Twins at Tigers. Twins 3, Tigers 2.

After much struggle, Team Batgirl has returned home after a long, difficult voyage into the wilds of the nation of Canadia. Canadia, as you know, is the home of the beloved and powerful Dr. Morneau and his great boomie boomie stick, as well as the birthplace of the great Cordel Koskos, a mythical third baseman whose body parts are held together entirely by duct tape. Canadia is a magical place, full of mystery, and we knew we would encounter much to make our senses alive with wonder.

We were prepared for the Canadian people and their native ways—what with their primitive language, made up mostly of a series of grunts dotted with a syllable that linguists have best described as eh?, their wardrobes consisting entirely of myriad and creative uses for polar fleece, and their bizarre all-consuming addiction to the ritual known as "hohk-ee." We were prepared for untamed wilderness and wild creatures, we were prepared to suffer from terrible cold and hunger, we were prepared for whatever we might encounter—or so we thought. But Canadia proved to be a much harsher mistress than even myth or legend had told us.

It was late one night, deep in the unforgiving, harsh, brutal wilderness. Batgirl was on her own; the rest of Team Batgirl had stayed behind in the small town of Cootchiekoo leading one last sass lesson—surely all of Newfoundland heard the village elders come together as one and cry, SIT DOWN, BITCH! But Batgirl had to go on; she had a date with a shaman by a mountain stream who had promised a magical elixir to help Kyle Lohse get over himself. Clearly, Batgirl could not miss this appointment.

She hiked on, well into the night, through the rocky, snowy terrain, climbing glaciers and swimming in misty fjords, amongst the howls of the bear and the mooses until, finally, she reached the rendezvous point. She was several hours early and so decided to unroll her TC Bear sleeping bag and take a long nap.

Was it a dream? Or was it real? Batgirl cannot know for sure. But it felt real to her. For suddenly she felt herself in the presence of a great warmth. She shot awake, only to find that a great white light had suddenly pierced the Canadian night. It was coming toward her. What devilry was this? Batgirl's hands flew up to her eyes, and still she could see the light coming right toward her. Good or evil? Friend or foe? Twin or Bitch Sock? She could not tell, all she could do was wait.

And then, slowly, a form began to appear in the light. Batgirl squinted and stared, until she began to make out a face.

Her hands dropped. She sighed. "Lyle? What are you doing here?"

"That's Kyle!" the form said. The light dimmed, the form took shape, and Batgirl found herself staring at the ghostly form of Kyle Lohse.

Oh, Batgirrrrrrl!

Batgirl put her hands on her hips. "I'll call you Kyle when you start pitching like Kyle," she said firmly. "Anyway, Lyle, what are you doing here? I'm trying to sleep! I've got a very important meeting with a shaman."

He waved his hands in the air. "Batgirl, there is no shaman. It's all a ruse. I've astrally projected myself from Minnesota to deliver a message to you."

Batgirl sighed heavily. "More like Ass-tral. Lyle, what is it now?"

"See!" he said. "That's just it. You've been so mean to me this year. I mean every time I read Batgirl, you're making fun of me. You've made me look like an egomaniacal airhead who blames all his problems on everyone else."

Batgirl just raised her eyebrows.

"I mean," he continued, "maybe there was some nice stuff in the bigger words I couldn't understand. But anyway. I just want to let you know, I'm going to get my revenge. You'll see!"

And with that, he let out a loud cackle and floated off into the night. In the wrong direction.

Not much fazes Batgirl, but the encounter did make her nervous. Was it real? What did he have planned? Not that she worried that his great mind could craft some terrible revenge, but really, does anyone want anything to make Kyle Lohse more tangled in emoshy than he already is?

Batgirl should have known better.

The first clue as to his diabolical plan came yesterday, when Batgirl heard Dazzle and Gordo say how much the Twins would like Lohse to get it together so they could install him as the THIRD STARTER in the playoffs, given Silva's BP experience and Terence John's lefthandedness. (Though I repeat, BatMom is a lefty, and she's not that much older than TJ, and is quite available for the playoffs.) Chills went down Batgirl's spine—what if somehow Lyle managed, miraculously, to NOT SUCK for the rest of the season and they decided to start him in the playoffs?

Ah, Lyle, you evil bastard. For that, apparently, was his plan all along, and his midnight visit was no dream. What better way to torture poor Batgirl than to raise the specter of his sorry little chin pubes on the mound for Game 3 of the ALDS? What better revenge could there be? Of course, if Lyle managed to become Kyle again for three whole starts in a row in September, Batgirl might be better, but no. No! He was going to give the appearance of being a good pitcher while actually sucking. Oh, Lyle, you are as devious as you are neurotic.

Like today, Lyle managed to put together a near-quality start while sucking the entire time! I mean, sure, when Carlos or Terence John pitch almost six innings and allow two runs, we feel a great sense of peace wash over us, the birds sing only for us, the sun shines on us, the roses bloom--but they usually manage to do it without, you know, pitching like ass-crap. Yes, I said ass-crap, Lyle. You heard me, ass-crap. Yes, you got out of all the jams, which is much, much, much better than usual. Usually you dive square into the jams, you say, "Jams! I love you! Let me immerse myself within you still yet further!" But nonetheless, did there have to be so very many jams tonight? Did you have to be in one in every inning? And I mean, this is the Tigers, and they were dropping like flies all over the place, and while they excel at helping pitchers get them out of jams, in the playoffs we'll be facing people who excel in hitting the ball very, very far.

So I fear it will be like this for the rest of the season. Lyle will pitch like ass-crap, but better ass-crap than before and we'll have to spend all of September gnawing on our livers in fear that he'll astrally project himself right into the rotation. May God have mercy on our souls.

Posted by Batgirl at September 11, 2004 09:31 PM