Twins at Anaheim. Angels 9, Twins 6.

It's 12:00 am. Do you know where your kitties are?

Mine are sleeping. BatKitty One is curled up in a chair, drooling happy, and BatKitty Two is passed out on the bed like a cheap whore after too much malt liquor. I mention this because it is the last West Coast road trip of the season, and the very last day Batgirl has to be up well past her bedtime trying to digest and synthesize the baseball-related program activities of the evening for her beloved Batlings, and Batgirl just doesn't have anything to say tonight. I mean, we lost. Radke went all Lyle Koshe (that's Kyle Lohse's evil twin) on us, Shannon Stewart went all t-ball, and Justin Morneau had about as much success in his final at bat as Justin Guarini did in his post-Idol career. What's more to say than that? But instead of helping Batgirl, the kitties have retired for the evening. Bastards.

Batkitties, flaking out.

Tonight, Batgirl is attempting to do said synthesizing while watching a re-broadcast of the Olympic Tae Kwon Do women's flyweight competition. A very small Spanish woman is trying to kick the ass-crap out of a very small Thai woman, and the announcers keep calling them the "Spanish fighter" and the "Thai fighter." Batgirl finds the latter extremely amusing, and keeps breaking out in giggles each and every time he says that. She expects said Thai fighter to start making laser-blaster noises at any moment. Pitoo! Pitoo! Pwoom! Pwoom!

I have you now, Spanish fighter.

None of which has anything to do with baseball. But the truth is, Batgirl's been off all day. Not off to the extent Brad Radke was off tonight, but, off nonetheless. Food didn't taste right, babies looked at her askance, and she referred to her beloved BatKitties as cheap whores. Was it general ennui or yesterday's loss that enervated Batgirl so? Batgirl thinks it was the latter; there was something about the nature of the ass-kicking that seemed particularly harsh, as if the Texas Rangers were just trying to get Batgirl back for implying that their home state doesn't have good public transportation. Don't mess with Texas. 'Cuz it'll come back and kick your ass.

"Who's got maple leaves coming out of their ass now?"

Usually, when your team has chances early, as the Twins did yesterday, if they don't convert you think it's just a harbinger of offense to come. Like if you get the bases loaded in the first inning with one out, you don't then expect to spend the rest of the game watching your batters go down one, two, three, one, two, three, like a really sad scoreless waltz.

"My love, perhaps next time we should try hitting into a double play!"

And you certainly don't expect it to happen two games in a row. Batgirl returned from her evening visit to the multiplex to find the game tied 2-2, but the Twins had the bases loaded with just one out and Corey Koskie was at the plate. Oh, Aaron Sele, Corey Koskie's going to hit the ball so hard that you're going to need to borrow an appendix from Chan Ho Park's sister, and… Oh, you get the drill. Suffice to say Koskie lined the ball to Adam Kennedy, and the rest was silence.

You couldn't score, either?

Except of course for the expletives muttered by Cordel when Curtis Pride slid into third—or rather slid into Corey's leg, which was placed handily between the oncoming Pride and the base. Dick and Bert then played a montage of Koskie's various injuries over the season, set to "The Way We Were."

There's not much else to say, except that if I were a betting person, I would place a good deal of money on Ron Gardenhire having a little talk with Justin Guarini after the game about striking out on three pitches with two outs in the ninth inning.

Sorry, Skip!

Oh, and one more thing:

See you tomorrow!

Posted by Batgirl at August 28, 2004 01:12 AM