How it could still go horribly, horribly wrong

While most other Twins blogs are concentrated on roster debates, rotation scheduling and the never-ending debate: "rest the starters or go for home field", we heavenly peanuts are remaining cautious. After enduring two years worth of nail gnawing playoff intrigue we won't celebrate until the fat lady has sung, showered, slipped into street clothes and slammed down a post-performance Pink Squirrel (this kind, not this kind...though that would be entertaining).

While I know it's unlikely, we could still lose the central. If the entire team assumes they have it won they might succumbs to "Glee Fever", forfeiting the rest of the regular season in order to practice their dance routines and medley homage to the music of Poison and 2 Live Crew. And if the White Sox win 12 in a row while our plucky underdogs are striving to triumph over the Yankees Men's Chorus (a pack of animatronic Derek Jeters performing perfectly synchronized renditions of Cotton Eyed Joe), then we'll be out of the playoff picture entirely.

It's close, very close, and as long as we avoid the temptation to "Gleek Out" I think we'll be okay...though it would be great to watch that medley homage after we clinch the division. Keep the music buried deep inside you Twins! (At least for a couple more days)

P.s. Big thanks to the BOOF! for beating the White Sox last night. We owe you big fella!

An unpleasant definition

While Stinky is enjoying "Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day" at the Minnesota Renaissance festival, I watched the Twins game...and by the end of it wished I had driven from Ohio to the Ren Fest instead.

As mad as Gardy and pretty much everybody in the dugout/stands/watching at home was by the double play debacle, perhaps we can understand the confusion by reviewing a page from the dictionary issued to umpires by Major League Baseball:

Catch (v.): 1) To seize, hold, intercept or otherwise ensnare. 2) Or not, I guess, I mean, "truth" is so subjective, so go ahead and define things however you want, I don't care, I'm just a dictionary

CURSE YOU AMBIVALENT DICTIONARIES!!!

Where's your Best Selling Philosophy NOW, PUNK?!?!?!?

I admit, I've got a chip on my shoulder when it comes to the A's. Being a baseball fan in the early part of this millennium you couldn't stop hearing about the baseball genius of the Bay Area, and how he was taking a plucky bunch of unwanted players and turning them into a winning force! There were almost monthly magazine profiles, there was a best selling book, there was a cult following around the executives (?!) who built the team, and then there was that team itself, the only team that plays in gold and green, bringing long hair and surprising swagger to the role of scruffy underdog .

Only problem was, I (like most of the people who read this blog) was a fan of that other scruffy underdog filled with a plucky bunch of unwanted players who turned themselves into a winning force. Only we did it with out the magazine profiles, best sellers, cult followers and long hair. We did it with old fashioned, boring, fundamental baseball. Catch the ball, take the extra base when you can, scratch out any hit available to you and don't swing for the fences, pick up your teammates.

So it was with a pang of jealousy that I watched the A's get the credit while the Twins toiled in anonymity. I know that the "Moneyball" concept was more about making an intelligent investment in underutilized resources than any one man; but I felt like "mastermind" GM Billy Beane developed a bit of an ego around all this adulation, as though he personally had somehow made baseball a better game and deserved all the credit for crunching the stats, turning a beautifully complex game into an inevitable end of a mathematical equation.* (And never mind the fact that it was up to the players {several of whom have been linked to steroids} who were doing the actual work, and winning the actual games.)

Yet here we are, a decade later, and while the Twins are poised to make their 6th post season trip in 10 years the A's have slowly slipped into irrelevance, buried alive under lofty expectations and an inability to keep up with shifts in the market. But hey, Brad Pitt's going to play Billy Beane in a movie...so I guess that's as good as being competitive, right?

I know I shouldn't gloat, I should hope that more talented players bring a storied franchise back into relevance and offer some entertainment to those loyal few who keep turning up in Oakland (especially for the upcoming series with Chicago...the A's definitely deserve to win that series), but if from time to time my jealousy and stubbornness gets in the way, I hope you A's fans/players/executives forgive me...I'm clearly not as smart as Billy Beane, so what do I know?

Oh yeah, I know that we won yesterday.

The Rube

P.s. I'm also not as smart as my father, who, on labor day made the following prediction: "The sox have run out of magic and will go 2-9 over their next 11 games." I laughed, surely a team who had just finished winning 7 straight wouldn't do that poorly against the Tigers, the Royals and us?...Tigers record over their last 11 games: 2-9. Maybe Brad Pitt should play my dad in a movie? Or at least, Clooney...yeah...Clooney's got the right salt and pepper hair thing.

P.p.s.*If I'm wrong and Beane is a genuine sweetheart of a guy, I'm sorry. It just doesn't come across in the press.

Credit Supraction with the Assist

For those new to the blog, you may have noticed various crazy random happenstances that helped the Twins during this series, a phenomenon we have defined as: "Surpraction". A tactic which combines the sudden shock of "surprise" with the perpetual discombobulation of "distraction" (Surpr-action). We at PFH have lovingly chronicled moments of supraction* pretty much since our inception and have long credited two masters of the art: Michael "Magic" Cuddyer, and Delmon "Holy-Crap-I-Can't-Believe-That-Worked" Young. (See image below)

And while most of this season has depended on more traditional skills such as "playing well," and "being talented", from time to time Supraction rears its head and deserves a shout at, as was the case this series when not once BUT TWICE! we managed to drive in runs with balls which caromed off third base leaving various Pale Hoser Third Basemen Surprised, Distracted...SUPRACTED YO! So congrats to Jason Repko and Danny Valencia for learning this fine art, if they didn't Delmon and Cuddy might sic their albino tiger on them.

*Note: I realize that "Supraction" might be better spelled with another "r" before the "p", but we rule this blog and we rule that spelling is for sukers.

Finally, while there is much to celebrate with this sweep, we feel obliged to acknowledge the good people of Chicago, and in an effort to promote cultural understanding at the end of this long season, we provide the following chart so that we can all communicate more effectively. Please refer to this chart whenever you want to find common ground with the White Sox fan in your life.

And still...it's not over

One more game in Chicago, but I refuse to let myself get too excited. I could make bold proclamations, furious statements of aggrandizement which say to all the world: KNEEL BEFORE MAUER, FOOLISH FANS OF FOOLDOM!!!! But that just wouldn't be right.

Instead I will once again advocate a default position of intense trepidation. Never forget that terror strikes the moment you least suspect it, as the cinematic classic Mega Shark V.s. Giant Octopus teaches us:

Sure, many people say that we have the division locked up, but if Mega Shark jumps out of Lake Michigan and eats the Twins charter plane tonight, then we'd probably have to forfeit the season to the White Sox...so you never know. All I'm saying is don't get too confident just yet.

P.s. Here's an article from the New York Times to offer still more proof of what we've long suspected...The Yankees are Villains.

Pretty good night...

Gotta admit, any night spent with a pennant race is a fun night, but last night, after hours of thesis work, that game was particularly enjoyable. Managing to mute Hawk Harrelson was fun; calling my parents and hearing their play-by-play several seconds ahead of the MLB.tv feed was even more fun and over the course of the night I learned several things about my parents:

1. My dad (NA) and I are pretty comfortable swearing in the middle of a play (Beckham's dropped force out), but not at all in casual conversation. (I might be a masters candidate, but that doesn't mean he can't give me a whupping if he so chooses.)
2. My mom (The Knitting Queen) roots according to her moral compass, as is evidenced by her "c'mon Jesse strike out Ramirez and sit all these Chicagoans down. CHEATERS NEVER PROSPER!!!!"
3. NA's love of Yoga-based serenity still allows him to laugh at the karmic retribution of Rios dropping Span's double.
4. The Knitting Queen is quite techno-savvy (she even learned how to follow a certain Tweeter whose re-emergence from her bat-cave bring much happiness to our souls!)

But despite all this joy, and the win I want to again remind everyone that IT'S NOT OVER YET! so cool your jets ESPN, Star Trib, Chicago Tribune, and all manner of other punditry. As our man Denard said: "We still have business to finish." What is that business Denard? "we've got to hopefully...kill their dreams"

If anyone can kill dreams, I'd put money on Denard, skulking in the shadows of White Sock minds, pouncing while the White Sox are happily asleep, dreaming of Bud Light with Lime waterfalls, and new disgusting ways to grow facial hair. Once inside these dreams, Denard will triumph...for he is our ninja:

Simmer down now

I have to go dive into the library and work on thesis things for the next several hours (thereby earning my baseball fix tonight) but I just want to say, to all those pundits and opinionators who are proclaiming the Twins a great team, a playoff team, a team that might sneak up on the Yankees & Rays and will have no problem with the White Sox:

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stop it! Don't jinx us! Where's some wood to knock on? Oh, right my desk! [spends next minute knocking on wood...winces in pain... then continues]

The White Sox are a great and noble foe, a team that could certainly make a run and has definitely played better than Texas of late. So clearly this series will be tough. To exacerbate this toughness let's all practice low expectations and anticipate the eventuality that Ozzie Guillen's Tweets will morph into ravenous birds who peck out our hitter's eyes while defecating on our pitchers heads. Then, like a blinded/poo-headed herd of cyclopes, the Twins will stumble through the midwest before falling into Lake Michigan and drowning.

As long as that doesn't happen, I'll be happy, and so should you baseball pundits!