How Hamilton Explains This Lousy Twins Season

In the midst of one of the most disappointing Twins seasons in memory, it's natural to look around for something, anything, to explain or distract from what promises to be a long, hard campaign.

That's where pulitizer-winning, grammy-winning, genius-crafted (even if said genius is a Yankees fan), best-selling, award-monopolizing musical Hamilton comes in. Sure you can listen to it and distract yourself from the announcement of yet another dropped fly ball, blown lead, or ill-timed strike out. But you can also catch a glimpse of what how it might feel and what can still be done this year.

My favorite example of Hamilton as metaphor for the Twins Season comes from the voice of George Washington in his first appearance on stage (starting at 0:52)

So how does this explain...and offer a possible solution to the Twins situation? I'm glad you asked

We are outgunned (witness the Pitching); outmanned (witness the ill-timed injuries); outnumbered (witness the teams lack of statistical acumen); outplanned (witness seemingly every decision that the manager or front office has made in the past six months).

Still, we have model of a "modern major (field) general", the "venerated...veteran" Joe Mauer, who must be dumbstruck that just as he gets back into form, the entire squad built to support him has gotten blown into smithereens. The players he could be leading "keep retreating", regressing in their performance or being sent back down to Rochester to work out their kinks. And great as Joe has been, he "cannot be everywhere at once people", and remains: outgunned, outmanned, outnumbered, outplanned.

While some, including me, have long preached patience, confidence and trust in that the same tactics that led to past success, it may be time to stop admiring "how [we] fire...from a distance" and just see "how things work out" and try something different.

Mauer (L) and an unnamed rookie (R)
Or Christopher Jackson (L) and Lin Manuel Miranda (R)

So, Mauer needs a "right hand" man, a Hamilton to his Washington. Someone fearless enough to stick it out through the problems, and get aggressive now and then. Someone who is optimistic, ready to "rise up", and capable of acknowledging that doing the same thing over and over can end your career, but adapting and adjusting is what's necessary to survive. Put another way, in the big leagues: "dying is easy, living is harder."

We can't expect that the "right hand man" is going to come galloping to our rescue from outside the organization. Mauer and company can do battle on the field, but they're going to have to make do with "what our Congress [aka the Twins Front Office] has promised". We can't beat other teams at their own games, but for all the rookies who rise up "young, scrappy, and hungry" we can't afford to "throw away their shot".

We are outgunned, outmanned: so whichever youngster is ready to step up, they can and should help to lead the way and promote the culture of winning with the fellow prospects who fought with them on the fields of Fort Meyers, Chattanooga and Rochester.

We are outnumbered, outplanned: but if you can adapt and bring in a few strong skills from outside the organization (maybe defensive metrics? maybe different attitudes about pitch selection) you can "master the element of surprise" and even if we lose the battle, we can win the war.

So, who is it going to be? Berrios? Sano? Buxton? Chargois? Any of them...all of them...because while our general might need a right hand man, there's more to it that one silver bullet, or one pump up song

Adopt a Prospect 3.4: Why I Like JT Chargois More than A-Rod

More interesting that Target Field

It has not been an easy last two weeks for our Adopted Prospect: Mr. Jon Tiberius Chargois (okay it's Jon Thomas...but give me some nerd slack). He had his worst outing of the year giving up 6 earned runs on three walks and three hits, and the breezy dominance that made Chargois a Florida State League All-Star seems like a distant memory compared to his current form.


And yet, this weekend, as the Twins got snake bitten (again) by the Yankees and their complicated, record-book busting (again) DH Alex Rodriguez, I found myself eagerly turning away from the superlative performances of A-Rod at Target Field, to the minor league box scores for word of Chargois.


It may seem like a silly comparison: Alex Rodriguez, love him or hate him, will go down in the annals of baseball history; JT Chargois will be in this odd little corner of cyber space...but probably, not much else. And while the part of me that loves athletic excellence is inclined to see the very best players do their very best work, a much larger part of me wants to cheer for Chargois much MUCH more than A-Rod.

The reasons I care more about a AA reliever than the fourth most prestigious home run hitter in baseball doesn't depend on the history of a rivalry, or the fact that one is paid by Minnesota billionaires and the other is paid by New York billionaires. It comes back to the fact that Sports is the rare entertainment that demands honesty.

Other entertainments live on the other side of truth. Movies and books are fictional. Music and even visual arts (painting and sculpture) are as much about what people (and record companies) know will sell, rather than purely what people have lived or feel.

But sports demands honesty. Do your best, play fair, and may the best team win. Do that, and we'll root, root, root for the rest of our lives.

Therein lies the problem. A-Rod is fundamentally dishonest: he didn't trust his best to be good enough, he didn't play fairly with those who stayed clean, and he tried to rig the game so his team would be better than the best.

No question, A-Rod is entertaining, powerful and impressive (even more so on PEDs). But that was a fiction. He insisted he was legitimate twice, once while using and once after getting caught in two more moments of dishonesty. If he was a pro-wrestler, or doing some crazy in-depth performance art it could be strangely intriguing, but instead it's just fake, false and infuriating to watch.

That's why I like a middling AA prospect and can't stand one of the best power-hitters in over a century of baseball. Because JT Chargois is not perfect and makes no pretenses about it. His scuffles at AA are part of the game, an honest failure, just as his run of scoreless innings from April to June was an honest success.

I don't like Alex Rodriguez. I don't wish him ill. I don't hope he suffers. I just wish he were more like JT Chargois.

The Great Twins Scotch Bet of 2014: Conclusion

After our second year of watching and gambling on Twins baseball, we Peanuts from Heaven had our annual pay-off dinner/drinking fest at the St. Paul Grill, aligning perfectly with Game One of the World Series. And while Stinky bemoaned Alcides Escobar's lousy pitch selection (seriously, three pitches up by his eyes? I mean...who does he think he is, Delmon Young?), we also made time to talk about the team we actually care about.

In the midst of the third...or maybe fifth...scotch, I started to think that there were, surprisingly, some similarities between the drinks I savored and the players who made it possible. High falutin'? Yes. Totally subjective? Sure. Overly generous to players who still managed to lose 90 games? You bet. But hey after this many scotches, it's hard not to get a little generous.

Kyle Gibson = The Strathisla 12 Year

Gibson struggled at the beginning of his career. Then, after showing some promising points to him, but he had a hard time finishing the job in later innings/months of the season. The Strathisla [pronounced, Strah-eel-ah] smells a little like minerals when you start, then tastes both sweet (like caramel) and potent (like pine), before finishing a little meekly.

The Edradour 10 Year = Eduardo Escobar

The Edradour, or...Eduaradour, if you will, comes from the smallest distillery in Scotland, it's relatively under the radar, seemingly unimpressive and generally unknown. But those who know it, and like it are fiercely loyal. As if the backstory isn't convenient enough, there's the fact that the drink tastes like a mix of mild peppers and pulpy citrus...you know, like an occasionally defensively stylish, occasionally offensively potent short stop. 

Brian Dozier = the Glenmorangie 18 year

Obviously, Brian Dozier is the team's current Dream Boat. A total sweetheart of a guy who, has a bevy of fans, like Glenmorangie (outsold only by the big guns of Glenlivet, Macallan, Glenfidditch and Balvenie). The 18 year old variety is just as sweet as Dozier's looks, with wheaty/grain like notes that bring to mind the amber waves of his hair, before finishing with a little woody kick (kind of like Dozier's home run pop).

The Glenmorangie Quinta Ruban = Glen Perkins

Speaking of the Glenmorangie, the Quinta Ruban's my personal favorite, not unlike Glen Perkins himself. There's spices and orange-y sweetness for a full-bodied dram that finishes nicely. Perkins himself obviously finishes nicely, is "full bodied" to put it politely, and as his twitter-feed and rapport with his running wife suggests has a fine mix of spice and sweet.

Phil Hughes = The Balvenie 21 Year Portwood

Balvenies are slightly more obvious in the global market (not unlike Phil Hughes former team, the Yankees). But even among Balvenies (or Ex-Balvenies as the case may be) a 21 year old scotch is a rare thing, much smaller in volume than most of the 3-8 year old scotches that dominate the market...this doesn't come along very often. And when you finish the drink in a special port barrel, it adds layer upon layer of complexity. I didn't know much about Phil Hughes when he was signed, I don't know a tonnage about him now, but I do know that his season this year was a special one, and without it, I wouldn't have had this Scotch. So for that Phil Hughes I give you a special toast. Slainte.

What I Learned from the 2014 All Star Game

I'm surprised to note that I have not blogged about an al-star game in three years. Not in Kansas City, nor in New York. Maybe I was actually off living my life. But with the game in the Twin Cities, I was eager to both celebrate the festivities in person, and watch the game (with all the excellent athletes and irritating announcers that come along with it).

Here's what I learned.

Atmosphere > Imagine Dragons--I'm not much of a musical person, but I have to say that going to the All-Star weekend concert (free courtesy of Mrs. Peanut's work connections) was much more enjoyable for Atmosphere's presence rather than Imagine Dragons. However, for future reference major touring pop bands that play all-star games (because I know you all read my blog), if you want to make fans forever, play a personalized version of that team's "song". If Imagine Dragons had played "We're Gonna Win Twins"...or even the first 8 measures, I'd have been a fan for life.

My mom makes interesting bets--Rather than predict or argue over silly inconsequential things in the baseball game, like who will win, or how they'll score, my mother had a fun time predicting exactly what stupid things singers would do during All-Star Festivities. Singing for a living has that effect, and though the exact number of trills, flats, sharps, and unfortunate breath marks were never exactly cross-referenced with any website, it was good fun to bet on it never the less.

Even body language is tough for Joe

Joe Buck Can't Read--My father prefers to channel his baseball watching towards the announcers. Usually, this involves rolling his eyes at Bert or clapping along with Dick Bremer, but when the national announcers call the game it involves total exasperation with Joe Buck, who doesn't seem to understand that it's a good idea to read a scorecard while calling a game to cover simple things like: the teams, who's batting, the score and which inning it is. But by god he can say "cold Coors Light" better than any other announcer in history so, he'll keep on announcing until we're all old and gray.

Alcohol Helps--Speaking of cold Coors Lights...I don't drink them. But I do drink other things, and when subjected to Joe Buck, I encourage others to do the same.

John Bonnes/Nick Nelson Help--Speaking of drinking, special kudos to Twins Daily peoples for hosting a fantastic happy hour at Mason's on Monday night. Attending with the better half of the blogging duo (Mrs. Peanut/Stinky/Kristina) we were treated to beer and cheery conversation--even if John doesn't approve of Little Big League like we do, it was nice to talk to fellow nerds.

Everyone has a connection to Derek Jeter--Speaking of nerds, did you know that Derek Jeter's not a nerd? Did you know that Derek Jeter has known Derek Jeter all of his life? Let's see if Derek Jeter would sit down for a candid interview with Derek Jeter to discuss how Derek Jeter Derek Jetered Derek Jeter. (Any more broadcasts like this Fox and I think he's legally allowed to file a restraining order)


We need to love water more than oil--Fans at the game spotted a sign above the jumbotron around the fourth inning, and Twitter responded as it usually does, with one giant "#WTF?!?!" Still, point taken giant sign, I'll stop cuddling my own personal barrel of crude oil and start snuggling with an 8 pack of Evian.

Local Boys Done Good--Glen Perkins got the save, Kurt Suzuki had a nice relaxing day in the bullpen catching other guys and Pat Neshek...well...maybe we shouldn't mention Neshek as he took the loss. But he did make it to the All-Star game by a far more circuitous route than any of us would have expected when he was on the final ballot 7 years ago. So in a truly Minnesotan spirit let's just say "good for him."

Minnesotans Don't Like Loud Noises--Fireworks went boom, we were upset, that's all that really needs to be said.

Mike "Derek Jeter" Trout wins the
Derek Jeter award for Derek Jetering

Mike Trout is Good at Baseball--Unfortunately, when he makes his retirement tour the first question he'll be asked was "how did it feel to win the All-Star Game MVP in Derek Jeter's final season?"

So we're on to the second half, and with the World Cup done I might actually blog more frequently! Oh wait, school starts in a month...well, it'll be a fun month at least.

A Game of Cold Weather and Hot Stoves Part III

Lately I've enjoyed toying with the idea of Game of Thrones mastermind George RR Martin would write about key events in the baseball offseason. With the Twins more or less moribund this time of year, it's the best way I can think of to be writing and giggling to myself. (More of the same are available at the sporting outpost Simon and I have set up [http://mackenzielowbudgetsports.tumblr.com/] including the Robinson Cano/Jay-Z Fanfic you've all be waiting for)

This week, George RR Martin writes the Masahiro Tanaka signing

The flickering of the fire off the pin-stripe cloaks armor was inspiring. It glittered and danced most dangerously, reminding all assembled for the royal audience that the king was both wealthy and powerful...and surrounded by a bunch of guys who could kill you just as soon as look at you.

But something made Ser Ivyn uneasy. He had been raised for this, a younger son of an average house he had no claim to property or title, and knew that his only way to survive in this world was to become handy with a sword and set of daggers, learning to hurl and spin them with deadly accuracy, leaving all those under his charge well guarded from the unwashed masses of humanity that hurl insults and feces with equal relish. 

His focus and dedication led him to the highest court in the land, at Yank's Landing, and earned him the noble title of Ser like many of his boyhood heroes: Ser Myke the Wise, Ser Andrew the Unaging, and Ser Rouger the One with Bacne and an Attitude Problem. Ser Ivyn was proud of all he had done, but, still uneasy.

After all, the recent unrest around Yank's Landing had made the King unpredictable, seeking far and wide for sellswords to add to the King's Guard. Some had made themselves invaluable, like Ser SeeSea, but all too often the king ignored the long nurtured, doubtlessly loyal knights (Ser Filip or Ser Jabba), leaving Ser Ivyn forever uncertain about his own future. 

Now there was a special welcome for Ser Teneka, who had been specially sailed across the wide and roaring seas to Yank's Landing. So great was the threat of the insurgents around him that the King sought out the greatest knights in all the world to protect him. And yet, thought Ser Ivyn, how long could you trust a sellsword to remain true? What was to prevent him from turning against you, as Roby had done just months before, vowing that he would be the King in his own way and galloping away with Ser Hova at his side.

There was danger afoot, and Ser Ivyn was uneasy. 

Let me talk about that some more for about 40 more pages without any other events actually happening...

A-Rod's Latest Venture

Last Week, NPRs Comedy/News/Quiz show "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" offered this final question: "Now that he's banned from baseball for a year, what will Alex Rodriguez do next?" While I am by no means a PJ O'Rourke, Luke Burbank or Faith Sailey, this is my answer:

Twi-Night

Volume 1 of "The Magical Game Saga" by Alex Rodriguez 

author of Out of The Ballpark

***

The following galley excerpt reflects the tone of Alex's authorial voice as he goes where pretty much every celebrity goes during their down time these days--into the highly lucrative world of fantasy/paranomal romance/adventure

***

Jessica's chest heaved as she beheld the gleaming, muscular chestnut bodies of the mighty stallions standing before her. Because, chicks dig horses...d'uh.

But these were no normal horses, they were stronger, more powerful and more exquisite than any horse breed Jessica had seen before. And atop each beautiful equine frame was the rippling muscles of a finely defined torso, with human arms and a human face. Because, chicks dig dudes more than horses...double d'uh.

Anyway, Jessica Cameron's eyes beheld these centaurs as they played the greatest, sexiest game ever: Baseball. And they played it, majestically, marvelously, with a grace and flair that had never been seen by human eyes before. And her eyes landed on one centaur in particular, that incredibly handsome boy next door, Alex. The one whose very presence in the hallways made the girls swoon, and Cameron Kate in particular go all weak in the knees.

He turned and saw her. Kate's heart skipped a beat. She turned to run back through the forest, terrified that they would charge her, threaten her, banish her from their beautiful presence forever. But as she ran through the stand of trees she heard the swift clatter of hooves behind her. Without daring to look back, she plunged ahead, until a scattering of leaves on the forest floor made her stop short to see that Alex had out run her...because he had the legs and strength of a horse...so he was like, super fast and stuff.

"You shouldn't have come," Alex said.

"I'm sorry," Kate Torrie muttered, "I just wanted--"

"It's okay, I'm glad you did," Alex told her, "we need your help."

"What?" She asked, her eyes glowing up at him, revering his muscles and beauty like the man-horse-god he truly was.

"Our way of life is threatened, Torrie Fill-in-blank-with-Current-Girlfriends-Name-Here. We Centaurs are a noble race. All we want to do is show humanity the full limits of their potential. We survive and thrive on a special delicacy of the forests, known as the Gummi Bears."

"Gummi Bears?"

"Bouncing here and there, and everywhere. Yes. They are the Gummi Bears. But the wicked troll king of our forest, named Se-lug, has banned all mystical creatures from eating Gummies, even though we totally didn't eat them, but if we did they only helped us reach our best, and who is he to judge anyway, he made millions of dollars off us before, but I don't care, I'm totally above it all, so, whatever you know."

"Totally," she said.

They were in love.

***Twi-Night will--God willing-never be available ever***

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!

Alex Rodriguez: Baseball's A-Hole Boyfriend

Is that a match or a cup of tea?
(sportspickle.com)

I've always been a bit of a softie when it comes to athletes in trouble. I rooted for Nick Blackburn and Tsuyoshi Nishioka to make a comeback when they were as unpopular as they could possibly be, I defended Joe Mauer through the public vitriol that surrounded his last two underwhelming seasons (I even still like Johan Santana despite his recent troubles). It took me a long time to even acknowledge that favorite players from my youth (like Mark McGwire) could be cheating, and once they were I found ways to appreciate their performances despite it all.


So I may seem an unlikely person to say this, but: I want Alex Rodriguez to lose every-damn-thing he has.

Ideally this would be Pete Rose territory. Done for life, reduced to lurking on the fringes of the game, a cautionary tale for all the players who follow.

The 300 Million? I want it given back to the Rangers and Yankees for gross misappropriation--after all somebody who breaks rules has fundamentally stolen from their employer. (Holy cow, I can't believe I want the Yankees to get money back...)

The 3 MVPs? Take them back, mark them void, send him on an apology tour to the homes or clubhouses of every player he cheated his way past in the record books, every player he pushed to join him in using, every player he blocked from a major league debut and the pride of that achievement.

The pull he had over the media (from self-aggrandizing interviews to popcorn-feeding-gate) for the better part of a decade? Ask the media to announce his ban and then refuse him any chance to explain himself. Shut his ass out and give him a national cold shoulder. (Should be particularly painful for a man so insecure and self-obsessed as Rodriguez).

I feel gross even posting this
(totalprosports.com)

Why am I picking on A-Rod? Why berate him, while acknowledging that I can see a case for Bonds, Sosa, McGwire and Clemens in the hall of fame? Why dream up punishments that are totally unfeasible particularly when there's no chance to enact them? Why vent some spleen all over his head while ignoring the frustrations of players on the team I actually care about?

To be honest, I'm not totally sure. Anger doesn't help anything: what's done is done and shouting about it doesn't change what happened.

The depths of his cheating are no worse and no better than those of Bonds et. al. Bud Selig's not about to satisfy my personal whims. And what befalls a delusional multi-millionaire has little effect on other things I worry about (my family, my friends and Oswaldo Arcia's maturation at the plate).

I think ultimately the reason I'm so mad about A-Rod is because I feel personally defrauded.

Like I said, I'm a softie. So when he admitted to using before, I was let down but encouraged by the thought that he would admit a mistake and let us all start fresh. I didn't really want him to break any records, but if he could just move on with some dignity and class, I would appreciate the chance to beat him fairly and squarely.

I wasn't driving the "Forgive and Forget" bandwagon, but I was all for sweeping the ugly incident under the rug and moving on with life. I wasn't going to attend games with chants or sneers or crude signage, I was just going to shake my head and applaud when a Twins pitcher made him look silly.

A-Rod with his one true love
(rollingout.com)

But I was lied to. We were all lied to. Asked to believe that he was more than he is, that he means more than he does, to give him a measure of courtesy that he certainly doesn't feel that average people are entitled to ("I'm going to keep lying to you, you just pretend like you don't mind it")

Alex Rodriguez is baseball's A-hole boyfriend. He cheated on us...twice. He stole our money and spent it on his own obscene comfort.

This isn't Nick Blackburn and Tsuyoshi Nishioka hurting a team by playing poorly; this isn't Joe Mauer or Johan Santana cashing a large paycheck while hurt; this isn't a player who tried and failed despite their best efforts to play well or stay healthy.

This is a player who knowingly and willfully misled a large group of fans, executives and teammates for his own gain....twice. This is a player who knew what he was doing was against the rules and proceeded to do it anyway...twice. This is a person who hurt those who watch, those who play, those who earn their living from a game he supposedly "loves", and who expects us all to let him do it.

Alex Rodriguez is baseball's a-hole boyfriend. Using us, abusing us, insisting that he'll change and that he should be trusted in spite of a god awful track record. I can forgive those who make an effort. I can forgive those who have bad luck. I can forgive those who make a mistake...even if it takes them way too long to admit it.

But I refuse to tolerate, defend or ignore reprehensible behavior. Anger doesn't change that behavior...but it is an honest reaction to it.

Hmmm...honesty....something our a-hole boyfriend might want to try.

Wha Happened #10 (@ Marlins, V.s. Royals, Yankees + Vacation)

We Peanuts will be on vacation in Merry-Old England and Crabby-Old Scotland for the next two weeks.

Game 75
Marlins 4 - Twins 2
After being welcomed to Miami by Will Smith the Twins spend the next day in a haze of scantily clad women and mildly mischievous lyrics, leaving them unable to concentrate at Marlins Park.

Will Smith - Miami from moezechief on Vimeo.

Game 76
Marlins 5 - Twins 3
The Twins have a good deal of early success against Miami's starter in the first inning, they run into trouble against Kevin "Killthrow" Slowey, who savored the opportunity to best the team that let him go. Elsewhere "Dr. Cakeburn" Nick Blackburn, and Boof Bonser plotted their revenges as part of the Legion of Pitching Doom.

Game 77
Twins 3 - Royals 1
The Twins had a lead, but it all looked like it would be for not as the Royals started to find their swing...and that's when Samuel Deduno turned his whole persona up a notch.

"Yo Moustakas, what's greek for better than you: DEDUNO!! HAHAHAHAHA!"
"You know David...your name makes me think...but your swing makes me Lough! HAHAHAHA!! Am I right Bros, am I right?...I'm right."
"Oh, and Eliot Johnson, is it? Say hello to my little friend...his name's Pedro Florimon: KA BOOM!!"

Such was the bro-i-tude of Samuel De-Dude-Bro. It may be obnoxious, but it's in our interest.

Game 78
Royals 9 - Twins 3
Following the previous nights victory, Chairman Joe Mauer (he whose sideburns prompt the moss to grow on trees and whose knees bend into a crouch as the corn stalks droop with their bounty) announced that he would forgo getting hits throughout the series as a sign of his generosity to Kansas City.

"You know, umm...they've had a hard time lately, but ahhh...you know I think they'd really appreciate a little support in their time of need and you know....ummm...hopefully this reminds them that their bourgeois monarchy is a paltry shadow of its former greatness and that they would be better served in a Twins-Territory style dictatorsh--I mean democracy........ya know"

It did not work.

Game 79
Twins 6 - Royals 2
It was a big night as Twins' blogosphere's favorite pitching prospect--Kyle Gibson--made his debut as Kyle Gibson in Kyle Gibson's Twins Debut: Starring Kyle Gibson!! Fortunately Kyle Gibson perfectly embodied the Kyle Gibson-ness of Kyle Gibson by Kyle Gibsoning the Kyle Gibson all over the Kyle Gibson.

Also the Twins won.

Plus! Kyle Gibson

Game 80
Royals 9 - Twins 8
Once upon a time (back in a dark and gloomy age I like to call: 2011) The Twins were prone to face difficult situations and crawl into a little cave of sadness and despair. If they were going to lose it seemed, they might as well lose with their eyes clenched shut and walked real slow and dreamt about an offseason trip to St. Barths.

Sunday, the writing was on the wall. The Twins had a lead and lost it. Every time the Twins got close the Royals came back...but instead of going to their cave of sadness and despair, the Twins kept trying. Showing that even in the face of defeat, they insist on putting forward their best effort.

But they lost. And across the plain those who refuse to enjoy anything shouted: STUPID TWINS! Trying's for chumps!!

Game 81
Yankees 10 - Twins 4
Stupid Yankees.

With the Twins clinging to a one run lead in the 8th Jared Burton entered and then this happened to every Twins fan, Gardy and Burton himself

Also: Stupid Yankees.

Game 82
Yankees 7 - Twins 3
Damn Yankees.

For many years now we have subscribed to the belief that the Yankees are secretly Vampires who leech off of easily duped New York Fans, depriving them of money, human decency and blood to fund the expansion of their empire by turning good baseball players into vampires (and as a result, great baseball players).

You may scoff, but which is more likely: one team making all the right moves for 100 years, or the existence of vampires? (Admit it, it's vampires)

With the injuries and debilitations that have knocked many of the most prestigious Yankpires (your Jeters/A-Rods/Texerias/Grandersons) the Yankees owner-who-shall-not-be-named opted to sign a slew of players, and turn them all into vampires. So it's less like fighting off a single diabolical count (as in Dracula), and more like fighting off a horde of them (as in Underworld or Buffy the Vampire Slayer).

So it was that the Twins succumbed to the death by a thousand-piddly-Yankpire-nibbles

Also: Damn Yankees.

Game 83
Yankees 3 - Twins 2
Seriously, Yankees? Seriously?

You know it's not a good sign when the entire row of people your sitting with gets a little anxious in the fifth (when PJ Walters starts to get hit hard by the bottom of the order).

It's worse when the row of people goes "what's he still doing out there" at the beginning of the sixth.

And it's the worst when there are quickly two men on, first base open and Robinson "I Eat Twins Pitching for Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner and my Tea Time Snack" Cano at the plate...and your faltering pitcher throws to him. (Because that's the moment the entire section of people you're sitting with puts their heads down and just waits for the inevitable boom)

Ballpark Food Haiku

Kramarczek's bratwurst

Plopping mustard, sauerkraut

Out of syllables

Also: SERIOUSLY?

Game 84
Yankees 9 - Twins 5
Oh...god...[sighs, shakes head]...Yankees.

After the first three games, the Twins set slightly lower expectations for their July 4th matinee against the Bronx bombers.
*Objective 1: Kyle Gibson retires future hall of gamer Ichiro Suzuki 1 time! (DONE!!--after two hits and a run...but still...HE DID IT!!)
*Objective 2: Avoid squandering bases loaded opportunities (DONE!!--We only squandered opportunities with two runners on! YAY!)
*Objective 3: Deliver elbow pounds to Justin Morneau (HUZZAH...there was even a reason for doing it!)

Meanwhile, in an alternate reality, our founding fathers set similarly low expectations for their July 4th matinee 237 years ago.
*Objective 1: Declare a couple of ideas to sort of be kind of interesting.
*Objective 2: Address the tyrannical reign of King George the III by passive aggressively not signing or including any kind of personal message inside Ye Olde Hallmarke Carde.
*Objective 3: Only let Ben Franklin drink 13 pints of ale, instead of his customary 15.
...of course in that alternate reality the Minnesota Twins lost their Major League Cricket game to the New York Georges 720 to 15 (but Justin Morneau did hit two sixes...so that was nice...)

Ballpark Food Haiku

Sweet and tangy Pork

Deep Fried Pie and a Ginger

Tastes like freedom, natch.

Finally: SERIOUSLY?!? I mean....SERIOUSLY!?

Mr Peanut: TIE! Justin Morneau and Caleb Theilbar! (One's back in form, the other's never lost it!)
Nutty Buddy: Jared Burton (Come on beardy...let's get it going)

Those Damn Yankees: Dealing With Yankee Fans

Most people have a "Yankees fans stink" story.

Back at the Metrodome, my wife and her father sat in front of three "woo-girls" from Iowa, so desperate for Derek Jeter's attention that they squealed and shouted "pretty much every time he existed". The game didn't matter, just Jeter's existence.

I was in a grad school class on research methods in education, proudly sporting a Twins jersey during game one of the 2009 ALDS. A guy in a gray Yankees jersey standing outside the room stared me down until I turned to see him. He then pounded his chest like a silver back gorilla and mouthed a few "you sucks" at me. Later in the class he returned having written down the scores from different innings to gloatingly inform me of the Twins' loss.

I trust that many readers have their own stories: stories about bandwagon hoppers, profane screamers, self-deluded wannabes who think their shirsey is partially responsible for one of the last 27 World Championships. It's the kind of self-important egomania that is totally anathema to Minnesotan humility/shame/self-deprecation.

The easy solution is to get mad, get defensive or get dismissive, but consider--for a moment--the tragedy of being a Yankees fan.

Part of this has to do with a long standing theory of we Peanuts from Heaven (one that might answer Nick Nelson's supposition that: A record that horrible [23-61 over 10 years] goes beyond what would be expected with even the most lopsided talent differentials. No, there's something else at play here, as if the universe were conspiring to keep the poor little Midwestern Twins under the thumb the Evil Empire"). 

Don't be fooled by
the sparkles...he's a Yankpire

You see, years ago Stinky/Mrs. Peanut discovered that, according to recent scholarship: vampires are the fastest, strongest, most powerful baseball playing creatures on the planet. As my wife reasoned, the Yankees are that fastest, strongest, most powerful baseball playing creatures on the planet. Ergo, the Yankees are vampires. (Or for the sake of our trademark: Yankpires) Over the years we have found a lot of photographic evidence to support this accusation. 

But there's more to vampires than simply dominating baseball games. Since Bram Stoker first reported Count Dracula's ability to exercise total control over the minds of others, innumerable others have suggested that vampires possesses psychic powers. So its reasonable to assume that the Yankpires also have psychic powers...psychic powers which they use to drain unsuspecting Yankee fans of their money, brain cells and human decency. By doing so, they add to their payroll which helps add to their speed, strength and power through free agency, thereby creating more Yankpires who need more Yankee fans to feed upon...it's a vicious circle.

Yankpire victims...oh the humanity

Sure there are decent Yankees fans just as there are jerky Twins fans. I have a former student from New York who politely applauds everyone, a cousin who wears pinstripes to fit in at middle school, and a friend from grad school who disdained the jerk out the window as much as I did. But if we have any hope of ending the Yankpire hex on us--and any interest in making the world a better place, we have to cut off the Yankpire's source of sustenance...Yankee fan stupidity. 

[Cue "Arms of an Angel"]

Won't you please help us save as many potential Yankpire victims as we can.

Won't you please help this baby
avoid a future of jerkiness.

It's so simple. Just donate your time and energy to not being a jackass.

When you encounter a jerk-Yankee fan, don't repay their stupidity in equal measure. Chances are, there are other, embarrassed, Yankee fans near by.  By just not being a total tool, you can help diminish the appeal of being a knob-ish Yankee fan instead of just a regular fan.

Also, if you happen to play for the Twins...beating the vile vampires might also be helpful.

You can make a difference, both to our present and to your children's future.

Thank you for being a Twins fan, a Yankees fan, a baseball fan...AND a decent human being.

Root, Root Root for...? (Our Extremely Biased Guide to the Postseason)

Well, we're a few days into the playoffs but better late than never! We know you've been waiting with bated breath for us to instruct you as to who you should cheer for in the post season...but we're not going to. Instead, we are going to make logical (hah) pro and con lists for each matchup, tell you where our hearts lie, and let you pick from there.

ALDS: TEXAS V. TAMPA

Rangers - PROS
- Everything's bigger in Texas...so...make of that what you will.
- I dare you to find a cooler name than Yorvit Torrealba.
- Josh Hamilton
Rangers - Cons
- I really have nothing against the Rangers, but I traveled to Dallas once for work and wasn't a huge fan.
- ...it's Texas.

Rays - Pros
- I know they're this big power hitting team now, but in my mind the Rays will always be the ultimate underdogs, which makes them cool in my book.
- Their late-season run to eliminate the Red Sox was quite glorious, and very Twins-Circa-2006. Reminds me of when times were good.

- They play in an incredibly ugly dome, which also reminds us of good times.
Rays - Cons
- Johnny Damon

Verdict:
This one's kind of a toss-up. I think I'd feel good either way - but for some reason my heart seems to lie with Tampa.

ALDS: NYY Vs. Detroit

Yankees - Pros

- I'm super excited for the Verlander/Sabbathia matchup tonight after being cruelly robbed of it on Friday.

- Derek Jeter
- Mariano Rivera
Yankees - Cons
- Nick Swisher
- A-Rod
- Smug and obnoxious Yankees fans
- Emperor Palpatine

- Lord Voldemort

Tigers - Pros
- AL Central Solidarity
- Delmon Young... that trade made no sense to me, and I miss my Delmon. I hope he gets a better shot with Detroit than he did with us.
- Justin Verlander
Tigers - Cons
- I make fun of Tigers fans all year (except this year)... it's hard to go from cheering against them to cheering for them
- Detroit

Verdict:
As my dad would say, "Go Delmont!!" I wish to see him prance to a World Series Victory. Go forth and prosper, Detroit Tigers.

NLDS: St. Louis Vs. Philly

Cardinals - Pros
- Albert Pujols
- Nick Punto
- We visited St. Louis on our baseball road trip two years ago: it's a nice city and the fans seem like cool people.
Cardinals - Cons
-.... I honestly can't think of any

Phillies - Pros

- Delicious Cheese Steak

- My friend Lewis lives there

- Amazing pitching rotation of awesomeness

Phillies - Cons

- I once got lost in Philly trying to get back on the highway after stopping for a cheese steak. It was miserable - we were lost for probably an hour and got stuck in ridiculous traffic. You fail, city of Philedalphia.
- High payroll. Pinstriped jerseys. Eastern division domination. Remind you of anyone else we know?

Verdict:
I'm gonna go with St. Louis, more because of how much I like the Cardinals than because of any bad feelings towards the Phillies.

NLDS: Milwaukee vs. Arizona

Brewers - Pros

- Prince Fielder

- Ryan Braun

- If you haven't heard Bob Uecker call a game, you're missing out

- Neighborly love

- New Glaurus

- Cheese

Brewers - Cons

- Neighborly hate

- Constant drunkenness: we also went there on our baseball road trip and saw people passed out on the concourse.

- Strange phallic hot dog races

D-Backs - Pros

- Scrappy young underdog of the NL

- I dunno...I'm generally a positive person

- ...that's about it really.

D-Backs - Cons

- D-Backs sounds suspiciously like D-Bags?

- Douchey Fans: D-Backs hit a home run over Ben Revere's head and a fan yelled "YOU SUCK REVERE!!" When interviewed after the game and asked what he had yelled the fan proudly repeated the sentiment. So apparently Ben Revere sucks for not owning a jet pack? Bad form, D-Backs fans.

Verdict:

We'll give our support to the cheeseheads next door!

Well, that's all we have for now. If you'll excuse me I have to try to stop the cat from eating Ben's tie and shirt buttons.

Throwing an Elbow Minnesota Style

I really thought this time would be different. I thought that I was past caring about how the Twins fared in individual games. I thought that by serenely ignoring the ominous pinstriped cloud heading for Minneapolis, I could stay zen and ambivalent about this whole series.

I was wrong.

After enjoying a nice walk in the early evening we turned on the game just in time to see Nick Swisher hit a three run homer. In seconds, I was calling Swisher more than a few profane names. When Andruw Jones blasted one out deep to left, I turned off the TV before the ball was over the fence. A half-hour later I turned the game back on, and while the little piranhas built a rally for two runs to cut into the Yankee lead, I was far madder about CC Sabathia's petulant tantrum after giving up those runs, than I was happy about the runs themselves.

I shouldn't let the Yankees get to me, but I can't help myself. They turn up, bludgeon the Twins, and leave me feeling worse than an armadillo after getting run over by a semi-truck. It feels like they expect to win, and worse, it feels like the Twins almost expect to lose. We let the Yankees play their game while we play in a fog, just waiting for an umpire's call or flukey hop to justify another loss.

I try not to say what I think the Twins should do--I couldn't hit in Little League, I've never coached and I don't have the experience or information of front office brass, so I trust that baseball pros know more than I do--but last night, just like last May, and last October I found myself wishing that the Twins would follow my advice and do one thing: Throw an Elbow.

There's an apocryphal story that legendary Center Bill Russell never wanted to play dirty and was getting hammered by opponents in the post. After throwing one elbow, in one game, and he stopped getting hassled by the opposition. I can't help but wish that the Twins would do that tonight, start pitching inside to every Yankee batter, knock Texiera on his butt, and be ready to brawl if need be. But that won't happen, we haven't had a real fight with another team since 2003, and it's actually kind of cool to see that the Minnesota Twins, are Minnesota Nice. But that doesn't need to stop us from from throwing an elbow in our own uniquely Minnesotan way: passive-aggressively.

So let's try this: let's have Kevin Slowey quick pitch the Yankees to death. If they get to first base, Morneau can give them the cold shoulder, no chit chat, no banter, just hockey foe death stares. If they get to second Nishioka and Hughes can talk to eachother and pretend that the Yankee isn't there at all. And if they get to third, we'll have a horde of pretty Minnesotan girls squealing when Danny V smiles and offering to give him their phone numbers while telling Jeter and company to get out of the way so they can see Danny more clearly. Then, win or lose after the game, invite everyone in the stadium for a potluck with the team and "oh...yeah...I guess the Yankees could come...but we might not have enough and...we bet they're probably tired still, so...I'm sure they'll understand".

There's my passive-aggressive plan, if you have any other suggestions please leave them in the comments below. The bottom line is that one way or another, we've got to do something differently. Once we do that, once we get a little swagger back and let the Yankees know that win or lose we're going to make their lives difficult every single game, then maybe we won't play like we expect to lose. And we can always remember that when we're in trouble we can just throw an elbow...Minnesota style.

Welp....

That loss was extremely frustrating to say the least. As Gardy said in the post-game last night, an unfortunate inability to hold onto a 3 run lead overshadowed some great performances by a number of players and, especially, an amazing and heroic return to the lineup by Jim Thome. It's really hard for me to continue paying attention to the game when it becomes so depressing and stressful, so my mind starts to wander to thoughts of unicorns and butterflies, or occasionally Harry Potter.

Which leads me to this point - has anyone else noticed the striking similarities between the Twins bullpen, and Dementors? If not, I will list below the resemblances below:
- They suck all the fun and joy out of life.
- They make you feel cold and dead inside.
- They ruin everything.
- They often cause the loss of sports matches, such as Quidditch, or Baseball.

So this leads us to the obvious question - who is Voldemort? My first thought was Trevor Plouffe, mostly because I kind of hate him right now and wish he would go away so we could bring in another infielder who is actually capable of not screwing something up in every single game. But then, I remembered the second purpose of this blog (besides Twins silliness) - making fun of the Yankees. So then I decided that Voldemort is probably Derek Jeter, because really don't we always need an excuse to blame something on Derek Jeter?

"But wait," you say. "Isn't Derek Jeter already a vampire?"
Why yes. Yes he is.
Does Voldemort also drink Unicorn blood, making him also kind of a vampire?
Yes.
Is Drew Butera, in fact, a unicorn?
Yes.
Does that last fact have anything to do with baseball or anything else?
Not really.
I rest my case.

Now, I will go buy a bottle of scotch to drink away the frustration.

Happy Delmon Young Day!!

So...last night was awesome, and though our record is still less than sterling, a come from behind win in the Bronx sweetens this whole road trip dramatically. Best of all it came at the hands of Peanuts from Heaven favorite Delmon Young. We've advocated for Delmon before, believing him to be cooler than others thought. We've seen his ability to surprise the opposition and causing so much distraction in the enemy that they are invariably lost within their own minds. (We call this the art of Supraction (TM)--a talent Young shares with Michael "Magic-Man" Cuddyer, and their pet albino tiger)

So when Del blooped a double to right field and supracted Rope Necklace Aficionado Nick Swisher to tie the game, there was much jubilation among we Peanuts. Even more so when Batgirl (the inspirational godmother to this blog) declared today DELMON YOUNG DAY! And because around here we do whatever Batgirl says, we'd like to offer this song to help everyone sing the legend of Delmon Young. {Note: We started this last night on twitter, and envision it as set to the music that starts at 30 seconds, here.}

Attend the Tale of Delmon Young

He beat New York when a bat he swung

He broke the hearts of all Yankee fans, and excitedly ruined their dastardly plans

He stung the ball as few have stung....did Delmon Young

The Yankee Slayer in Left Field!

He plied his trade at Target Field

And there his talent seemed concealed

But in the Bronx he showed his stuff, and proved that the Twins were actually tough

Did Delmon....yes Delmon Young

The Yankee Slayer in Left Field!

Swing your bat and crush, Delmon, make those jerkwads blush!

Delmon beats the punks whose cleats have terrorized!

Attend the tale of Delmon Young

Who made the Yankees feel like dung

Then taught his mates to score some runs, for he wouldn't want to have all of the fun

Not Delmon...not Delmon Young

The Yankee Slayer in Left Field

HAPPY DELMON YOUNG DAY!!

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy

Stinky and I have been talking throughout the LCS and, strangely that's how we feel. It's odd to be elated in Twins territory right now, I know. But if we put aside our personal pain for a minute we can see happy people, and deservedly happy people at that. There's no doubt about it though, we should be happy for them, no matter what we feel personally.

Last year it was the Yankees V.s. the Phillies, pure pinstriped snootery v.s. what some have called "the Red Yankees". It was hard to watch...in part because so many teams go decades without world series trips or victories and those two teams seem to be ensconced in championship entitlement. Where was the underdog? Where was the heart? Where was the basic human dignity that any other team would have brought to the table?

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Mercifully, though the same series was in the offing this year, we will be spared the pain. Instead we'll see one team who has never ever been to the World Series (Texas) play a team who's last World Series Title came before the Rangers were even created. We'll see my compadres in grodie hair (Lincecum and Wilson...an inspiration to the kids, both of you) versus the single greatest ambassador of nerdery in America today (CJ Wilson). And in the end one group of fans who have been waiting for 50+ years will finally get their reward.

It stinks that we lost. It stinks that we lost to a team that played like chopped garbage against the Rangers. But it's over and done with now, we can obsess over postseason strategizing (to arbitrate or not!!) or we can watch and love the last few minutes of summer before succumbing to the long dull winter. So bring on the World Series and the joy and pain associated with it. As long as there's human decency afoot I'm a happy man.

P.s. I know Stinky's got her favorite, maybe if we all ask politely she'll come and tell us why.

Slump Busters

Okay...so optimism didn't seem to work a whole lot better than despondency. We've now reached 11 straight post season losses and, 8 straight against the Yankees (losing a lead each and every time), home field's no kinder than the road and we're once again at the brink of elimination. Even the opportunity to blame the umpires hasn't softened the hard fact that we're staring down the barrel of the ol' elimination cannon once again.

This is still just a slump, a massive slump, a baffling slump, but a slump never the less. Everyone goes through them and then, with a little bit of good fortune, snaps back out of it. The problem is we can't seem to figure out what that little trick is to snap back to reality. Rally caps? No. Counterclockwise homer hanky waving? No. Flying from Ohio to Minneapolis for game 2? No. I still feel certain that somehow, some way there's one tiny thing that, once done differently will lead to our success in the postseason.

So what's it going to take to snap out of this slump, oh Gods of baseball? Do we sacrifice Danny Valencia to the ladies of New York? Should Orlando Hudson take a vow of silence? Do we need to surgically remove Rauch's tattoos, make everybody play the whole game with Groucho Marx mustache glasses, make every Twins fan watch the game upside down? Do you want that greatest of sacrifices: the Chairman's sideburns? PLEASE DEAR GODS OF BASEBALL GIVE US A SIGN!!!!!!

Monkey on our backs

Lots of people have little nagging annoyances, small things that lurk in the shadows of your life and just pounce when you least expect or want them to. Call it the monkey on your back, the depressing little cur that makes you feel like garbage and turns you from a reasonable person into a quaky, shaky mess.

Like a lot of people, I used to smoke. Not a lot, I never made it to a pack a day, but I did make it an unfortunately frequent habit. Having one after work, or two before bed; what difference did it make? I would smoke in private, and return to my compadres a little smelly, but much the same as I was before. I always wanted to quit but had a hard time doing it. When I finally did quit (about 18 months back) it was not without temptation to regress. Even recently walking to and from class with young people puffing away all around me, I thought about grabbing a pack just to quiet my nerves during the thesis-writing process. So, that's my monkey; maybe for you it's chewing your nails, or a maliciously passive-agressive ex-boyfriend/girlfriend, or, like the nation of India, maybe it's actual monkeys.

I think, for the Minnesota Twins, it's not smoking, or nail chewing, or malicious ex-es, or even real monkeys. The monkey on our team's collective back is a simple little thing called: getting whomped by the New York Yankees. No matter how good we feel, no matter how awesome things seem to be going, when those pinstriped punks turn up and we fall behind just a little bit everything seems to get approximately 10 million times worse. We try not to dramatize it too much, we try to play it cool...but...they just...SUCK! They win...and we lose...and we're left scratching our heads with a collective sense of "what just happened?"

This is tough, painful even, but it's made a little worse by the snide condescension that many Yankees fans throw our way. I mean, cigarettes never jumped out of their packs and called me a loser...sometimes monkeys I met in India seemed to be talking about my goatee...but, they were monkeys, they might have thought I scalped a relative. The Yankees? The Yankees seem to take some perverse pleasure in pointing out our failures...in reminding us of how we are unlike them (what with only two World Series titles as opposed to 27). Heck a New York newspaper published this little gem on Monday, assuming that the outcome of our series was a forgone conclusion.

I know that the Twins players have said they don't care, that New York is just that way and so be it. I also know Yankees do not write this newspaper, and that they are probably, pretty nice guys. I'm sure they take playing against us very seriously, it's just that many of their fans are so arrogant and smug that it feels like we're playing with the weight of several million snobbish brats squatting on our backs point out our failures...like a troop of particularly virulent monkeys.

Some day, we'll loose the Monkey off our back. I rarely crave cigarettes, in part because I have friends who remind me that I was a lot smellier than I remember, and that they want me to stay healthy and alive. I've helped friends ignore malicious ex-es, and seen nail biters change their ways. So I'm sure the Twins will find a way to dump the Empire State sized monkey off our backs...someday. Maybe we should try the Indian solution to "monkeys on the back"...MORE MONKEYS!

Good luck Twins, I'll keep the strategic monkey reserves on standby should we need them.

P.s. The New York Times has an article about this same dilemma, but with much more of a musical theatre reference. This might be over-dramatizing, but it's entertaining.