Doctor go boom. Ball go far. Batgirl go "Wheeee!" Batgirl make Doctor the Boyfriend of the Day.
Jeb/Lewwww 5, Field/ Readers 4, Goober/Dr. Morneau 3, Sooz/ Stewie 2, Batgirl/Joe 1.
Okay, Bradke, honey, I want you to really focus in that first inning for Batgirl, okay?
(Batgirl has to put up the monkey, because Jeb did yesterday and we won.)
First of all, a huge B.O.D. shout out to Cuddles McDimply for a streak-busting, 3 RBI performance. Cuddles certainly is the player of the game and in some other family's competition, the boyfriend of the day. But Team Batgirl's boyfriends do take precedence and they can hardly be said not to have had a good game. Lew Ford played remarkably well for someone who bunted a ball off his face just the day before, Stewie and Joe both had key hits, but Dr. Morneau, well, he just has flames coming off his bat. But not, like, in a scary way. He was 3 for 4 today with 2 runs, playing a role in three of the five run-scoring innings, making him seven of his last nine and, of course, the Boyfriend of the Day
Jeb/Lewwww 5, Field/ Readers 4, Sooz/ Stewie 2, Goober/Dr. Morneau 2, Batgirl/Joe 1.
Mr. Monkey, meet the Jackal.
Man Crush shirts=4 for Lew, 3 Johan, 1 each LeCroy, Jones, and Morneau.
Newly Made, Little Nicky Punto Boyfriend and Man Crush shirts.
A late surge by Dr. Morneau coming off his concussion. Batgirl must admit she's very surprised at the low number of Sweetcheeks shirt sold. I mean, it's Sweetcheeks!
Twins 6, Royals 5. (11 innings)
Oh, my Batlings, there's really no way to describe today's game, except perhaps for Batgirl to take all the cans in her pantry and open them up and throw the contents against the wall and then take a picture of the wall and print it up and feed the picture to one of the Batkitties and wait a few hours and then go to the Batkitty Litter Box then throw the result on the wall too and then try to clean the whole thing up, accidentally mixing ammonia and chlorine bleach, which my dears you should never ever do, and then having Jeb find her and the Batkitties passed out on the floor and he has to take them to the hospital where they are all miraculously revived, but not before vomiting various substances into a puddle on the floor that one of the orderlies trips on and skids down the hallway, through the operating room doors, and lands head first in someone's right breast implant, which promptly explodes in everyone's faces. The game was like that. Kind off.
It all started innocently enough. Kansas City pitcher Runelvys Hernandez, who had promised a victory today, began by getting Shannon Stewart to ground-out. A good start, but then he promptly walked Jason Bartlett, hit Lew Ford, gave up a single, a long sac fly, and a walk before retiring Corky (Corky) Miller for the 3rd out. Oops.
That three–run lead was enough for Lohse…at least for two innings. In the third, the Royals came back with two singles, a triple, and a sac fly and suddenly the game was tied. All was very peaceful for some time, with Hernandez acting all good-pitcher-y, and Lohse surviving another inning until somehow he managed to hurt himself while hitting Angel Berroa, which is some feat. But Shaggy Guerrier performed ably in long relief, and the Twins came back in the 7th thanks to some heroics by Justin Morneau and Lew Ford, and took a 5-3 lead. Jacque and Stewie flashed some leather in the bottom of the inning, and then Juan Rincon came in—and game over, right?
Right?
Well, it should have been, but nothing's right when you have Corky (Corky) Miller starting. The guy has yet to have a hit on the season and due to some sort of cause/effect yin/yang action/reaction energies-in-the-universe thingy his presence in the line-up sends the rest of the players into hyperdrive, manifesting in things like Juan Rincon pitching as if he's trying to hunt for snipes as opposed to, you know, getting the batters out. It's fine to hunt for snipes, but do it on your own time, Juan. One walk, a passed ball, and two wild pitches later, the Royals had gained a run, but Rincon recalled himself in time to get out of the inning with the lead in tact.
So, we went into the bottom of the ninth with a one-run lead and the Vice President coming onto the mound, so really, game over, right?
Right?
No. Angel Berroa led off with a double, which was totally inconsiderate of him. And then—well, it all gets foggy. David "Oh" DeJesus hit a deep fly to Lewwww and Berroa broke for third and Lew made a beautiful throw to Juan Castro at 3rd who didn't exactly catch it. The ball dribbles away and the Veep fields it and throws to home—too late to get Berroa. Tie game. Batgirl dazed and confused. Batkitties all out of sorts. Wrong. All wrong. Up is down, day is night, and the Royals came back on Joe Nathan to tie the game.
So, into extra innings we go, Batgirl popping a lot of Ambirioxes, but then Dr. Morneau—who had been healing Batgirl's woes all over the place all game—led off with a single. Then Torii Hunter walked and all seemed so well in the world. Runners at first and second, no outs—what could go wrong? Game in hand, right?
Right?
So, the good Doctor gets lifted for pinch runner Luis Rivas, which is a good move, really, for the good Doctor may have many fine qualities but running isn't really one of his skills, unlike, say, cake-building or hitting the ball really, really hard. Or it would have been a good move had Rivas not immediately gotten picked off second. I mean, Morneau could have done that all on his own. Except he probably wouldn't have because he wouldn't have dared move his feet off second on account of how damn slow he is.
Well, the Royals threaten—and I mean threaten—in the bottom of the tenth. They took a knife up to our throats and pressed it so hard into the skin that they drew a little blood and they made that little sound Hannibal Lecter makes that gives Batgirl the willies and pressed the knife in a touch harder—and then proceeded to pop out a couple times.
Then, finally, Gardy substituted Joe Mauer for Corky (Corky) Miller and all was well in the universe again. Energies balanced, yins yanged, and the good Chairman drew a lead-off walk. One Little Nicky Punto sac bunt later, Mauer was on second, Lew Ford was up to bat, and soon the Twins had their victory. Not soon enough mind you, but still.
Now, there's been some gnashing of teeth and pounding of chests about how close these games with the Royals have been, but, you know, it's what you do in the one-run games that matter. We won. They didn't. The sign of a good team is the one that can pull it out in late innings, that can win by one run, that can come back when Juan Rincon starts thinking he's playing a few rounds of Crazy Pepe's Chug and Throw at the Caracas Summer Festivale. We are 6-0 against the Royals now, we pulled out all of the victories--yes, sometimes from the deepest, darkest recesses of our bums but we still pulled them out—and that, my friends, is a good thing. So smile for Batgirl, and prepare for the Los Angeles Angels of Incredibly Stupid Names.
First of all, there are any number of Minnesota Twins who owe Justin Morneau—and by extension, Goober—a profuse apology. I mean he was all set up to be the B.O.D. and then some, what with going 4 for 5 with two RBIs and having a nice pick on an errant Jason Bartlett throw in one late inning or another (it's all a blur right now). But then the game went into extra innings (we don't want to talk about that, really) and after a lead-off hit in the tenth Morneau was lifted for a pinch runner—who promptly got picked-off.
Now, Morneau's performance was still exemplary, but close behind him in the early B.O.D.-stakes was one Lew Ford who broke the tie in the 7th with an RBI double. Then, in the 11th, Ford came up with two outs and Mauer on second and singled to left, scoring the Chairman and giving the Twins the lead, and the victory, and giving himself the Boyfriend of the Day
NOTE TO GOOBER: No talkbalk—the B.O.D. bylaws very specifically specify that the boyfriend who most contributes to the Twins victory gets the coveted B.O.D. Actually, there's no talkback anyway. That's in the bylaws too.
Jeb/Lewwww 5, Field/ Readers 4, Sooz/ Stewie 2, Batgirl/Joe 1, Goober/Dr. Morneau 1.
Come on boys, BG wants a sweep.
Something wonderful happened in the 8th inning of today's game against the Royals—and, no, I do not mean the DQ run that Goober made for the benefit of all in the BatQuarters, though that was pretty nice, too. Yes, there is nothing like a good DQ Blizzard, a small with Snickers and Oreos, to take the edge off. In fact, Batgirl recommends that every Batling go out and get a DQ Blizzard right now, in fact get one for your whole office, and when you go tell them Batgirl sent you, and then maybe they'll send her some freakin' coupons. I mean here Batgirl is plugging fine quality Cambria countertops and Gutter Helmets and Snapper Lawn Mowers and Kitty Blackhead-Be-Gone Topical Cream 'til the cows come home, and does she get any freakin' swag? No. Where's my damn swag? All these Twins games are are one big promotional opportunity after another what with the Just For Men Rejuvenating Play and the Chrysler Keys to the Game and the Land O' Lakes Bonehead Play of the Game and the Huggies Ass-Swing of the Day, so why not Batgirl? I ask you? Just write me at PimpYourStuff@Bat-girl.com and send me some free crap and then I'll make official Batgirl sponsorships...like no one's sponsored the BOD yet or Batgirl's Foulmouthed Rant of the Day or the Random Bitch Sox Swipe of the Game. I'm totally open. As long as you send me shit.
But I digress. Something wonderful happened in the 8th inning of tonight's game, and no it wasn't the delicious take-out sushi from Origami West that Goober got us. (Have you tried their G-roll? My god, it's like you've died and gone to heaven, and who knew heaven was so full of raw fish? Batgirl's totally been a vegetarian since Kent Hrbek was skinny, but she makes an exception for sushi because it's so delicious and she is here to tell you right now that nowhere is it more delicious than at Origami. The problem is, it's so damn expensive, and the Batkitties do like their spicy tuna rolls. So she needs coupons. Coupons, people!)
Okay, anyway, something wonderful happened in the 8th inning of tonight's game and it had nothing to do with any product placement whatsoever. Mike "Please Stop That You're Scaring Me" MacDougal walked Jacque Jones –and no, that wasn't the wonderful thing, because we're totally used to that by now and I mean, ho-hum, jeez Jacque why don't you strike out once in a while, eh? Once a game maybe (it can be the Free Spalon Massage Li'l Sweetcheeks Strikeout of the Game, and I'll work out the details. K?) And then Big LeRoy forced Li'l Sweetcheeks over (and might I add that BatMom could have made it to first on his grounder crawling, and BatMom is quite athletic but her crawling is totally subpar, so that would be the Starbucks Liqueur Big LeRoy Is Slower Than A Drunk Slug Play of the Game) and there was nothing really wonderful about that either. But the wonderful thing, my dears, was the next batter, one Michael Cuddyer who effected the Science Diet Oral Care (Batkitty #2 has dental problems and they are expensive) Wonderful Thing of the Game. Yes, my friends, DJ Cuddles got a base hit.
And then, do you know what happened? DJ Cuddles smiled. It was the (Insert Name of Whichever Dentist Will Give Batgirl and Jeb a free check-up or maybe some dental insurance for the love of god) Smile of the Game, and it was a beautiful one. It was bigger than the smiles of Little Nicky Punto, Shannon Stewart, and Jason Bartlett when they combined for two runs with two outs in the third, bigger than Big LeRoy's smile when he hit a two-run blast in the fourth (when you hit a homer, see, you don't have to run so fast. It's all good.) It was bigger than Joe Mays' smile after pitching five strong innings and bigger even than his frown after giving up an RBI double and a two-run dinger in the sixth. And when the Twins rallied in the 7th thanks to a bases loaded triple by Jason Bartlett, there were smiles all around, oh yes, but no, not as big as Cuddy's.
For DJ Cuddles, not to put too fine of a point on it, has been sucking it up big, bigger than one of those Roomba vacuums Batgirl's heard so much about, but without quite as much range. And this sucking has not been as hard on anyone in TwinsLand as it has on the good DJ himself, and his sweet little dimples have been looking awfully flaccid lately. And sucking, as we all know, perpetuates more sucking, (that's the iTunes Truism of the Chino Latino Game Recap) and once you ground into a double play with the bases loaded three or four times, it's hard to come back from that.
In fact, big smiles could be seen all around the Twins' dugout tonight as the Twins remembered what it was like to hit with runners in scoring position, what it was like to score runs for your pitchers, what it was like to have big late inning rallies and victories over the freakin' Royals that are more than one run. And you know what it's like? It ROCKS.
Surely, it can't have hurt that the Bitch Sox lost their second game in a row today—and now, Batgirl is totally against scoreboard watching until after the All-Star Break and she cares not a whit for standings until then, but for the last ten days much of Bitch Sox Nation has been irritating the crap out of Batgirl, more than even the Mac G5 Desktop Good-Hearted Representatives of same can compensate for, so there was a great pleasure in loading up the MLB TV highlights (not a plug…she actually did) and watching Joe Crede throw his arm in front of a curveball in a critical late-game situation and get called back by the ump to the batters box–and then the Bitch Sox announcers, who Batgirl holds personally responsible for creating the kind of environment that engenders all the hateful e-mail and moronic trolling she has been subject to, start bitching and moaning about how unfair it all is—because, really, people should be ALLOWED to throw their arms in front of curveballs and when they get called back for it and then pop out and throw their bats in irritation, they should NOT be thrown out of the game but rather snuggled for all they've had to bear—and Batgirl can only squeeze herself with glee and say, in the Mini Cooper Convertable Shout to the Heavens, "It's great to be alive."
But it would be better with free crap.
In the 6th inning of tonight's game, the Kansas City Royals turned a 4 run deficit into a 4-4 tie. In the 7th, Michael Cuddyer walked, Little Nicky Punto led off with a base hit, then Shannon Stewart got hit by a pitch. In Batgirl's very recent memory, having the bases loaded with no outs did not necessarily portend good things for the Twins, but today Jason Bartlett changed all that with one beautiful swing. Before anyone knew what happened, Bartlett—who already had an RBI double in the game—had come into third base with a triple, the Twins had gone ahead by three runs from which they would never look back, and Bartlett had given himself his very first Boyfriend of the Day.
The B.O.D.S.H.C. would like to extend special boyfriend recognition to LNP (Little Nicky Punto). Dare to dream, Little Nicky.
Jeb/Lewwww 4, Field/ Readers 4, Sooz/ Stewie 2, Batgirl/Joe 1, Goober/Dr. Morneau 1.
Care to make it two in a row? Batgirl would.
Twins at Kansas City. Twins 2, Royals 1.
It was a battered and bruised Twins line-up that came into Kauffman Stadium today. After a weekend snowed-in in Dearborn, MI, the players found themselves suffering from all sorts of strange luxury-hotel related injuries. Jason Bartlett tore his fingernail trying to move the hotel TV while Juan Castro awoke with a stiff neck, probably because his pillows were not well-fluffed. Lew Ford got a blister on his thumb from spending two days playing Super Mario Brothers on the room's Nintendo while Matt LeCroy suffered severe butt-burn doing cannonballs in the hotel pool. Juan Rincon ate all the mints off the turn-down service cart and got a major case of the Nook Logans, while Little Nicky Punto crawled into a housekeeper's cart during a game of utility infielder hide-and-seek and when he was finally discovered locked in by a maid early Monday morning he was frozen in a crouched position and had to be carried around all day by Carlos Silva. But at least he won. Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau somehow overrode the parental controls on the televisions and watched adult films for 36 hours straight and I don't really want to say what their injuries were. Even the Twins that got out suffered—Torii Hunter and Jacque Jones decided to make use of the time off to expand their cultural horizons and went to the Vintage Couture exhibit at the Henry Ford Museum but ran into Dmitri Young and needless to say, some feathers were fluffed. The fur flew! Seams puckered and hems dropped! Hats went in rings and panties in wads! Issues skirted and shirts stuffed! Belts tightened and shoes fit! They really "socked" it to him! He's probably going to need stitches!
So, anydoodle, on the plane on the way to Kansas City last night, Juan Castro could be found trying to stretch out his neck while Lew Ford worked to force his hands out of their semi-permanent claw position while Juan Rincon sat real close to the bathroom while Matt LeCroy iced his buttocks while Little Nicky Punto let the team doctors try to bend him back in position while Mauer and Morneau…ah, well, never mind what they did. The point is, Gardy could barely field a whole line-up today after the ill-fated series at the Dearborn Ritz-Carlton, but fortunately, he didn’t really have to, because the Twins would be playing the Kansas City Royals, the best crapball team in the AL. Oh, and Johan Santana was pitching and while his teammates were frolicking about doing cannonballs and playing games and visiting museums and scarring their fragile little minds, he spent the weekend in a Jedi trance preparing for today's game. And the thing about Jedi trances is you can do them anywhere, even hellholes like the Ritz Carlton in Dearborn, Michigan. You can do Jedi trances in Peoria, IL or Gary, Indiana or Assville, Alabama or even the freakin' south side of Chicago if you want to. At least you can if you are Johan Santana and you are a Jedi Knight of Pitching Awesomeness. So, before the game tonight, Gardy apologized to Johan, as he often has to. "I'm sorry, Jo, I got eight goons and a gimp hitting tonight," and Johan just smiled his big smile and said, "Happy Birthday!" And then he said "Merry Christmas!" And then he said, "It is no problem, Skip, for I am Johan Santana, I am President of the United States of Batgirl, and I am here to win this game." And Gardy teared up a bit and said, "I love you, Jo," and Johan said, "I know," and Gardy said, "No, no, I really love you." And Jo said, "It's okay. I understand. Men tell me they love me all the time." And Gardy said, "I know, I know, but I really love you. Like not just like-love, but love-love." And Johan said, "I know, Skip, I know," and gave Gardy a huge hug. And then he took the mound and proceeded to make the Royals feel very, very bad about themselves.
Okay, maybe not worse than they felt already, I mean the Royals feel so bad about themselves they're dressing up in little sleeveless pixie shirts as an emblem of their disgrace, but if they could possibly be made to feel any worse about themselves, Johan would have done it tonight. He pitched eight innings and struck out eight tonight, which for him is like a bad night, but at one point he got five outs in a row on strike-outs. And it seemed then that Johan Santana would just strike out every batter he faced for the rest of the year, because he's Johan Santana, and that is just the way of things. Fish gotta swim and birds got to fly and Johan Santana, well, he gots to strike the people out.
Oh, sure, there was a run allowed, nothing to speak of really, and it wouldn't have been a problem had Jose Lima not channeled his inner Santana and become, like, all good and stuff after the first inning. Really! And when we had a threat going in the 8th—causing Lima to have a total meltdown and need to go off and have a little "Lima time," the Royals "Good Bullpen Pitcher" Andy Sisco came out and got the job done.
So it's the 9th inning, tie ballgame, and Batgirl can just see this thing going into extra innings and messing up our whole bullpen and making Batgirl very tense and sleepy. And the "Good Bullpen Pitcher" gets Jacque Jones to ground out, which just shows you how good he is, I mean Jacque Jones! Despite a small room-service mishap, he's on FIRE.
Well, anyway, then a great miracle happens:
Tony Pena takes the "Good Bullpen Pitcher" out.
Yes, yes, it's true. Pena replaces the "Good Bullpen Pitcher" with "Someone Just Up From AA," a chap by the name of Ambiorix Burgos, which is all very appropriate because Batgirl has been popping a lot of Ambiorixes to get through these games. Ambiorix gives up a single to Big LeRoy, then a walk to DJ Cuddles, then Stewie—who had been out for the game because he dropped one of the hotel's dumbells on his foot during his 48-hour workout session, and that just SMARTS!—pinch hits for Rivas and almost hits into a double play. But he doesn't. He DOESN'T. Because we are playing the Royals and the Royals literally and figuratively drop the ball and that allows Lew Ford to come to bat.
The rest, my darlings, is B.O.D. history—except to say that Joe Nathan pitched a 1-2-3 ninth. Strangely, he only struck out the last batter, but that's probably because he'd spent a little too much time in the Ritz's hot tub and was feeling a little lightheaded. It happens.
Two outs in the top of the ninth, runners on first and second, game tied at one. Lew Ford steps up, and somehow Batgirl just knows she has her B.O.D. So, apparently, does Lew—who bloops the ball into right field to score DJ Cuddles and give the Twins a win, causing great rejoicing in the game thread and making himself the Boyfriend of the Day
Jeb/Lewwww 4, Field/ Readers 3 ( 1 each Hunter, Tiffee, Santana.), Sooz/ Stewie 2, Batgirl/Joe 1, Goober/Dr. Morneau 1.
Twins at Detroit. Detroit 6, Twins 4.
Despite some late inning heroics by Justin Morneau, the Twins let the game roll by them when Juan Rincon, still apparently suffering PTSD from Mike Sweeney's steal attempt on Thursday, started throwing the ball all over the field. None of that was as bizarre, though, as the non-fight between J.C. Romero and his countryman Ivan "Slim" Rodriguez.
Since the game was not televised, perhaps you were not able to see the altercation, but Batgirl, thanks to her extensive contacts in the military and aerospace industry, was able to view the satellite feed and now presents for you—a reenactment.
It's the bottom of the eighth inning, with the Tigers ahead by one run. J.C. Romero allows a lead-off single to "Nook", then Brandon "And the Angry"* Inge bunts him to second. With "Nook" on second, Ivan "Slim" Rodriguez comes to the plate.
Romero intentionally walks Rodriguez.
On his way to first, Slim stares down J.C.
As Carlos Guillen steps to the plate, "Nook" takes off for third.
Joe Mauer's throw skips past Michael Cuddyer
"Nook" scores easily.
From first base, Slim starts to sass Romero.
Tu madre es una Bitch Sox entusiasta!
J.C. turns. What did you say?
You heard me.
Why don't you bring your skinny little ass over and say that to my face?
It's on!
The Twins rush the field.
This is the most exciting thing that's happened in two weeks says Jason Bartlett.
The bullpen empties!
Alan Trammell and the other Tigers try to hold back Slim...
...while Jacque, Torii, and Stewie try to calm down J.C.
The Twins bullpen, still, runs toward the field.
But by that point, most of the players are just milling around, shooting the breeze.
Aw, it's okay Brad. I thought you were a very hot chick.
*Angy Inge joke stolen from Batling Ron Davis. Cheers, RD!
Well, Batgirl can't do a weekend round-up when two of the games get called off by SNOW. I mean, the Twins lost on Friday in extra innings, and that was no fun, and then the heavens poured down on the Motor City, and that was even less fun. So on Saturday Team Batgirl just felt sorry for itself, then on Sunday there was some discussion of the new Stadium Proposal, then we all played Nicky Punto: Utility Outfielder for a while, and then we just sat around asking questions like, Hey, what if Terry Mulholland's arm is REALLY made of rubber and Who do you think would win in a battle between Johan Santana and Darth Vader and If the Twins were chicks, who would be the hottest?
Well, of course, the principles of good scientific investigation are very important to Team Batgirl, so without further ado we present:
(Thanks to the great gals at UPN's America's Next Top Model for the help. Keep on reaching for the stars, ladies!)
Jasonita Bartlett
Bradella Radke
Jacquerina Jones
Johana Santana
Justina Morneau
Lewella Ford
Josephine Mauer
Daphne Hunter
To help alleviate some of the mind-numbing tedium created by this unprecedented and certainly unconstitutional lack of baseball, Batling Kurtis has created a most excellent game Nicky Punto: Utility Infielder.
Alternate between that and Clear the Bases.
Welcome! Faithful Batgirl sidekick Jeb, here. I understand that we might have some new visitors today. You might have seen these Batgirl entries referred to in the Pioneer Press article:
Read Justin Morblog...
Read congressional steroid hearings...
Read one of the many episodes in which Little Nicky Punto gets tragically eaten....
Read "Queer Eye for the Twins Guy...
And last, but not least, click here to watch "Oh Five!" A Batgirl Musical.
(To read other Batgirl greatest hits, you might like to see the list provided at batgirlrules.com .)
SUNDAY'S GAME has been called off as well. What the @#$@#$# is Batgirl supposed to DO with herself? STUPID NATURE. I HATE NATURE.
Well, there is a stadium deal to talk about, but Batgirl's mostly going to crawl under her bed and sulk.
(Oh, and there's no plan of yet for a retractable roof. That's freakin' brilliant.)
Today's game has been called off due to SNOW and will be made up Monday at 1:05. To pass the time until then I suggest playing Twins Picture Shuffle.
Be sure to check out Warning Track Power. Brad Zellar's got a nice story on the Twins DJ and some of the players' song choices....
Welcome back, Jackal. It is a great pleasure to see you again.
Also sold this week, a TC Bear is my Boyfriend shirt.
It's clear, Lew Ford=babe magnet. BG would love to hear more.
Any discussion of Moneyball inevitably becomes a discussion of sabermetrics, though as we've seen the two are not necessarily interchangeable. Nonetheless, Beane, et al, are using many of the same principles.
Reading the book was a good education for Batgirl—she'd heard so much about Moneyball it was refreshing to see what it was actually all about. And it certainly seems that Beane, DePodesta, et al were able to turn some innovative work by baseball outsiders into some real results.
Batgirl does admit, though, she finds the mechanical nature of the stats fetish a bit wearying. There's a point in the book where DePodesta is able to predict with rather startling accuracy how many runs the A's would score during the season, how many they would allow, and how many games they would win just by running some numbers in the media guide. Now, honestly, this depresses the crap out of Batgirl. Why play the games, then? Should we just take the media guides, sit around with our calculators, and start the playoffs?
That said, the idea of these statistics taking on the power of language was fascinating and strangely beautiful. Batgirl just doesn't want it to become the only language of the game. She can see how alluring sabermetrics is for those who love numbers, but Batgirl loves baseball because it contains narrative, story, characters. And stats just don't explain everything. Stats don't explain why the Twins hit better with Shannon Stewart in the line-up, or why LaTroy Hawkins is a fierce set-up guy and a horrific closer. Batgirl has seen Baseball Prospectus use stats to argue that Matt LeCroy should have started as the catcher during the playoffs, and then this off-season they used stats to argue that Gardy should give dear LeRoy a chance in the outfield. The outfield! Lies, damn lies, and statistics.
Well, the point is, baseball itself has the power of language. Baseball is such a profound game that it can encompass numbers and narrative, stats and sass, and maybe whatever else we want to throw at it.
Note: For a good rundown of the application of sabermetrics, see Twins Killings.
Dear Batfans,
It’s been a hard winter, to be honest. There was no annual ice fishing trip to the secret fishin’ spot in the Nunavit lands. No snowmobile rally. No chainsaw ice sculpture contest. Nope. Without Corey, the old traditions just didn’t hold the same appeal.
And I couldn’t look upon the arrival of spring with the same excitement, either; and I don’t just mean that the annual spring shearing of the 6-month beard was humdrum. As most of you know, Corey was my boyfriend; or, if you prefer, my “non-sexual man crush.” We had a special connection, and I couldn’t see how I could have the same understanding with any other Twin.
Many of you have written to express both your condolences and your hope that I might find another. There were suggestions of Tiffee, Bartlett, Lew, and others. But to whom could really entrust my baseball heart? Who could compare with a guy who carved all his own furniture out of wood? Who would see a dugout not as a limit, but as a minor obstacle between him and foul balls? Who would lay it all on the line, get knocked down, and grimly stand up, square up, crack his neck, and do it all over again (with, perhaps, a few additional bionic parts)?
Then I realized I was thinking about this all wrong. Why does my boyfriend have to be a fuzzy, mountain man, canuck, Leatherstocking type? Isn’t your boyfriend just the player who you think epitomizes Twins baseball? The one who you think gives it all on the field each night? The one who you think will bring you shared victory in the hard-fought Boyfriend of the Year contest?
Well, it’s time to trade in my copy of “Outdoor Life” for a copy of Doom IV, time to exchange my big axe for a virtual two-handed Vorpal blade +4...it’s time to declare Lew Ford my boyfriend.
Sincerely,
Jeb
P.S. The BODSHC also declared Lew the B.O.D.!
Readers/Field 3, Jeb/Lew 3, Sooz/ Stewie 2, Batgirl/Joe 1, Goober/Dr. Morneau 1.
Pass me the 20-sided die!
Kansas City at Twins. Twins 10, Royals 9.(10 innings)
Tonight Batgirl will be spending her evening at an elementary school play. The reasons why are not important. Suffice to say, there will be singing and dancing. In the play, in which every student in the fifth grade is allowed--nay compelled--to act, the children will all get a chance to feel as if they're taking part in Theater. All of the elements will be there--excessive stage make-up and rented costumes, theatrical lights, a sound system, and a big curtain through which they can peek to see if their mothers are in the front row.
But of course, this is not a play, really--it is a simulacrum designed to give those happy fifth-graders a taste for the arts, an experience of community, a chance to strut and fret their hour upon the stage and emerge from the other end more confident and better able to accept the challenges of tomorrow (i.e. Junior High). I am not sure how deep the acting talent is in this particular fifth grade, but I think that with a few exceptions, the students will be mostly playing at acting, largely by shouting as loudly as possible. But do we expect anything more? These are ten-year-olds and after it is (blissfully) over we will all comment on how cute it was and tell our respective kidlets how marvelous they were and then run for our cars as quickly as possible.
In the same way that these children will be "acting" in a "play" tonight, the Kansas City Royals "play baseball." In the same way that we do not expect to see any actual talent among these youngsters, we do not really look for actual baseball skill among the members of the Men in Purple. And if somebody does show actual promise, we are all the more thrilled. Good job, John Buck! Someday you might be a real major leaguer! Would you like that?
No, despite the uniforms and the balls and the gloves and the baseball field, there was no actual baseball played by the Royals today. BatMom and Batgirl were there today, they were there through every bobble, through every misplay, through every dropped ball. They bore witness, and they saw such things that the eye never should have to see. They saw missed catches, errant throws, balls through the legs; they saw Shannon Stewart break up a double play just by looking at the second baseman funny, they even saw Big LeRoy hit an infield single. With the possible exception of the Minnesota Twins during the first inning of Game 1 of the '02 ALDS in Oakland, no team has ever sucked defensively as much as the Royals sucked tonight--except the Royals do this every night.
It would have felt like a blowout, were it not for the inconvenient fact that we gave up nine runs and won the game by one run in extra innings. But, see, most of the runs we gave up didn't even count. There was the whole Gassner fiasco--five runs in the first two innings, but, you know, he had one foot on the bus to Triple A, so that's not real. And then Shaggy Guerrier pitched three and a 1/3 terrific innings before (Zoinks!) he began the sixth inning giving up a homer, a walk, and another homer, and that hardly counts either because he did such a nice job before and because Batgirl often forgets he's on the team. Then in the 9th Juan Rincon gave up a run, mostly because Mike Sweeney startled the crap out of him and he balked. So that sort of counts, but not really since Boo never ever gives up runs.
Despite all these runs not counting, the Twins managed to begin the bottom of the ninth down 9-8. But fortunately, they were playing against the Royals and after a Sweetcheeks walk and--of course--a steal (Torii left maybe a beat too early, and pitcher Mike MacDougal saw him go and reared around to throw to second. Torii visibly panicked, stopping for a millisecond. He would have been out by a mile, but MacDougal was kind enough to throw the ball into centerfield. We salute you, Mike MacDougal!), then a Lew Ford Focus hit, then a Little Sweetcheeks double, and, well, it was onto extra innings.
Joe Nathan, the only non-geriatric bullpen pitcher left by that point, came on to pitch the top of the tenth, and let me tell you, there was no simulacrum at all going on there. A respectful and awed silence fell over the Dome faithful as our Veep struck out the side in most excellent fashion.
At that point, Batgirl was pretty sure the Twins were going to do it for her and BatMom at the bottom of the inning--for they were playing the Kansas City Royals, and the Royals totally suck. And sure enough, a Jason Bartlett double, a Big LeRoy single, a Sweetcheeks walk and then it was time for Lew to send us all home. Well in time for the fifth-grade play.
Thanks to the Wonder of Wonder Woman and her season tickets, BG and BatMom will be at the game today trying to root Dave Gassner on to his second victory before, you know, he gets sent back down.
Kansas City at Twins. Twins 5 , Royals 4.
John Nance "Cactus Jack" Garner once told Lyndon Johnson that the Vice-Presidency "wasn't worth a bucket of warm piss." The first Vice President, John Adams, said, "[The Vice Presidency] is the most insignificant office that ever the invention of man contrived or his imagination conceived." Theodore Roosevelt, once proclaimed, "I would a great deal rather be anything, say professor of history, than vice president." More colorfully, Harry Truman called the VPs of history, "about as useful as a cow's fifth teat." And Daniel Webster, upon turning down the office, said (rather snottily I might add) "I do not propose to be buried until I am really dead."
We have no quotes from Mr. Joe Nathan on what his feelings were upon being nominated for Veep last year on the Batgirl ticket. But it's not like Nathan to complain about the indignities of his office, and anyway his reign has been nothing short of spectacular. In fact, Batgirl is fairly sure Joe Nathan is ready to go down in history as the greatest VP of all time.
No, I'm serious. Better than Hannibal Hamlin. Better than Schuyler Colfax. Better even than Charles Dawes. Did Charles Dawes ever strike out the side? I don't think so. Aaron Burr did shoot and kill Alexander Hamilton in a duel, but that's just not cool, man.
Sure, there wasn't anything that remarkable about tonight's performance. I mean Nathan himself has one-two-three ninths all the time. And this is an April game, against the Central's reigning AAAA squad. But there was something about this save… perhaps the fans were already dizzy from the happy surprise of the Twins actually converting with the bases loaded the inning before, perhaps it was the dollar-a-dog night fumes, or perhaps it was the fact that Nathan was just fierce tonight, but it felt special. (Really, weren't you surprised when the last batter actually managed to make contact with the ball? It seems so rude of him to actually ground out instead of striking out like his predecessors. But some people have no manners.) The point is, somehow in a game where Johan Santana struck out 10, where Juan Rincon did the voodoo that he does, where Jacque Jones got a homer and two walks, where Lew Ford created a run with his choo-choo speed and Shannon Stewart knocked in a go-ahead RBI in the eighth, Joe Nathan walked off the mound the hero of tonight's game. And that, my friends, is Vice Presidential history.
As for our president, well, perhaps he had a bad inning there in the 4th, what with the 4 runs and huge Mike Sweeney three-run homer and all, but you couldn't blame him for being a wee distracted as his wife had just given birth to their second child (that would be Jasmine Alejandra, 8 pounds 6 oz) less than an hour before game time. It's not many pitchers who last seven innings with ten strikeouts and no walks on a day when they're not "on."
Not bad for man spending the bottom part of the innings listening to Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work" over and over again on his iPod. Santana left the game with a tie, then Juan Rincon came in, who is—what? President Pro Tempore? Majority Whip? Secretary of Sheer Awesomeness and Kick Ass? Whatever his position, Boo made the Royals feel very, very bad about themselves in the 8th, then we scrapped together a run, and then it was time for the Vice President.
If we were any other team, the 9th inning of tonight's game might have been a little frightening. The Twins had managed to eke out that 5-4 lead the inning before, but if there were any justice in baseball (and I don't mean David) about a dozen failed opportunities should have damned us tonight. That one run shouldn't have been enough, but I don't think there was one person in Twins Territory who didn't know that the Royals might just as well have shut off the lights in the dugout and gone home when Nathan took the mound.
As for the Royals, if they didn't know that at the beginning of the inning, they sure caught on quick. And Nathan, well, he truly exemplifies the standard for the office set out by former VP Dan Quayle: "One word sums up probably the responsibility of any vice president, and that one word is 'to be prepared.'"
For more fun with the Vice Presidents, visit The Vice Presidential Quiz!
In the eighth inning of today's game, the Minnesota Twins had the bases loaded. This is not unusual in itself, the Twins load the bases all the freakin' time. And then someone grounds into a double play and everyone goes to sit down and Batgirl loses a few years off her life and then we go to do it again the next inning. But not tonight. No, tonight, with the bases loaded and one out, Shannon Stewart strode up to bat and he was not thinking of the Pope this time. For he drove the second pitch through the infield for a hit—a palpable hit—scoring Lew Ford to give the Twins the go ahead run, and making himself the Boyfriend of the Day.
Readers/Field 5 (2 Ford, 1 each Hunter, Tiffee, Santana.), Sooz/ Stewie 2, Batgirl/Joe 1, Goober/Dr. Morneau 1.
It is the time of crisis when we need our president most.
Oh, yeah, and if you're a White Sox fan and you want to post something nasty, I'm going to delete it right away, so maybe don't bother?
Twins at Chicago. Bitch Sox 3, Twins 1.
The Twins clubhouse was as chatty as usual before tonight's game, despite the rather lackluster loss of the previous day. The guys had had lots on their mind the last few days, what with all the uncertainty in the air, but they knew that once things were more settled, they'd get back to their winning ways. So, as game time grew closer, and music blared through the clubhouse, Matt LeCroy could be found practicing his dance steps with TC Bear, Joe Mauer and Juan Rincon were measuring their sideburns, Torii Hunter was trying valiantly to teach Terry Tiffee one of his cool handshakes, Kyle Lohse sat in a corner and put stick pins in his Batgirl voodoo doll, and Shannon Stewart performed step 81 in his pregame regimen. Yes, all was normal and happy, until a loud gasp came from Lew Ford, who was sitting at his locker surfing the internet.
"Hey!" he shouted. "Guys! Guys!"
Now, usually, no one pays any attention to Lew, especially when he is near a computer, but this time, there was something different in his voice, something which told his teammates that he had something to tell them that in no way involved his stop-action analysis of the Star Wars Episode III trailers. Heads turned.
"What is it, Lew?" asked Matt LeCroy, stopped in mid electric boogalo.
"Look!" he said, pointing to his computer screen. "White smoke!"
A great gasp was heard in the air, as if it came from the clubhouse itself.
"You're kidding!" said Luis Rivas.
"It can't be!" said Michael Cuddyer.
One by one, the Twins players drifted over to Lew's computer. Little Nicky Punto walked into the clubhouse and noticed the scene.
"What is it?" he said. "Did Lew Photoshop Queen Amidala's head on a naked body again?"
"No!" Stewie responded, wide-eyed. "Lew-Lew says the conclave is over!"
Little Nicky gasped. "You mean…"
"There's a POPE!" everyone shouted. In the next moment Matt LeCroy swooped Little Nicky Punto in his arms and began throwing him up and down in celebration, Little Nicky squealing the whole time. Pretty soon, it was time for the game to start, and so the players filed out to the dugout, all abuzz with excitement.
"I can't believe it only took two days," said Jason Bartlett. "That's one of the shortest conclaves in 100 years!"
"I knew they could do it," said Ford. "I mean, what are they? The Vatican or the Vati-can't?"
The game had started by this point, and Shannon Stewart led off with a single, not that anyone in the clubhouse noticed. "I suppose Cardinal Ratzinger was the natural choice," continued Lew. "I see him really as a transition pope—"
"Oh, wait Lew," said Bartlett. "I'm up to bat. Hold that thought."
"Oh, okay." Lew held the thought and pretty soon Bartlett was back in the dugout after having grounded into a double play.
"Sorry, what you were saying?"
"Oh, just that I think they picked a conservative so they could spend some time thinking about where they wanted the church to go. No radical moves yet, you know?"
And so, the conversation continued. On the field, the players found themselves pensive—though it didn't much matter since Radke was pitching so well no one had to work too hard. In the dugout, though, talk was all Pope all the time. In the second inning, the conversation turned to the papal conclave and its history, then in the third, the players began to talk about the selection of this pope in particular.
"What I don't get," said Little Nicky Punto, "is why the name Benedict."
"Well, you know," said Kyle Lohse, "Benedict VIII was a great reformer. He was interested in keeping clerics celibate and fought against simony."
"Simo-what?" asked Cuddy.
"Oh, you!" Lohse laughed. "It's the selling of church offices! Hey, what's going on in the game?"
"Um," said Cuddy, "I think the bases are loaded with one out. Oh, and I'm up. Don't say anything interesting while I'm gone." Picking a bat at random out of the rack, Cuddy strode off to the field.
"I still don't get it," said Punto. "Why would Ratzinger choose a reformer's name when he's a renowned hardliner?"
"Well," said Lohse… "Oh, hey Cuddy! Welcome back. too bad about that strikeout. Anyway, he also could have been shouting-out to St. Benedict, the founder of Christian monasticism. St. Benedict was known as the patron and protector of Europe. Perhaps the new pope sees himself as the new savior of Europe."
"Screw that," muttered Carlos Silva.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing," Silva said, going back to his rehab.
"Oh, I gotta bat," said Punto. "I'll be right back."
Well, Little Nicky Punto came promptly back in the dugout, as did the three runners he stranded on base. And over the course of the Twins' at-bats, as conversation progressed from the players favorite popes (Most popular choice—Gregory VII who totally excommunicated the Holy Roman Emporer after the H.R.E. got up in his grill.) to their favorite Benedicts over time (Cuddy was partial to Benedict XIII, who cracked down mightily on excess in ecclesiastic dress, while Joe Mauer was fond of the Avignon styling of Benedict XII.) to great moments in Papal Decree, batters found themselves heading in and out of the dugout with alarming rapidity, not to mention baserunners.
It wasn't until the ninth, when Brad Radke—after having pitched eight strong innings but still finding himself behind three runs—interrupted a heated conversation between LeCroy and Stewie over The Babylonian Captivity went storming to the front of the dugout and stamping his foot.
"Hey," he said. "HEY!"
"What?" Everyone turned to look.
"CAN YOU GUYS STOP TALKING ABOUT THE BLASTED POPE AND START HITTING THE BLEEPIN' BLARGIN' BALL?"
One by one, the Twins players looked at each other and were ashamed.
"Oh, man, we're sorry."
"Totally!"
"We can talk about the Pope after the game!"
But by then, it was too late. The ninth inning is awfully late to realize you've been playing like Pope Boniface (III not V), and while the Twins were able to squeeze out one run, it wasn't enough. Radke was saddled with the loss, the Bitch Sox got a two game sweep, and the Twins' bats were in need of some serious papal forgiveness. You cannot blame Brad Radke, if, after the game he was heard to say, "May you reign a long time, Pope Benedict XVI, at least until after I retire."
BG is pleased to introduce a GUEST COLUMNIST... Blez from Athletics Nation. Blez kindly agreed to lend an A's fan's perspective on the book.
If the mainstream media had its way, most people would believe that the book “Moneyball” is a more literate version of the 80s classic Better Off Dead. Billy Beane is John Cusack and Joe Morgan and company are the skiing bullies. Paul DePodesta is Cusack’s younger brother who is building a rocket in his bedroom.
I recently started reading Buzz Bissinger’s book 3 Nights in August and in the Preface, Bissinger says this:
“In this new wave of baseball, managers are less managers than middle managers, functionaries whose strategic options during a game require muzzlement, there only to affect the marching orders coldly calculated and passed down by upper management. It is wrong to say this new breed doesn’t care about baseball. But it’s not wrong to say there is no way they could possibly love it, and so much of baseball is about love. They don’t have a sense of history, which to the thirtysomethings is largely bunk. They don’t have the bus trips or the plane trips. They don’t carry along the tradition because they couldn’t care less about tradition.”
It’s assumptions like this that get an A’s fan such as myself all worked up and throwing three words at you…misunderstood, misinterpreted and mistaken. These three are embodied by the book’s most outspoken critic, Morgan, the ESPN Sunday Night Baseball color commentator, who misunderstood who wrote the book (and once claimed that Billy Beane wrote it), misinterpreted its overall message and is mistaken in the application of the so-called “on-base or station-to-station” baseball outlined in Lewis’ novel.
What many in the baseball world missed is that Moneyball is first and foremost a business book. It shows us the blueprint of how a team or company with a third of the revenue can find creative and innovative new ways to compete with monstrous baseball “corporations” like the New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox. It’s someone outlining how a Mom and Pop Shop can compete against Wal*Mart (not that $50 or $60 million is exactly Mom and Pop).
But what people fail to recognize is that the A’s have adjusted since then and are always trying to stay one step ahead of whatever baseball skill happens to be undervalued at the time. The book points to the A’s offensive philosophy, but it’s more what Billy Beane did this past winter in moving two stud pitchers, Tim Hudson and Mark Mulder, that shows that in order to actually play a game of Moneyball, one must think ahead in order to wind up ahead. These preemptive moves were made in large part because insanity reined supreme on the open market this past offseason. Starting pitching became hugely overvalued, especially when you look at the insanely ridiculous contracts of Jaret Wright and Kris Benson. So, Beane could see the market moving. He acted to build up the A’s organizational depth while acquiring pitchers who were major league ready or close to major league ready. He also acquired bullpen help in the form of the very valuable, very underrated Kiko Calero.
Ultimately, you’d think Moneyball would be an easy book to interpret. It’s not Jean-Paul Sartre’s Nausea. It’s straightforward in that the message is simple: find a market opportunity and attempt to exploit it. It doesn’t have to be about OBP or walks or bullpens made of misfit toys. The Twins have their own version of Moneyball. But instead of exploiting the market opportunity known as patience at the plate, the Twins approach it by working the draft and playing small ball.
Ranting Interlude: The point of the A’s offensive philosophy isn’t to go for a walk every time someone comes to bat, like Joe Morgan and many of the A’s critics claim. It’s actually to be patient and wait for the right pitch to hit. If that results in a walk, so be it. The endgame isn’t to try and get a walk. It’s to get a pitch to drive. A good example of this philosophy in action is the Boston Red Sox. It also isn’t to avoid the stolen base or bunt, but to use it in the best-case scenario and to put the A’s in position to win.
Another component of the book is the look at the 2002 draft and the strategy of avoiding high school players in favor of college players. This philosophy has served the A’s well because they currently have one of the deeper teams in baseball due to their penchant for taking college players. Huston Street was drafted in 2004 and he is already contributing to the A’s bullpen. He got his first major league win Sunday. The A’s also drafted Kurt Suzuki, a catcher from Cal State Fullerton who will likely be a part of the A’s roster in the near future. Nick Swisher and Joe Blanton are only a few years removed from the draft in the book. Ultimately, the A’s draft these kids not because they don’t have faith that some high school kids will work out, but they don’t have the luxury of waiting around for them to develop. And high school kids usually take longer to develop.
Lewis will explore this in an upcoming sequel to Moneyball that’s scheduled to publish in 2007. He’s been following the draft class of 2002 for the past three seasons.
Moneyball’s lasting impact is up for debate. But I believe that years from now, people will look at the book as a landmark not necessarily in offensive philosophy, but in how to rethink the conventional, stagnant rules of any business. People are already doing that today.
As for the baseball impact, I do expect the A’s to win a World Series before Beane’s time with the team is up in Oakland. And people will claim they won it for one reason or another, something having nothing to do with Beane. But then again, isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be with underdogs? Billy winning the K-12 race, one ski and all with Steve Schott chasing after him screaming, “I want my two dollars!”
Blez runs AthleticsNation.com and has interviewed both Billy Beane and Michael Lewis. Lewis will also be sitting down to talk with Blez again in the next three or four weeks, so check in for an update on the progress of the follow-up to Moneyball, Underdogs. Billy Beane will also be stopping by AN a few times this season. When Blez isn't writing about the A's, he dotes over a three-month old Baby Blez and dreams of starring in a remake of Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
BBC will continue on Friday with a discussion of sabermetrics.
With every baseball season comes some Chicago writer writing some incredibly asinine column about the Twins. Batgirl was shocked that we made it nearly three weeks into the season without one, but finally Daily Southtown writer Paul Lawewski obliges. Batgirl tried to annotate it, she really did, but after a while it got so inane there was no point. There's no point in getting mad, though, except at an educational system which would allow someone to think something like this is a really good written argument. Tragic, really.
Bradke on the hill. Maybe tune in after the first inning? Things tend to look up after that.
Bide your time by playing Batgirl Clear the Bases.
On her second read through of Moneyball, Batgirl tried to focus on the separation between Michael Lewis and Billy Beane. Now, Batgirl found the book an absolutely fascinating read, a page-turner. There's nothing like sitting in that office on draft day. Lewis is a fluid, intelligent, and witty writer, and he did a fine job delineating the history of the sabermetric school of thought, and of explicating some rather obscure concepts in an accessible and entertaining way. No easy trick.
That said, Batgirl feels the book and the approach are harmed by an almost over-the-top enthusiasm Lewis has for "Moneyball" and for Beane. Stats are in for Beane, scouts are out—scouts in fact are portrayed as a group of pea-brained chaw-snarfing has-beens, and G.M.s, well, they're former scouts. Need I say more?
Lewis seems to fall victim to the very thing he accuses the scouts of: "There was," he says, "the tendency of everyone who actually played the game to generalize wildly from his own experience. People always thought their own experience was typical when it wasn't." Well, Michael Lewis seems to generalize from Billy Beane's experience: It was scouts that fell in love with Beane's potential and scouts that needed to be replaced by Paul DePodesta's computer.
If any organization shows the benefits of good scouting, it's the Minnesota Twins. Our G.M. is a former scout, and our scouts are the people who have plucked Johan Santana, Lew Ford, Jason Bartlett, and Dave Gassner from the dregs of other people's minor league systems, who perhaps saw them one day and found something to dream on.
In the afterword, Lewis writes of Toronto, "Ricciardi, the new GM had done what every enlightened GM will eventually do; fire a lot of scouts, hire someone comfortable with statistical analysis…" But isn't it possible, just possible, to be an "enlightened" GM and keep your scouts?
Lewis's afterword to Moneyball is a sort of sabermetric De Profundis, with perhaps only slightly more drama. Baseball is a social club, where "there really is no level of incompetence that won't be tolerated." There is no doubt that the chattering and nattering in response to the book by those who hadn't read it is absurd and just stooped as heck, but just as one writer accuses Lewis of a "total infatuation with Billy Beane" (by which he means nonsexual man-crush) Beane calls him and the rest of the press corps the "Women's Auxiliary." Surely there are ways to have this discussion on both sides without sissy-baiting?
What do you think? How does Moneyball work as a book? How well does it make its argument?
Tomorrow: "Moneyball" the process.
Twins at Chicago. Bitch Sox 5, Twins 4.
The problem is, Batgirl just isn't herself when we play the Bitch Sox. She tries. She tries so hard to keep everything shiny and happy because, you know, it's supposed to be fun, right? Baseball is supposed to fun. It's not supposed to make you want to rip out your own eyeballs.
Oh. Sorry. The point is, whenever we start a series with the Bitch Sox, well, despite her best intentions, Batgirl finds herself on edge all day. "Stop being so damned fuzzy," she yells at BatKitty 1. "Don't give me that look," she snaps at BatKitty 2. "And you," she says to 3, "That I'm-so-cute-I'm-a-kitten thing is getting way old, you hear me? Way old." This is BatKitty 3's first baseball season, so she tends to take it a little personally, but BatKitties 1 and 2 are totally used to it by now. And it's not like they're not tense either—BatKitty 1 beat the crap out of BatKitty 2 this morning just because he has Bitch Sox colors.
The point is, Batgirl is tense. Dammit. After all these years of all the back talk from the Bitch Sox, who don't seem to understand that their proper place is one slot below our guys, she has this innate desire to have us beat the papal conclave out of them every time we play. If they would just accept their chronic inferiority, we could all get along and Batgirl would stop stressing out the BatKitties—did she mention the BatKitty blackheads?--not to mention the members of Team Batgirl who tend to stay far away from Batgirl during these series, lest she throw something at them. Hard.
So, these games tend to take on a little more import for Batgirl, and she can be forgiven for settling down in front of the BatTV at about 4pm tonight and beginning to mutter to herself and rock back and forth. Though today, it seemed her pain would ease early when Bitch Sox starter Jose Contreras pitched as if he had BatKitties in his freakin' pants. (They are awfully wiggly, you see. There was this one time…oh, never mind…) Contreras loaded the bases in the first inning, giving up back-to-back walks to Chairman Sideburns and Big LeRoy. It was all so pretty, all those strapping young Twins on all those Bitch Sox bases--with just one out!-- and Batgirl was just awash in the beauty of it, she sat in her BatCouch and hugged herself and reveled, yes, she reveled, and Torii Hunter, he reveled too, he got up to bat and he reveled and he was so busy freakin' reveling that he didn't pay any attention to NOT HITTING INTO A FREAKIN' DOUBLE PLAY and as we all know Torii Hunter has to pay special attention not to HIT INTO A DOUBLE PLAY, he has to put on a whole special NO HITTING INTO A DOUBLE PLAY HAT and he has to STRAP THE HAT ON and maybe ADD SOME GLUE and he forgot the DAMN HAT! Where is the DAMN HAT?
Well, sans hat, you can guess what happened. Inning over, threat dead, no runs. But Batgirl was sanguine. For Jose Contreras was pitching like ass, and surely his ass was going to be bigger than our ass (Kyle Lohse). And our ass, well, didn't he look rather good tonight? Sure, there was that whole Carl Everett solo homer thing in the first inning, but, you know Lohse kept his composure, and that's all we ask, Kyle, keep your composure, wear your special COMPOSURE-KEEPING HAT, go back to the dugout and get it if you have to, we'll wait. We're happy to wait!
But, no, he didn't need the hat, he was just fine. He kept his composure totally through innings two and three and four, and meanwhile Contreras balked in a run and there was no composure there, I tell you, Contreras then proceeded to suffer the five stages of grief right there on the mound. (First there's a walk, then a stolen base, then an error, then a wild pitch to score the runner, then you get taken the hell out of the ballgame.) Oh, God, it was beautiful! Batgirl wept with the beauty of it all! And finally, all that Contreras-sucking was going to pay dividends! Truly, it was just going to be the beginning of the Twins offensive onslaught!
Or not. In the bottom of the inning, Lohse gave up a two run homer to Joe Crede to tie the game at three, and then in the bottom of the sixth, well, Carl Everett came up again, and that is where Kyle Lohse really could have used the composure hat. For Carl Everett has been owning us, he's owned us for so long the mortgage is totally paid off, he could take out a second mortgage and THAT would be paid off, and Carl Everett already hit a homer off Lohse earlier in the game and Lohse knew that and all he wanted to do was NOT give up another homer to Carl Everett, because Everett is big and scary and there's a runner on base and if he gave up another homer to Everett the Twins would be behind by two and Batgirl would make fun of him and nobody wants that. So Kyle Lohse closed his eyes and concentrated very hard on how much it would suck if he gave up a homer to Carl Everett and then he reared back and threw the ball. And…and…and…
Lohse gave up a home run to Everett. A really, really, really big home run to Everett. The sort of home run where everyone in the park just stops what they're doing and turns and looks and says, "Damn. That was a big home run." (Unless you are Matthew LeCroy, in which case you say, "Dang.") And Batgirl said some things, well, she said some things that cannot be taken back. And BatKitty 1 pounced on BatKitty 2 and proceeded to gnaw at his throat, despite his horrible BatKitty 2 screams she kept gnawing and Batgirl began speaking in tongues and, well, let's just say Jeb and BatKitty 3 decided it would be a good time to explore the underside of the bed.
It's not all Lohse's fault, of course. It seems most of the Twins forgot their No-Hitting-Into-Double-Plays hats tonight. It's all well and good when Terry Tiffee hits a lead-off double in the eighth inning, but when, three outs later, Young Tiffee is still standing on second base, somebody is cruising for a BatBruising. It's fine when Captain Cheeseburger Sabathia mows us down, because he's actually a good pitcher, (despite being a total wanker who needs to straighten his stupid-ass hat) but it required five Bitch Sox pitchers to make us strand so many runners on base, when really one or two would have sufficed.
Of course, Batgirl may be taking it all a little too seriously. It's April, and the Twins have been playing rather marvelously. Batgirl will take a bad game or two, though she'd prefer it were against someone else. And Joe Mauer got his first homer of the season and it was so purdy! Did you see it? Did you see how purdy it was? BatKitty 1 even stopped chewing out BatKitty 2's throat to watch it go. Anyway, Batgirl must remind herself that if the Bitch Sox did not beat us in April they would have nothing to collapse from in September. And what fun is that?
You know, I kind of miss good ol' Combitchsky Park!
In the afterword to Moneyball, Michael Lewis describes a "religious war" inside baseball, for which his book served as a sort of 95 Theses nailed square on the door of the MLB establishment. Like any war-inciting document, the book has been both revered and reviled and it is difficult to discuss it without being assigned a side in this battle.
But Batgirl believes we can move beyond such Manichean simplicity and look at both the book and the approach it describes for both its strengths and flaws. Lewis himself perhaps favors the black-and-white approach when he likens the hubub around the book to "the endless, fruitless dispute between creationists and evolutionary theorists. On one side, parrying half-baked questions and insults, was the community of baseball fans who thought hard about the use and abuse of baseball statistics. On the other side, hurling the half-baked questions and insults, were the Club members who felt a deep inchoate desire to preserve their status."
Well, Batgirl cautions everyone to remember that this is not a religious war, but rather a book discussion. To reverse Lewis's metaphor, to criticize the book is not to be a heathen, and to praise it is not to be a zealot.
Batgirl herself finds both the book fascinating and flawed. But we'll get to that later. What do you think?
Oh, and we will have a special guest joining us for the week: Blez from Athletics Nation. If you're nice, maybe he'll show you pictures of his super-cute baby.
Twins at Cleveland. Weekend Round Up.
Game One: Twins 3, Cleveland 2.
Game Two: Twins 6, Cleveland 4.
Game Three: Cleveland 2, Twins 1.
In the eighth inning of today's game, with the score tied at 1, J.C. Romero hit Travis Hafner with the bases loaded. Hafner appeared to be in a great deal of pain as a result, but it can't nearly match the pain of Batgirl as that go-ahead run trotted home. She fell to the ground and writhed in agony, her screams summoning the BatTrainer who squatted down next to her and promptly began to test her brain functions.
"Do you know your name?" he asked quickly.
"Batgirl," she groaned.
"Who is President of the United States?"
"Johan K. Santana," she moaned.
"Do you know where you are?"
"In HELL!" she screamed.
Yes, hell is the place where J.C. Romero hits a batter with the bases loaded in a 1-1 tie game, and my children, I suggest you be good in your life and do not sin and attend Twins games regularly so you never, ever have to go there because it is a horrible place full of white-hot flames that burn your insides.
It was such a pretty game before that, too, with Joe Mays pitching like his (very) old self again, mowing down Cleveland's merry band of hamstring injuries just like a fine Snapper lawnmower. Mays pitched seven full innings, walking nobody and allowing just one run, off a homer to Ronnie Belliard. Mostly, his half-innings took 30-45 seconds as he coaxed the batters into one ground ball out after another in a performance that was, dare I say, Carlos Silva-esque.
Unfortunately, playa-hater C.C. "Captain Cheeseburger*" Sabathia was just as effective. It is so heartwarming to see someone like Sabathia do so well in the bigs, overcoming the horrible genetic deformity that requires that he wear his baseball cap all askew. Even though he plays for our division rivals, I think we can really feel good about rooting for him. His heartwarming story is bigger than any petty competition and is a testament to the indomitable human spirit. Thank you, Captain Cheeseburger Sabathia, for reminding us that baseball is not just a game, but it is something which asks us to be our best selves, sometimes in spite of truly incredible odds.
As for our starting nine, Batgirl does not think they can be accused of using the ass-bats today or of being differently-abled themselves. Captain Cheeseburger was fierce, and, to be honest, both starting pitchers were aided by a strike zone so generous that the IRS is considering granting it status as a charitable foundation. Of course, it wasn't generous enough for Mr. Romero, who came on in the 8th to hold the tie for Jumpin' Joe. J. Ro got the first batter in a ground-out, then gave up a single to Ronnie "Stop Getting in Batgirl's Grill" Belliard, and that is when Batgirl started getting a little nervous. For J.C. is a terrific pitcher as long as everything goes his way, it's just when things start to go a little wrong his muscles start to rip through his shirt and his face turns green and his cranium goes all Mark McGwire and you can just barely hear the words, "You wouldn't like me when I suck, Batgirl" before he loses the power of speech entirely and unleashes a torrent of grunts.
Still, today he seemed to contain himself after that base hit, his skin taking on only the slightest shade of spring green before he righted himself and got Coco Crisp to fly out. Then, with two outs, Jose Hernadez came on and grounded to Cuddy, and that's where things got ugly. Pretty soon, there were runners on first and third, Cuddy had a throwing error, Batgirl had dived under the couch and covered her eyes, and J.C. became The Incredible Sulk.
Well, the rest is BatNeurologicalDamage history. J.C. imploded and then Bob "Anybody Got Anything to Eat?" Wickman came on and despite an ERA fatter than, well, himself, retired the Twins in the ninth--ba-ding, ba-dang, ba-done--and didn't even have to put down his meatball hoagie. All this after 2.75 gems of games by our boys. On Friday, Johan Santana, despite not having his best stuff, led them to victory against Jake Westbrook. Santana was aided by another fine offensive and defensive performance by Terry R. Tiffee, who is planning on making it very hard for the Twins to send him back down when Concussion comes back from the DL next week.
Please Mr. Tiffee, please stop hurting us!
And then there's Juan Castro, who apparently decided to use spring training as a chance to get any last bit of sucking out of his defense so he could be fan-freakin'-tastic in the field once the season started. The guy was a walking highlight reel all weekend, earning himself the top three BatGems of the series and reminding us what in the hell he's doing on the roster, anyway.
Oh, and Batgirl would be remiss not to mention the performance of one Dave "I Don't Have Much" Gass "But I'm Good Anyway" ner. Batgirl was a little nervous for Gassner when she heard a pregame interview with Rita Maloney in which it sounded like he was going to piddle his pants, but apparently it just served to get all his pants-piddling out of the way then. Gassner was aided by two three-run homers by Mr. Lew Ford and Mr. Torii Hunter. It was as if the Twins fell into some weird space-time continuum where they were the sort of team that hit three run homers, and while Batgirl liked it very much, she's much more comfortable in this universe, where the Twins prevail on pitching and defense. And as much as both fell apart in the eighth inning today, both gave us the series win. And that makes for a good weekend. Because psychological trauma can heal. Can't it?
On to Chicago. Batgirl will be playing many rounds of Hang the Sox Dude in preparation.
*Batgirl blatantly stole this nickname from TwinsFanCA in the game thread. Can you blame her?
Shall we make Mr. Sabathia hate us even more?
Batgirl fav Brad Zellar has the most wonderful picture up on his blog today. Matthew LeCroy. In high school. Playing tennis. In shorts.
Go look. Now. Have you looked yet?
While Batgirl's pretty sure Johan Santana's been other men's nonsexual man-crush all his life, she doesn’t know exactly what sweet Lew is going to think of all this.
But he better to get used to it; in addition to his harem, Lew has a whole group of male Twins fans who just want to snuggle him as they go to bed at night. And is it any wonder? For the second game in a week, Lew used the force to change the complexion of a game. Today the Twins were unable to do anything against Kevin Millwood, other than a few two out rallys which were promptly squashed by some ass-battery. Until the sixth inning, when Sweetcheeks and Little Sweetcheeks both got two-out hits and then Lew Ford came up and hit the ball to center. Much like Ford himself, his hit looked deceptively ordinary, until it carried all the way over the fence into the Cleveland bullpen.
And no, BG doesn't like giving all these BOD's to non-Team Batgirl Boyfriends, but what is she supposed to do? Mr. Head Injury's been out, Stewie and the Chairman have been contributing more quietly, and when you have people like Terry Tiffee on the team, well, it's just hard to compete. Not to mention Lew Ford who is, once again, the Boyfriend of the Day.
Field/ Readers 5 (2 Ford, 1 each Hunter, Tiffee, Santana.), Sooz/ Stewie 1, Batgirl/Joe 1, Goober/Dr. Morneau 1.
Welcome to the bigs, Mr. Gassner. Do I hear six in a row?
and the Boyfriend of the Day. For sometimes it is what you do when you don't have your best stuff that counts.
Field/ Readers 4 (1 each Johan, Hunter, Tiffee, and Ford), Sooz/ Stewie 1, Batgirl/Joe 1, Goober/Dr. Morneau 1.
Batgirl is unable to follow the game tonight as she has tickets to the the-a-tre (and why do they schedule plays during Twins games, I ask you?) and she can't even watch the game on TiVo later because they aren't PLAYING it, and BG wants to know what's WRONG with these people? So she is counting on her Batlings to give her the play by play.
Batgirl will be off for the weekend, other than her solemn B.O.D. duties, of course, but will return with a Weekend Round-Up on Monday. Please be sure to finish Moneyball this weekend, too, as Monday is Book Club day!
Detroit at Twins. Twins 10, Tigers 4.
Poor Nate Robertson. Before the game the pitcher was given just two instructions by Alan Trammell: The first—"Don't eat anybody this time. Perhaps Trammell noticed the soy sauce Robertson was holding behind his back, or perhaps he just knew Robertson too well by this point, but he wanted to be sure to avoid an incident. Trammell's a good guy, and a good citizen of the game, and he doesn’t want to see anyone get eaten.
Perhaps, though, Trammell should have given his second instruction, which was "Oh, and dude, don't suck," first tonight. It can be hard to remember two whole instructions, and if you asked Alan Trammell to choose between Robertson having a quality start but eating a little utility infielder along the way or sucking all over the place but leaving Little Nicky Punto in peace, well, I think if you really looked into his soul you know what the answer would be. Pass the soy sauce.
For poor Alan Trammell had already used most of his pitching staff in the previous two losses with the Twins, and once you get past Percival and Farnsworth, that bullpen stops being very pretty. It would have been extra nice for them all if Nate Robinson Robertson could manage to go, oh, seven or eight or maybe nine innings. And maybe he could even pitch well. And maybe the Tigers could even win…
Well, let's just say Alan Trammell has wished upon many a star in the last couple of years, and none of them have come through very well for him. Dude needs to find a new constellation, I think. While he must have been very happy when Robertson got through the first inning on seven pitches, that proved to be just a big karmic tease for the beleaguered manager, who then watched his pitcher have some sort of very large and very public meltdown on the mound. Apparently, Robertson only had seven pitches in him for the night, which is fine if you're Juan Rincon (though Boo normally requires nine pitches to complete an inning) but it's pretty hard if you're a starter going into the second inning.
Maybe it was the low blood sugar, or just the delicious sight of Little Nicky Punto sitting there in the dugout looking all luscious, but in the second inning, Robertson walked two, hit one, and gave up two singles to give the Twins two runs. (And to let them tie the game up again after Brad Radke—yawn—gave up two runs in the first inning. Only two, Brad? How blasé.) The next inning Robertson gave up three more runs, giving up a double, a single, a walk, and hitting another batter. That makes two hit batters and three walks in two innings, in case you weren't counting.
That third inning would have been even more of a disaster, had DJ Cuddles not decided to try to steal 3rd on Pudge Rodriguez. You could just see Cuddy thinking, "Hey, I think I'll try to steal on Pudge. He's so skinny now, he can’t throw me out!" At which point Pudge—or should I say Ivan--screamed,"STOP CALLING ME SKINNY!" and hurled the ball to 3rd so fast it broke the sound barrier, and Cuddy was out by about six miles. Rodriguez's eyes finally popped back in his head about inning number eight or so, but by then it was way too late.
Through sheer strength of will Trammell was able to keep from stalking out to the mound and dragging Robertson out by his hair for five innings, because really, he didn't have any choice, but by that point the large-necked pitcher had given up six runs with five walks, and it was time to take him out back and shoot him.
Was there anything more heart-wrenching than Alan Trammell's face this series? The cameras kept cutting to him and every time he looked like either his head was going to explode or he was going to shoot himself in the gut with TC Bear's t-shirt gun. I mean, he was led to believe it was going to get better. They told him things were going to get better! They had all these fancy off-season pick-ups, they had Magglio and Troy Percival and Kyle Farnsworth, and Dmitri was healthy again and they were going to get out there. Get it done. Show their stuff. Do their thing. Shake their collective boo-tay. Get in there and SLAY it! Go TEAM!
It is important to have dreams, of course. Batgirl's all for dreams. She's all for tucking yourself in at night and snuggling your bobbleheads into your bosom and saying, yes, world, yes, I will embrace the bright new tomorrow, I will be all I can be, I will create my own destiny, I am the greatest love of all…
What I'm saying, though, is that there are dreams, and there are nightmares, and Alan Trammell lived a nightmare this series, and if things don't get better, will have himself another long year. Not to mention Dmitri Young, who might have to borrow Nate Robertson's soy sauce in order to eat his words.
Trammell wasn't the only manager with steam coming out of his nostrils tonight. Because after Nate Robertson beaned two Twins—and we know that wasn't on purpose. If he'd tried to bean someone, the pitch probably would gone over the plate—Brad Radke hit Marcus Thames. Now, at the time, the Twins were ahead 5-2 and Radke had put the lead-off batter on. With Marcus Thames now on, the tying run would come to the plate. Not really a time for bean ball, but that didn't stop the ump from warning both benches, and you know how Gardy gets when the umpire warns both benches. There's the kicking things and the gesticulating wildly and the head turning all adorably red and the ears flaming and sometimes there's even throwing hats, though not this time. Really, for Gardy tonight's was a more subdued performance, done mostly in sign language—which Batgirl assumes means the umpire was hearing impaired. It was sweet of Gardy to adapt his communication skills so the ump could understand. But that's just the kind of guy Gardy is.
The Twins responded to their manager's noble stand by knocking out four more runs in the 6th. The whole offensive juggernaut of the game was fairly dizzying and after Lew Ford popped the ball into the "Home Run Porch" (otherwise knows as "The Place Batgirl Used To Sit") Batgirl had to lie down for a while, just to gather herself. Meanwhile, Naked Batting Practice went 2-4 with two RBIs, Juan Castro flashed some nice leather out there, and Jacque Jones continued to hit the holy bejesus out of the ball. Little Sweetcheeks is hitting .407 with two homers, two doubles, and today he added a triple to the mix. Oh, and this has all been against mostly left-handed opponents and he has three walks on the year, which is one more walk than strikeout. It's like Batgirl doesn't even know him anymore. But she does know him. And she likes him.
Well, this sweep of the Tigers felt pretty good--unless of course you're Alan Trammell--and you don't hear so much teeth gnashing in Twins Territory anymore. With 23 runs in 3 games, it's hard to complain too loudly about ass-bats; and at least this week, for once Brad Radke can even say he got run support. Life is good.
Notes: Okay, Batgirl's been typing this entry while watching SportsCenter and yes, a fan tried to bitch slap Sheff at the Red Sox Yankees game, and yes, Sheff slapped the fan back and it was all very backstage-at-Desperate Housewives, and all very disgraceful and everyone should be very, very ashamed of themselves, except the security guard who is like some kind of HERO and should be given a medal and maybe a STATUE and like the KEY to the CITY and his own TV SHOW, but don't you think, Mr. SportsCenter Producer, don't you really think that I might have gotten the point the FIRST FIVE TIMES YOU COVERED THE STORY?
Thank you.
Because she takes her duties as the B.O.D.S.H.C. very seriously, Batgirl spends most of the game evaluating the performance of potential boyfriends. Especially on a night such as tonight when only one TBB (Team Batgirl Boyfriend) is starting (Knee and Head being out of the game) she knows the coveted B.O.D. award could go to just anyone and wants to pay particular attention. But today, she had a pretty good idea who would earn the honor fairly early on in the game, for there is nothing BG/the BODSHC likes more than hustle and in the 3rd after Lew Ford got beaned, he just tore around the bases, getting himself from first to third on an Omar Infante throwing error on nothing but willpower and a Cocoa Puffs high, and helping to create a three run inning for the Twins and to tie the Tiges in knots. Ford's status in the BODSHC's heart was cemented when he drew a walk in the 5th and came around to score on a Jacque Jones triple, ending up in the clubhouse seemingly before JJ had even rounded second. And then, of course, in the sixth he launched a 2-0 pitch to left, completely destroying any sense of self the Tigers had and making himself the Boyfriend of the Day.
Field/ Readers 3 (1 each Hunter, Tiffee, and Ford), Sooz/ Stewie 1, Batgirl/Joe 1, Goober/Dr. Morneau 1.
Can we get out of the first inning tonight? Can Brad Radke get a win? Batgirl is all aflutter!
Detroit at Twins. Twins 8, Detroit 4.
When Batgirl woke up today she thought it was an ordinary morning, that is until the phone rang. She checked the Caller ID and sighed. Not again.
"Hey, Boo," she said.
"Hey, Batgirl," said Boo.
"Now, Boo, honey, we've been through this. Brad and Jennifer are not getting back together."
"No, no, that's not why I'm calling. Do you know what today is?"
Batgirl sighed. Juan Rincon likes to play little games a lot, sometimes it gets a little annoying. "No, Boo. What day is it?"
"It's your BatVersary!"
Well, Batgirl was floored. Was it really a year ago that Batgirl's Baseball Blog, Inc was formed? Indeed, when she opened the front door to get the newspaper, she found her doorstep littered with flowers, catnip, a Snapper lawn mower, a case of beer from the Gluek Brewing Company, and a box which seemed to be full of crawdads. And she was moved, she really was. When Team Batgirl began their merry crusade to put the sass back in baseball, they never expected a reception like this. But, life is full of surprises, and Batgirl found herself very busy all day receiving celebratory phone calls. But, really, all the flowers, the crawdads, the diamonds from Jared Jewelry—well, it was all far more than Batgirl wanted. And when Torii Hunter called her at 4, she found herself feeling a little down. As always, Torii could tell right away.
"What's wrong, Beege?"
"Oh, Torii. I don't know what's wrong with me. My BatVersary is here, but I'm not happy. I don't feel the way I'm supposed to feel."
"I think I know the problem."
"What's that Torii?"
"The BatVersary isn't about flowers or crawdads or Kubota tractors or diamonds from Goodman Jewelers. Even though a gift from Goodman Jewelers goes straight to the heart. Beege, what do you love most in the world, besides your fam, Jeb, and the BatKitties?"
"The Minnesota Twins."
"Exactly, Batgirl. The BatVersary's not going to mean anything to you until game time. And as much as we all love you, we shouldn't be devoting ourselves to buying you presents. Our job is to get out there and get you a victory."
Batgirl paused, and nodded slowly. "You think you can do that for me, Sweetcheeks?"
"We'll do our best, Batgirl. But you know, we always do that."
Torii was right. The truth is, Batgirl will trade all the Croton watches and Gutter Helmets and Shane Company diamonds and/or sapphires in the world for us to keep smacking the ball around like we did tonight. I mean, Kyle Lohse can be as Dr.-Jekyll-and-Mr.-Kohse as he wants if we score eight bleepin' runs a game.
I'm not saying the whole game was a fabulous anniversary present. In their first at bat, the Twins scored 5 runs with one out, until Shannon Stewart stopped the madness by hitting into a double play. Shannon Stewart isn't often responsible for three outs in one inning, and Batgirl can only postulate that he began to feel sorry for the Tigers, and Batgirl respects that. They're not the Bitch Sox, for Gardy's sakes. We don't need to humiliate them.
Okay, so that was all well and good and very BatVersary-appropriate, and it was 5-2 going into the bottom of the second and the Twins loaded the bases with no outs and Mssrs. Torii Hunter and Jacque Jones coming up, and Batgirl thought for sure that things were about to get extremely rout-a-rific—and then Torii popped out and Jacque hit into a double play. And at that point Batgirl screamed something that should probably not be repeated on a family blog. Or, for that matter, on hers.
And then there's the performance of Kyle Lohse. Lohse gave up a homer in the first inning, of course. But it was only one run, so, like, yay! And then something very strange happened. Kyle Lohse started to pitch well.
Now, we all know it's possible. Lohse was Batgirl's pitching boyfriend in 2003, and just about everyone thought he would be, like, awesome in '04. Until he started to actually pitch. Then he went around blaming everyone but himself for the fact that he totally sucked now, irritating the $#!& out of Batgirl and making her totally break up with him. And after last week's performance (and his concomitant 6-something ERA) it looked like Kyle was truly in mid-season sucking form.
But in the second inning tonight, after giving up a double and an RBI single, Kyle promptly coaxed a double play out of Craig Monroe ("That one's for you, Jackal!" he shouted) then a strikeout from poor Marcus Thames, who never really knew what hit him.
In the third, Lohse got an actual 1-2-3 inning, then in the 4th he shouted out to the Jackal one more time with another lovely double play ball, and then in the fifth—oh my darlings, are you sitting down? Are you sure? Sit down. Maybe take a drink of water. Did you take a drink of water? Proper hydration is very important—in the sixth inning, Kyle Lohse struck out the side.
Oh, Kyle. That was so hot when you did that. How did it feel being good again? Did you like it? Really? 'Cuz Batgirl liked it too. A lot. 'Cuz Batgirl knows that underneath that monumental 'tude, you're a good pitcher, and Batgirl also thinks once you stop sucking, you'll lose the 'tude, too, because it's some sort of defensive reaction to the sucking, like a blowfish or BatMom snapping a bit after a little too much catnip.
Normally, of course, the Twins can't afford to give up four runs, on account of how no one knows how to hit. But tonight, thanks to some weird-ass alchemy created by the sucking of the Detroit pitching staff, the import of the BatVersary, and the total lack of ass-bats, well, we scoff at four runs. We pee all over four runs! With light saber noises!
Oh, and once Kyle left the game, the bullpen came in, and once that happens, well, good night sweet kitties. The funny thing is the very first game recap on Batgirl ever was entitled "In the bullpen, no one can hear you scream." See, the bullpen wasn't very good last April, and even Joe Nathan, well, blew. But now, now my dear friends, we have Juan Rincon, now we have the good version of J.C. Romero, now we have Joe "Automatic" Nathan. And no one else does. In the 7th, J.C. struck out two (Oh, J.C., please be good this year? Please? Because Boo can't do it all by his Boo-some) and then in the 8th, Boo struck out three, and then Chocula came on and it was all so magically delicious.
Meanwhile, Terry Tiffee came back up to the majors today, and Batgirl was a little worried because not only was he going to play first base, not only was he going to bat clean-up, but he was going to come face to face with the large Puerto Rican mass that had haunted his nightmares ever since he went barreling into it on one dark September day last year. All off season, Terry Tiffee thought about what he might do when he saw the face of his doom again. Would he affect casualness? "Oh, hey, Pudge. How's it hanging?" Would he act all tough and just, like, grunt in Pudge's general direction? Would he acknowledge what had happened—"Hey Pudge, you know when I barreled into you last year and broke my philange? That really hurt my feelings. I just wanted you to know that." He needed a plan, for the last thing he wanted to do, the very last thing, was see Pudge Rodriguez and start to weep.
But tonight, when he stepped up to bat in the first with two on, he shot a glance at his nemesis...and started to laugh.
"God! You're so skinny!" he exclaimed, before pounding the ball into right for an RBI double. He laughed all the way into second, and then when Torii Hunter hit him in, he laughed all the way home. Pudge looked at him and said, "What are you laughing at, rookie?" and then Tiffee started laughing some more, because Pudge looked so cute trying to be all tough and stuff, and he laughed all the way through his next at bat, a walk, and he was still laughing in the fourth when he launched a two-run homer to right, he laughed all around the basepaths and when he got home Pudge glared at him and sniffed, "Aren't you going to barrel into me again?" And Terry Tiffee stopped laughing then, and he slowly shook his head and put his hand on Pudge's shoulder. "No, man," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."
Then he looked over to the BatQuarters and murmured, "Happy BatVersary, Batgirl."
Boyfriend of the Day: Field/Readers 2, Sooz/ Stewie 1, Batgirl/Joe 1, Goober/Dr. Morneau 1.
The return of Terry Tiffee!
Detroit at Twins. Twins 5, Tigers 4.
Well, I'm not really a writer, but Batgirl asked me to fill in for her tonight since I wasn't doing anything else, really, and when Batgirl asks you a favor, you do it. I mean I'm not really on the DL yet, but I'm going on tomorrow, and I knew I wasn't going to play tonight. I don't want to go on the DL, even though Gardy said it's retroactive but since I got hit in the head I really don't understand words more than two syllables.
Anyway, I sat right behind the action tonight with the bat boy and I saw the whole game. It's nice that the Metrodome is inside because natural light makes me not feel so good. But that's not important. What's important is that I sat there just behind the batters and I wasn't scared, even when J.C. Romero was pitching. I'm not scared at all, it's just my head doesn't feel so good when I stand up or move or think. Or when we give up runs in the first inning. I know we've decided to spot people a couple runs now, and I have to say I'm not really sure why we're doing that. Maybe it's just the concussion talking, but it doesn't make any sense to me. Sure, everyone's picking us to win and all and we just want to make things fair, and we feel bad because we have Johan Santana and they don't, but I think we're taking it a little far. And I thought it would be nice for Joe Mays to be able to get out of the first inning unscathed, because he does get, ah, you know how he gets.
Well, I'm not the one who makes those kind of decisions, and anyway it kind of hurts where they took out that lymph node, so I get distracted sometimes and don’t think so good. Still, when Mays came back into the dugout after the first I was afraid he might kick something and it might fly off and hit me in my appendectomy scar. But he was pretty calm. Still, by the time he walked his fourth batter I went over to Mike Redmond and asked to borrow his chest protector, because you can never be too careful.
Pudge Rodriguez is really skinny now, and I don't understand why. I asked him if he'd had pneumonia in the off-season, too, but he just gave me a weird look. Mike Redmond's kid Ryan has pneumonia, and I went to visit him because I could totally relate, and we just sat there and coughed for awhile. In the hospital, I got some more dizzy spells, so they gave me another CAT scan and say I'm just fine. I think I'll feel better soon. I hope so.
I'm supposed to talk about the game, but sometimes I got distracted by the way the light reflected off Mike Maroth's hair gel. Honestly, he wears more gel than Radke! Oh, and did you see when he hit Torii in the thigh? I winced pretty good and covered my pee pee area, just in case. Then I went into the clubhouse and cried for a little bit.
I got back in time to see Bartlett hit his first major league home run to tie the game at one, and it was really sweet, except when he came into the dugout LeCroy hit him in the head and knocked his helmet off. I really wish he'd be more careful. It's nice of him to play first for me, and no one's picking on my defense anymore. Gardy told him to play closer to the base—they told him it was just so he wouldn't be tempted to field balls that are really for Rivas, but we all know it's because it takes him a lot longer to get to the bag than it might take a normal person. Matty says he's big boned, but sometimes I wonder.
Okay, so back to the game. Jason Bartlett hit his first big league homer and he was trying to be all cool about it, but I could tell he was excited. These young kids are so adorable! And that was it until Mays walked another guy to lead off the inning and then Craig Monroe hit a ball into the left field stands, and I just hope it didn't hit any of the fans. I asked one of the ushers to check it out, but he just looked at me like he couldn't understand what I was saying. Maybe he couldn't; I've been slurring my words a little bit since I got hit in the head
In the bottom of the inning Cuddy got a run back by hitting a dinger, like, 420 feet. I used to hit balls that far, but I lost a lot of upper arm strength with the pleurisy. Then in the 6th, Mauer led off with a bunt down the third base line and Brandon Inge totally freaked out and threw the ball way over Carlos Pena's head. That's the sort of thing they might blame the first baseman for, but really there's only so much you can do when they throw the ball over your head. So Mauer ran all the way to second on the play, but he tripped over second base and I almost had a heart attack. I mean a real one.
So, Joe was on second with nobody out and we're behind one run, and then Matty was up, and I could have sworn that he hit a grounder to third, but he couldn't possibly have done that because if he hits a grounder to the left side the runner on second can’t advance. I mean, I know what I saw, but I've been hallucinating a little bit lately, so I can't be sure. But anyway after that Torii got a single and Jacque a sac fly, so we tied the game up! It was pretty exciting, and I almost smiled.
Well, the Tigers got a run back off Old Man Mulholland to make it 4-3, or maybe it was off Jesse Crain. It's all kind of a blur, and I was getting major head rushes then. And then J.C. came in and I went to get a helmet to wear, even though it hurts my head to wear a hat. By the time I could find a helmet that didn't squish my curls too much, we were up again and the Tigers were using their fifth pitcher.
I don’t really understand what Alan Trammell was doing in this game. I mean he put in pretty much his whole bullpen, and I thought it was really nice of him to show us all their pitchers, but he couldn't have done it to be nice, could he? Could he? I wanted to ask him, but one of my chicken pox scars was really itching.
Well, in the bottom of the eighth Ugueth Urbina was pitching. He walked Bartlett to lead off the inning, and then he walked Chairman Mauer, and neither of them swung the bat once. I think I heard Alan Trammell's brain exploding, but my ears have been ringing since I got hit in the head, so I can't be sure. Anyway, it's the bottom the eighth, there are two runners on, and the pitcher can't find the strike zone if it were the size of a hockey goal, and Matty comes up and swings at the first pitch. The first pitch! Sure, he ended up advancing the runners on the fly, but, you don't swing on the first pitch when the guy's so wild. Even I know that, and I've had five concussions. But sometimes LeCroy is thinking harder about his crawdads than the count. I can't really eat crawdads, because I'll break out in hives and start vomiting all over the place and I'll swell up somewhere very personal, so it can be really hard when Matty invites everyone out for crawdads. I get really uncomfortable. I can't tell him the truth because he'll make fun of me so I just say I have to go home and call my mom.
Well, anyway Jacque got the tying run in, and then Boo Berry pitched a fierce ninth inning and when he came into the dugout he had smoke coming off of his skin and I was a little concerned but everyone else seemed fine with it, so I didn't say anything.
Oh, and then Troy Percival came on to close, even though the game was tied, but I guess Alan Trammell didn't have any pitchers left or something. And we've never scored anytime ever against Percival, except when Dusty Mohr broke Bengie Molina's wrist, but I was feeling pretty confident that we’d be able to win the game tonight without hurting anyone. After we came back in the eighth, everyone in the dugout just started to seem all happy and relaxed and excited, and it was like