Tigers at Twins. Tigers 4, Twins 2.

About a half hour before the game, Twins Skipper Ron Gardenhire could be seen wandering through the clubhouse, calling, "Has anyone seen Nick?"

It seemed utility man Nick Punto was supposed to start at 2nd today, but nobody had seen him since batting practice. Gardy was starting to get concerned. He looked under benches and in cabinets and lockers, in gym bags and under overturned shoes, but Punto was nowhere to be found.

"Anyone?" he called. He found Koskie simonizing his head in front of the mirror.

"Hey, Corey? Have you seen Nick?"

Koskie shook his head. "Haven't seen him, eh?"

"Gol-dangit!"

Next, Gardy found Guzie, who was putting some mousse in his goatee.

"Hey, Guzie? Donde esta Punto?"

But Guzie just shrugged. "No se."

Doug Mientkiewicz was sitting next to Guzie, but for once he wasn't talking.

Gardy eyed him. "Mint?"

Dougie gestured to his mouth—he couldn't talk, he was whitening his teeth.

No one had seen Punto. Gardy would have to scratch him. And he was worried; it wasn't like Nick. But he couldn't think about it now—he had a game to manage.

But when Gardy saw Detroit starting pitcher Nate Robertson, he stopped. Something was very weird about that guy.

"Hey, Scottie," Gardy muttered to his bench coach. "Look at Robertson."

Ullger squinted. "Man," he said. "Looks like he swallowed someone whole."

Chills wracked Gardy's body. It was true. Nate Robertson had swallowed Nick Punto.

The only consolation for Gardy was that the digestive processes would surely affect Robertson's performance. Or so he thought. Alas, the slow digestion of Punto seemed to give the pitcher the edge he needed. He taunted the Twins—scattering base hits hither and thither, giving them a taste of victory, but then shutting them down. "I will swallow you all!" he shouted.

The Tigers, meanwhile, scattered their hits in the form of solo homeruns. And if you're going to scatter hits, that's the way to do it. First Radke gave up a lead-off Infante homer, then the Pudge homer in the 4th, then Dmitri Young in the 6th, then Aaron Fultz took a turn with Marcus Thames in the 7th, at which point Batgirl and Jeb simultaneously screamed, "Goddammit!"

But while their offense proved powerful, in a sort of onanistic kind of way, their defense was more spastic than the BatKitties on triple espressos. I'm not really sure what happened to Michael Restovich in the fifth—he was on second, Guzie hit a single, Resto rounded third—and then froze like a deer in the headlights. Twice. But as Newman's Law goes, no matter how incompetent your baserunning is, the Tigers defense will be worse. Two runs and, like, eight misplays later, it seemed destined that the Tigers would throw away the game.

But you can't underestimate a pitcher who's just had a good meal, and Robertson managed to overcome all the startling defensive inadequacies—until the seventh, when he began to feel a little gassy. Yet the Twins failed to capitalize on his gastric distress—or on the more general distress of the Tigers' bullpen.

You can't blame them, really—word about the fate of their vertically-challenged comrade had begun to spread through the dugout, and the players only had one goal; finish the game before Punto is fully digested, get Robertson on the training room table, and have Jimmy Kahmann do a little Punto-ectomy.

No word yet on the success of the operation, though we'll keep you posted. And, of course, our thoughts and prayers are with Nick Punto, wherever he may be.

Posted by Batgirl at July 10, 2004 08:51 PM