my a$$ off").

It's the postseason now, you all remember that right, the thing the Twins used to do every October before the current unpleasantness began? And while we're all plotting out our offseason blue prints for returning the Twins to relevancy, there are other things to think about, the kinds of things that may not result in wins or losses but do relate to the business of being a fan. Those are the kinds of things that I'm taking on as subjects of these "Teachable Moment" blogs.

There was a moment near the end of the season where my wife, my father and a colleague at my high school all said the same thing while we watched a game. Namely: "Who the hell is that guy?"

Every one of those three people are serious Twins fans, not bandwagon, casual afternoon channel surfer fans. They watch most games (either out of personal interest or because they married a die-hard), and could easily rattle off the owners of retired numbers, the holders of franchise records, and where they were for big moments (World Championships) and little ones (Kubel's cycle, Baker's near perfecto).

Yet each one of them was befuddled by something, or rather someone in the Twins uniform. Samuel DeWho? Matt CarWhat?

 Chances are if you are reading my writing, then you, like me, are still deeply interested in the Twins despite another 90 loss season. You clearly care more than most average fans, even most serious fans. Maybe even enough to distinguish Pedro Florimon from Eduardo Escobar.

But this isn't about shaking our heads at people who lose track of the Chris Hermanns and Kyle Waldrops of the franchise. It's about what it means to have those serious fans fade away from their old commitment to the team.

As far as I can figure, losing once-serious fans to an abyss of indifference is accepting that you're going to have fewer return customers to Twins Brand Family Entertainment next year leading to a dip in revenues (and by association payroll budget). I'm sure the Pohlads and the other front office people know that and are ready to compensate with more attractive group ticket packages, more food/beverage discounts and generally more ways to bring in casual fans. But as the losing becomes more and more habitual, fewer and fewer casual fans will see a (still pricey) trip to the ballpark (or to the team merchandising store) as a worthwhile expense.

Suddenly that "dip" in revenues becomes a "crater" and that return to respectability that we die-hards crave gets pushed farther and farther into the background. So, losing "once-serious" fans is a bit of a dilemma. But there is a solution.

And that's just 3 seasons
of dead people!

 As my wife pointed out, it's not the current Twins are terrible that stops her from watching, it's that she knows the team won't be back for a little while, and doesn't want to get too attached only to see one of them leave. That goes for the talented like Ben Revere, Josh Willingham, Jared Burton and Ryan Doumit (couldn't they all get traded?). And that goes for the not-so talented (witness my love for the probably doomed Luis Perdomo). For my father, loving a current Twin is like trying to adopt a pet lobster from a seafood restaurant, it makes you happy but you just know that something bad's going to happen. My wife likened it instead to the days of our courtship (when we'd mix baseball talk with Lost episodes). Sure there are some interesting new characters, but given how easy it is for the writers to kill off old characters, do you really want to get burned again?

So, while the "throw out the bums!" shouts get louder, remember that there's something to be said for consistency. There's something to be said for building around a few key parts and encouraging fans to learn to love a new face. If we subscribe to a model of constant turnover we may start slipping into oblivion as a modern day Toronto, or Pittsburgh or [shudder] Kansas City.

I know we can't (and shouldn't) keep everybody. But when in doubt, remember that glorious summer when the Twins returned to relevancy over a decade ago, when after years of turnover the Twins committed to a group of young players (who were admittedly more talented than the current bunch), and invited fans to just "Get to Know 'Em".

 Maybe it won't be next year, or even the year after, but when the time comes it will fall on the diehards to answer "Who the Hell is that" with "Miguel Sano," or "Aaron Hicks" or "Byron Buxton...you should really get to know 'em."

Teachable Moments 2012: Ragequitting

Some know this, others don't. I'm secretly a teacher at a public high school that shall remain nameless. (If only to protect myself from principals who wonder why they hired a guy who thinks that beards are sentient.)

 My job is great actually. When the baseball season starts it's a sign that the school year is rapidly winding down. As the battle for first place intensifies, I have many opportunities to watch and revel in exciting games. And by the time I get back to work I know whether or not I should assign essays early in the year, or if I should go easy on students so I can watch the games.*

 This year, with the Twins out of contention, I don't need to worry about missing critical late season games. But as one season winds down and another warms up, I've started thinking about valuable lessons from baseball for fans, and for life. Starting with the consequences of rage quitting.

 One Friday night, Stinky and I went to the game with her parents and watched as the Twins squandered an early lead as only they have been able to do this year. Liam Hendricks looked good just long enough to surprise us all when he imploded in 5th. Our solid offensive outburst seemed flukish when David Huff shut down the bats for three innings. And then Alex Burnett struggled and struggled and finally stunk fumbling a weak comebacker with the bases loaded to let in the 6th run of the game.  

Disappointing as that was, it was the fans reaction that I found noteworthy. We didn't boo. We didn't jeer. But a solid 10-20% of fans that I could see stood and left (either for beer or for good). Dispirited, dejected and otherwise done with watching the debacle on the field. It wasn't any kind of organized protest, or meaningful event, it was just a clear sign that fans were tired of wasting their time and ready to move on with life.

 The internet (which you may have heard of) might refer to this as an act of "RageQuitting, meaning simply: "To quit because you are losing, failing or just plain suck" Sure enough the Twins were losing, the players were failing to make an easy play and all season long they have seemed to just plain suck. There are many ways to ragequit, standing up and walking out of a bad game (despite your expensive tickets), clicking off the tv in disgust, avoiding most ESPN/FOX related content because you think they'll glorify the Yankees/Red Sox and denigrate "those hapless Twins" comment, posting "if-they-don't-fix-this-#%@#ing-team-I'm-done" posts in the forum section, even deleting a Twins Daily account...just because you can't take it any more.

This season has taught us all about ragequitting, as even the most ardent supporters may have at least considered the possibility once or twice. So, what happens when you do ragequit? Let's explore: The benefits of the "ragequit" are simple: you don't have to deal with the source of your frustration any more. You can move on to other things, happier things, better things.

Meanwhile the costs of the "ragequit" are less apparent: you lose credibility with fellow fans, and appear petulant in the eyes of those around you (fans and others alike) for letting a group of 25 guys in blue uniforms affect your whole emotional welfare. Most of all, should you choose to return when the team begins to succeed again you risk that most hated of labels "fair weather fan".

 Clearly, I'm not going to ragequit any time soon. Frustrated though I might be, I enjoy little parts of the game and the team too much to be put off by simple bad play. But that's not to say that you can't ragequit if you want to. You, gentle reader are an independent human being capable of free will (or a super-smart extra-terrestrial monitoring electronic blather about Earth sports for signs of intelligent life in our galaxy...in which case better luck next time). You can do what you like, throw down the remote, slam your lap top shut, call Burnett a loser and Plouffe a hack and Gardy a has been.

 But whatever you choose, understand the consequences. If you ragequit, you gain freedom, but risk social-stigma. If you don't...well...you writhe in agony when Alex Burnett boots a slow roller to the mound. The choice is yours. 

 *Note: I don't really alter assignments based on baseball standings. I'm too scrupulous for that...stupid scruples.