Twins at Los Angeles or Anaheim, or whatever. Angels 7, Twins 6.

In the early 1800's, the new nation found itself trying desperately to remain neutral while war raged in Europe. With no army to speak of and most of their navy on the D.L., Twins Territory simply didn't have the manpower to fight a war.

Meanwhile, The Anglican Empire of Great Britain had been fighting the Napoleonic Wars for some time and was having a depth problem as well—one which it solved by stopping Twins ships and impressing anyone who even looked British. (And by impressing these sailors, I do not mean that the British could, like, recite pi to the 100th digit or do a killer tap dance, but rather I mean that they took the sailors, stuffed them in a burlap sack, and said, "Guess what? You're in the Royal Navy now! Pip pip!"

Well, one day the Anglicans—called Angles for short—ran across a ship called the U.S.S. Minnesota Infield. The ship was ragged and full of holes, seemingly patched together with a curious combination of haste and reluctance. The ship was staffed by cast-offs from other ships—deadbeats, misfits, and lame-os, and most in the course of service had managed to injure themselves in some ridiculous way or another. It seemed the whole crew was hobbling, bandaged, blind; indeed the ship's doctor, one Mr. Terrence Ryan, was once heard to remark, "I'd shoot the wounded to put them out of their misery, but then there'd be no one left to sail me home."

This did not stop the H.M.S. Adam Kennedy from boarding the Infield, and before anyone knew what had happened, they'd bound and gagged Ship's Boy Little Nicky Punto, stuffed him into a laundry bag, and welcomed him to the Royal Navy.

But Little Nicky Punto was the son of a friend of the President of Twins Territory, and when he got word of the boy's impressment, he decided he had had enough. The President passed an act prohibiting trade with the Angles. Called the Non-Intercourse Act, it was deemed by many to be way harsh.

So it came to pass that in 1812, Twins Territory declared war on the Angles. It was a questionable decision, given the shoddy state of the Infield, not to mention the rest of the roster.

But the Angles were worn out from a tough series against the Oakland Frenchies and at first it seemed that the young and completely unqualified country might whip their red-hatted heinies again, especially with General Johan Santana starting. Even the Infield managed to score some impressive early victories at sea, not to mention the unheralded U.S.S. Backup Catcher.

But the war took a dark turn in the seventh inning. With the bases loaded and the boys desperately needing some insurance battles, Col. Lew Ford flew out. (Ford would later be court-martialed, but acquitted on the grounds that "everybody does it.") Then the Angles came up to bat. Quickly, Chone "Shawn" Figgins blockaded Chesapeake Bay, then Vladimir Guerrero did the same to Long Island, and suddenly the Angles had blockades on first and third. And then Garret Anderson came up to bat.

Well, suffice to say, pretty soon the Angles had hit the boys in blue where they lived and were marching on the Metrodome Plaza. Before anyone knew what had happened, Johan Santana had given up the lead and the Angles had taken over the Metrodome.

Oh, how the Angles enjoyed ransacking that beautiful symbol of Twins power, that elegant embodiment of the young nation! They looted the place, stealing valuable bobbleheads from the souvenir shops and gorging themselves on Dome Dogs. Then, they set it on fire. Laughing, they sat on the Plaza eating BBQ corn while the Dome burned to the ground.

Oh, yes, the Angles hoped to strike at the heart of the young country, to divide its people and set them against their leader. Little did they know that the heart of Twins Territory was much more than a building…

The Twins in the Dome hadn't had much warning about the Angle invasion—indeed they were all set up for a monster truck rally that evening. But when word came, they barely had enough time to flee to their Hummers with their lives. Corporeal LeCroix didn't even have time to save his crawdads.

As the Dome burned, the team gathered at Benihana—exhausted, scared, covered in soot. There were some tears shed, and yes, there was some despair.

"We're ruined," said Sgt. Luis Rivas of the Infield.

"It's over," said Pvt. Jesse Crain of the Bullpen.

"This is ass-crap," said Lt. Kyle Lohse of the Dawghouse.

"Guys," said a voice. "What are you doing?"

They all looked up. First Lady of Twins Territory Corri Ford was standing on a table, holding a large sheet of rolled up blue plastic in her hand. "Stop your moaning!" she commanded. "It’s just a building. No one was hurt, and we can live to take on these Angles another day. Anyway, the heart of Twins Territory isn't the Metrodome."

The players looked around. "It's not?"

"No," she said. "I have it right here." With a flourish, Mrs. Ford unrolled the blue plastic to reveal the smiling portrait of Bob Casey. "I cut it out of the wall before we left."

Silence, then a few sniffles could be heard all across Benihana, then sobs. Pretty soon all the Twins were crying and hugging each other—and not macho back-slapping man-hugs, either, but real full-body hugs.

"She's right," said Lohse.

"A-men!" said Crain.

"Come on guys," said Rivas. "Let's go give Bob his home back. Let's go rebuild the Dome."

"Um," said Corri, "yeah, but this time can we build one that doesn't suck?"

Posted by Batgirl at July 6, 2005 09:48 PM