Twins at Boston. Weekend Round-Up.
Friday. Boston 8, Twins 5.
Saturday. Boston 6, Twins 2.
Sunday. Boston 4. Twins 3.
There was nothing pretty about this weekend of baseball, even with Bronson Arroyo pitching. The Minnesota Twins seemed to take Batgirl's Thursday proclamation of "It Could Be Worse" as some kind of challenge. Friday's game was particularly bad—not only did Torii go down and J.C. Romero give up a grand slam to my high school history teacher, but in the fifth inning the Twins engaged in some defensive follies worthy of a clown posse at a baseball-themed circus. A really depressing baseball themed circus. To call it the Keystone Kops would be an insult to the crime fighting acumen of those fine kops. To call it a comedy of errors would imply that there was anything funny at all about what transpired on that baseball field. To call it Crazy Pepe's Chug and Toss would be an affront to that noble game and its grand history of chugging and tossing.
It started when Carlos Silva put two batters on with two out, and then Johnny Damon stroked a single to right and by the time the play was over Damon had come around to score (after having gotten hit in the head with Li'l-Rod's throw home) two errors were charged on the play (the fact that there were only two was a great act of charity on the scorekeeper's part) the ball had earned a spot in the pinball Hall of Fame (and possibly a Purple Heart) and Batgirl was gathering some blankets getting ready to dive back in her hole.
It's really hard to explain what happened—the English language really only has so many words for "ass"—so with some trepidation Batgirl set out to reenact the play for her readership, using Legos.
But something strange happened, as you'll see from the tape.
The Lego guys prepare to take the field to film the scene. Lego Bill Mueller and Lego Tony Graffanino head to first and second. Lego Johnny Damon strides to the plate.
Meanwhile, the Twins Legos get their directions.
"I'm supposed to do what?" exclaimed Lego Carlos Silva.
"Nun-uh," said Lego Justin Morneau. "I always cut off the ball. I'll look bad if I don't cut off the ball! I've got a rep, here!"
"They've got me missing the ball, like, twice!" grumbles Lego Joe Mauer. "That's not in my contract. I don't do physical comedy."
"What is this, Amateur Hour?" said Lego Silva. "F*** this sh**. I didn't go to Lego Juilliard for this. Come on guys, let's walk."
"YEAH!"
Then, with a strange gleam in his eye, Lego Morneau turned toward us and put his hand up.
"There's nothing to see here," he said. "We're done for the day. Put the camera down."
With a menacing expression, Lego Morneau takes a step forward.
"I SAID—"
"PUT. THE. CAMERA. DOWN."
It's BG's turn to do the Blogger's Minute on the Twins Magazine this week, and she's got some ideas to help the club. Readers, what do you think?
Last week, Washington Nationals General Manager Jim Bowden called Barry Larkin to see if the 41 year old former Reds shortstop might come out of retirement to help the team. This is an ingenious approach to solving a roster's problems, and as the trade deadline approaches, we should ask ourselves, should we be looking, not to other teams, but to the Twins own past?
We've been looking for a good righthanded bat, and the Twins have had one of the best floating around their organization the last few years. Paul Molitor may not have been able to fit into the coaching staff, but why not into the lineup? It's perfect—3rd base has been a huge question mark for us, and Molly's got about two thousand nine hundred more career hits than the rest of our third basemen combined.
And everyone's waiting for Justin Morneau to be the next Kent Hrbek, but I don't see why we need a new Kent Hrbek when we have a perfectly good one already living in Bloomington. He might not have the range at 1B that he used to, but I think it might even out since he takes up so much more space.
Meanwhile, the Twins seem to be lacking a little bit of spark these days, but they've got one of the most fiery players in Twins history up in the radio booth right now. Last year, Torii Hunter bowling over Jamie Burke reinvigorated our whole season—well, let Dan Gladden at a few of these catchers and we'll be reinvigorated right up through 2015.
Or, hey, just imagine what an outfield of Kirby Puckett, Harmon Killebrew, and Tony Oliva could do. And I'm sure Hrbie would be more than happy to platoon at first with Rod Carew, if Rod feels he's too old to play 2nd. I know our pitchers are doing pretty well, but should they falter we've got Viola, Blyleven, Morris, and Kaat all at our disposal, and still the average age of the staff wouldn't be any higher than that of the Yankees.
We’ve got the talent in our organization to save this season. We just have to know where to look.
Please forgive the interruption in service. The BatServer was as erratic today as a Brad Radke first inning. We had to use a back-up of BG.com and have lost anything posted after 4:30am. BG will be slowly restoring comments made through the day today, but if she misses your comment, please feel free to repost. BG profoundly regrets any inconvenience this may cause.
Twins at Yankees. Yankees 6, Twins 3.
It could!
We could have invented a whole robot race to do mindless labor and those robots could have decided to exterminate all of humanity and we could be the only survivors of a massive attack, running around on the last remaining Battlestar leading a rag-tag fugitive fleet trying to avoid the Cylons and perpetuate the human race even though we ran out of deodorant a frackin' age ago.
And if we were, I bet we'd say, "Man, what I'd really like right now is to see Joe Mays give up a three-run homer to Wiggle-Bat Sheffield. That would rock.
Or, hey...
We could be engaged to a young up and coming Jedi that we've known since he was just an itty bitty annoying little bastard and we could be pregnant with his twin babies and then that Jedi could get manipulated and turn to the Dark Side and hunt down and kill all the other Jedi, then get made into hamburger by Obi Wan Kenobi.
And if that was the case, when we are giving birth, literally dying from fear and heartbreak, we would think, "Gee, what would be super fun right now would be to see Aaron 'I'm Not So' Small, late of the Albuquerque Isotopes, retire 12 Twins batters in a row."
Oh, or, how about this:
We could be astronauts thrown through time and space and we could crash land on a strange planet. We could then be taken captive by a group of simians with British accents who treat humans like animals. The dirty apes would then torture and vivisect and lobotomize us and be really condescending, too.
And, if that happened, when we tried to make our escape and run to the "Forbidden Zone" only to discover the remnants of Lady Liberty, when we fell to our knees in horror, when we looked up to the heavens and screamed, we might say, "Gosh, what I'd like right now is to watch Joe Mays load the bases with a one-run deficit, and what I would further like is to see Robinson Cano then hit a single with the bases so juiced to put my team behind 6-3."
Oh, oh, I know!
We could be on a terraforming colony on some distant planet, and then the aliens invade the planet because the alien queen thinks it would be a really nice place to raise a family. And these aren't nice aliens, like ET or Gonzo, but really grody, aliens with acid for spit and they start kidnapping us all, one by one, and impregnating us with grody alien babies and then encasing us in these giant slime-cocoons.
And should that be our fate, when the alien babies start exploding out of our tummies, we might think, "Boy, what I'd really like to do right now is watch the Minnesota Twins lose two of three to the Yankees."
Or we might not. If we're lucky, when the alien Cylon Sith apes come to take us away and impregnate us and patronize us, we might think of happier things, like BatKitties or Blizzards or Johan Santana. Or we might be sitting there with the Sith babies exploding out of our tummies and we might look back on the last two weeks of Twins baseball and think, "Well, it could be worse."
Thank you to Neil for pointing out this startling development.
Twins at Yankees. Twins 7, Yankees 3.
Oh, wow. It doesn't take a lot to make Batgirl happy these days. I mean, just yesterday in the sixth inning Batgirl and the BatKitties Three let out cheers of joy that shook the whole house. Jeb came bounding upstairs—thump thump thump thump—and burst into the room. "What? What happened?"
And Batgirl turned to him, tears of joy streaking down her face. "WE GOT A HIT!" she exclaimed. "OH SWEET JESUS WE GOT A HIT!"
Jeb was, shall we say, not impressed. Some words were said that are not appropriate for a family blog. He would have been impressed, though, had he been watching the game and had spent the prior two hours in mortal terror that we'd be no-hit. Really. BatKitty 2 was so worked up that somewhere in the 5th he got the shits.
Well, there was much more cause for BatCelebration tonight, not to mention some serious BatKitty Indigestion. In the first couple innings it seemed like the Yankees were just toying with us, letting us load the bases just to throw our incredible offensive pathetic-osity in our face. Which, you know, is just mean.
But that's just the way the Yankees are. Mean. Like putting up that 150 year old pitcher against us just to taunt us. I mean, it was one thing to throw Randy Johnson at us—he's supposed to be good—but to highlight the soul-sucking impotence of our bats by pitching Al Leiter—why, that's a real low blow, Torre. A real low blow.
Leiter was particularly cruel tonight, taunting us by completely sucking. 5 I.P., 7 hits, 5 walks, a hit batter, 847 pitches—all that, and we could only manage one run off him. (Though—to be fair--it's a distinct possibility that we were still experiencing a suckover from yesterday's game.)
But you know what happens when you're mean? You get struck out by Johan Santana. And then you feel bad about yourself. And then you sit in the dugout and say, "I've just been struck out by Johan Santana, who is clearly a superior specimen of personhood than I, and it has made me re-evaluate both my actions and my motivations and my overall purpose on this earth."
And sometimes, when you're mean, you get thrown out by Torii Hunter. Like, say, in the bottom of the 3rd. There was one out and runners on first and second, and Gary "Wiggle Bat" Sheffield hit a single to centerfield. Because he's mean, Derek "Number Two" Jeter decides to try to score from second base (I mean, Derek, sweetie, we suck offensively, not defensively. Read the memos more carefully!). Torii "Sweetcheeks" Hunter makes an absolutely perfect throw to Joe "Chairman" Mauer—I mean, my god, angels wept with joy when Torii made his throw—and Jeter had to go sit on the bench and think seriously about what he did—nay, who he is.
And sometimes, when you're mean, it comes back to bite you on the ass. For the Yanks overplayed their hand tonight and the Twins came to realize the depth of their suckitude. It’s one thing to get shut down by Randy Johnson, but clearly there was a point in tonight's game where the Twins were shocked out of their dull-witted assbattery by the horror of what had proceeded earlier. There was a point where the Minnesota Twins offense stood up and decided they were going to Suck No More.
I can't say exactly what the turning point was—though it wasn't in the top of the 3rd, when Scott Ullger, acting as 3rd base coach presumably because he lost a bet, decided to send Bret Boone from first on Justin Morneau's double to left in the 3rd. Now, the ball was pretty much heading toward Posada by the time the Boone-ster rounded 3rd, and as Boone was heading home Posada grabbed the ball, recited all 17 verses of Alfred Noyes' "The Highwayman," and braced himself for impact. Boone sort of threw himself at Posada, as if a bird against a picture window, and then bounced off the Yankee's catcher, crumpling to the ground like a sparrow who had lived its last. Hunter and Jamie Burke it was not.
No, it would take a few more innings for the Twins to wake up, but you know what? Once they woke up, they woke up but good. Three runs in the seventh, two runs in the eighth, one in the ninth. And that, my friends, makes seven runs in one game. Seven runs! The crazy thing about this game was the players who were supposed to be our offense actually were. Justin Morneau, Joe Mauer, Torii Hunter, Shannon Stewart, Jacque Jones. They hit the ball. With runners in scoring position. They scored runs and got RBIs and—oh, it was so beautiful. Like a flower, a sunset, or a Bitch Sox loss.
The game was a little more stressful than it needed to be, and Batgirl may have wept tears of joy when Gardy brought in the Vice President to get the last out in the eighth, marking the Nathannator's first appearance before the 9th inning all season. Clearly, Gardy wanted this almost as bad as BG did.
'Til tomorrow, then, my friends, and remember sometimes when things are at their very darkest Joe Nathan strikes out A-Rod to end the game, and we can look off into the horizon and see just the faintest glimmer of light. And that, my friends, is worth celebrating.
BatNotes: Also worth celebrating-- the super-awesome Batlings who got hereby circled!
Man. A great game for, well, most of the boyfriends. All the ones that have a pulse anyway. I don't know what's up with Zombie Fordwalker but I hope that Real Lew fights his way out of the dungeon right quick. Boy, aren't they going to be sorry when Lew breaks out and unleashes some of the moves he's learned playing Doom all these years? But the BODSHC digresses. She'd like to give a huge nod, first of all, to the President of the United States of America for holding the Yanks down until the offense awoke from the coma (Offense in a coma, I know, I know—it's serious. Do you think they'll pull through?) And as for Team Batgirl boyfriends, smoochies to the good Doctor for the RBI double and the 9th inning dinger,and more smoochies to Chairman Mauer for scoring the first two runs of the game. But BG's got to give this one to Shannon Stewart. She takes back everything she said on Monday; all that consistency and competence isn't boring—it's incredibly hot. It's scorching! And when you stepped up to the plate in the 7th with the bases loaded and doubled—well, BG got out the fire extinguishers. And also readied to pronounce you, Shannon Stewart, the Boyfriend of the Day.
Field/Readers 16, Sooz/Stewie 11, Jeb/Lewwww 8, Goober/Dr. Morneau 7, Batgirl/Joe 6.
A close friend of BG's has an in-depth analysis of the Marlins demands for an AJ Burnett trade on ESPN.com's Page 2.
And in other Page 2 news, Jim Caple had a terrific piece yesterday on old skool bats which included this fascinating tidbit:
Bret Boone has been known to keep more than 120 bats by his lockers, dividing them into hot and cold piles. Boone's bats are all generally the same model but he's convinced some feel good and some don't, and even the ones that feel good today might not feel good tomorrow. That's why he has Louisville Slugger on speed dial, frequently calling the company in the middle of the night for another order.
Twins at New York. Yankees 4, Twins Goose Egg.
The first thing you have to know is a few months ago they built a Dairy Queen a few blocks from Casa Batgirl. It's right on the main drag, too—it's pretty much impossible to come or go without hearing the siren call of the blizzard machine. Jeb and BG were gripped with horror when they saw it going up.
"What are we going to do?" Batgirl asked.
"If we start going to DQ," Jeb said, shaking his head, "we'll never be able to stop."
"We must never cross the threshold," Batgirl agreed. "One step over and we'll be lost forever."
And Batgirl and Jeb have been very, very good. Sometimes one of them will say, "I think we should go to DQ," and the other will knock the first down to the ground, pin his hands back, and sit on him until the blood fever passes.
It is important that you know all this, so you understand what I'm saying when I tell you that after sitting through all nine innings of tonight's game (with perhaps a wee trip to the bathroom when J.C. Romero came on to replace Jesse Crain with the bases juiced and Matsui coming up. Really—When you gotta go, you gotta go!) Batgirl stood up and announced she was going to Dairy Queen. She would, in fact, be getting a Banana Cream Dream Pie Blizzard, because she heard they were quite delicious. She would be more than happy to get Jeb a Blizzard as well, or perhaps a Mr. Misty. Now, would he get the hell out of her way?
"No," Jeb said. "I won't."
Whereupon Batgirl explained to Jeb that she was going to get a Blizzard one way or another. It would be to Jeb's advantage to move, because otherwise she would have to go through him, and that might get a little messy.
"Batgirl, no," Jeb said. "Think about what you're doing!"
At which point Batgirl explained to Jeb that she had thought about it, she'd thought about it quite a bit, in fact, while the Twins were batting tonight (and she uses that term loosely) she had done nothing but think about how after the game she would get a Banana Cream Dream Pie Blizzard and would he GET OUT OF HER BLEEPIN' BLARGIN' WAY?
BG doesn't really want to say what happened next—let's just say during the game they showed a replay of what
Torii Hunter did to Jamie Burke a year ago tonight. Suffice to say, a mere minutes later BG had placed her order, and the die had been cast.
The Blizzard, BG will have you know, was quite delicious. Banana-y, Cream-y, Dream-y, and Pie-y all at once. She got one for Jeb, too, to eat when he regained consciousness. Jeb is not a flavor-of-the-month type guy—he picks his topping (in this case, Oreo) and sticks to it, which is one of the many reasons Batgirl loves him.
As for the game, well, BG has been carried away on the succulent wings of pie, in Blizzard form. The Rubicon has been crossed my friends—there is no turning back now.
Dear Mr. Ryan,
Hi! We haven't spoken in a while, and I know you're really busy right now. It's just, well, the trade deadline's coming up and I have something really important to talk to you about. I know everyone wants a real third baseman and/or a right-handed power bat, preferably available for the major league minimum. And I'm totally in support of that. It's just, you may have noticed that the Twins have some other deficiencies too. Over the past few years, we've suffered a serious net Player Personality deficit, and I think it's time we address it.
See, I'm dying here. Bat-girl.com lives and dies on the personalities of the players, and the guys we have now are so worried about playing baseball they just don't give a Batgirl anything to work with. If we don't up our team OPS (Overall Percentage of Sass) soon, I'm going to run out of material.
I mean, let's look at what's happened here in the past few years. Like, in the outfield:
Now, don't get me wrong—Shannon Stewart saved our team in '03 and some days he provides the only offense we have, but all that consistency and competence? Boooo-ring. The working out all the time thing is great, dude,—but why don't you let your freak flag fly once in a while? I mean, he calls Gardy Ron. What am I supposed to do with that?
Oh, and then this:
Look, no offense to Young Master Grip and Go, but AJ wasn't just an ass-master, he was the sass master. You just don't see Our Lad Joe razzing opposing hitters during the game, inciting other pitchers to throw at him, getting his face plastered on dartboards all over major league baseball—why, there's nary a "boo-yah" with Mauer. We can't even get the kid to don a wife-beater shirt. Honestly.
And this one hurt a lot:
We couldn't get Dougie to shut up, but Justin, he doesn't talk at all. He never blows bubbles when he plays, and his hat doesn't have any pine tar on it. Would it kill you, Justin, to be just a little stickier?
And then, well, I don't even like to talk about it, but…
On the surface, Koskie seemed to have no personality at all, but, oh, the depths to plumb! He likes Minnesota because it's "like an extension of Canada." He talks funny. He puts peanut butter in people's undies. He likes to smash chairs. And I've seen a lot of heart from our motley crew of third base people, but a distinct lack of chair smashing.
Now, Mr. Ryan, I know you've tried. A Kris Benson acquisition would have done a lot for the team. And Bret Boone is proving to be quite a hothead, though he seems to be better at smashing the bat against the ground that at using it to hit the ball. It's not your fault that some people got more interesting after they left. But the rest of our guys, well, they're just so normal. We already have Torii Hunter to be a paragon of all that is good and pure about the world. I'm sure there's some personality out there, just waiting to be blogged about.
Love,
BG
Thank you to Tinger for the most excellent idea. Click on the BatKitty to visit the BatStore!
Twins at Detroit. Weekend Round-Up.
Friday. Tigers 12, Twins 6.
Saturday, Game 1. Tigers 2, Twins 1.
Game 2. Twins 5, Tigers 2.
Sunday. Tigers 5, Twins 2.
It was Joe who found the pants. Maysie is a bit of a clothes horse and is always hunting in vintage shops for something truly fabulous. Of course, he could afford to wear the latest fashions, but that's just not Joe's style.
Anyway—the jeans. He says he doesn't know why he picked them up—anyone who's looked in Joe's closet knows he needs a new pair of jeans like he needs a new pair of pumps, but he said there was just something about them that seemed to call to him. So he took them into the dressing room. And when he put them on, well, they were just perfect. He looked long and lean when he turned around he noted with pleasure that they hugged his butt just right. So he bought them, and when he got home he put the bag in his closet and he forgot about the jeans.
It was probably a month later when we were in Joe's room keeping him company while he packed for the Detroit series. Joe needs a lot of moral support when he packs. That's the thing about being best friends with someone since, like, birth—you have a sixth sense for things like that. And the four of us, well, we knew each other better than we knew ourselves. We'd been through everything together, including packing with Joe. Anyway, Kyle was going through Joe's closet trying to pick out a few good outfits when he came across the bag from the vintage store. "What's this?" he asked, pulling the bag out.
"Oh," said Joe. "I bought these jeans for like five bucks! They're fabulous, but I forgot all about them!"
"Fabulous, huh?" asked Kyle. Without another word he took off his pants and slipped on the jeans.
Well, I don't mind telling you that we were all kind of stunned. I mean, he looked amazing. Kyle's a good looking guy, but there's just something about the right pair of jeans.
"That's funny," Joe said. "They fit me really well, too. Pass 'em over." And then Joe put them on and I swear, suddenly he looked like a supermodel.
So then Scottie piped up. "Can I try?" Now, Baker is a few inches shorter and much thinner than the other guys, but the weird thing was, when he put on the jeans, well, he looked just great. He looked more thin than skinny all of a sudden, and his normally nonexistent butt looked tight and perky.
"You look hot," Kyle said. And we all had to agree.
"You know what?" said Joe. "I think these are magic jeans. I think they make everyone who wears them look fabulous. Here, Carlos, you try."
"Oh, come on," said Carlos—the last of us. "No pair of jeans that fits you guys is going to fit me." Carlos is shorter and rounder than the rest of us and has huge body image problems as a result. Of course, he's totally beautiful, maybe not in that stick figure way, but still. He just doesn't know it.
"Just try it," said Kyle. "Come on!"
Carlos sighed and took off his khakis and put on the jeans. He pulled on them like he expected them to be tight, but they went on like they were made for him. And when he zipped them up and turned around to show us, well, we all gasped.
"Carlos…" Joe said.
"Carlos, you're gorgeous!" Scottie said.
And Carlos, well, it was like he knew it. He looked in the mirror, shaking his head. "Wow," he said.
"Wow," we all said.
"That does it," said Joe. "These are magic pants."
Well, we sat in silence for some time, absorbing the significance of our discovery. I mean, what do you say when you have a pair of magic pants?
"Well," said Kyle. "Clearly these pants found us for a reason. I mean, we're heading into the Detroit series and we have a real chance to pick up some games. These pants can help us!"
"That's right," said Scottie. "Why don't we each wear the pants when we pitch, and then when we're done we'll hand them over to the next guy!"
Joe squealed. "That's a great idea!"
"I think we should have a ceremony, you know?" said Kyle. "I think we should, like, swear on the pants or something."
"That's a great idea," said Carlos. He took off the magic pants and spread them in the middle of Joe's room. We got up and stood in a circle and held hands.
"We pledge," said Joe, "that we each will wear the magic pants during our very important starts during the Detroit series. After our start, we will immediately pass on the pants. We promise we will tell each other everything that happens in the pants. We promise not to wash the pants, ever. We will promise to honor and respect the pants by pitching the best we possibly can. We promise not to give up six RBI's to Craig Monroe. We promise to use the power of the pants to lead our team to victory!"
At which point, Carlos raised his hand. "What if the pants help us pitch the best we possibly can, but the offense really sucks and we lose anyway? What if our baserunners start acting like they're monkeys with massive head injuries and they run us out of every situation?"
Joe smiled and squeezed Carlos's hand. "Trust in the pants, my friend. Trust in the pants."
Okay, look, I know all the sentiment is going to go for the kid here; I mean Scott Baker got up there tonight and, well, he pitched his little tail off. But Scott Baker, he's not even old enough to be someone's boyfriend. And being a B.O.D.S.H.C. isn't about making the popular decisions. Sometimes, you have to make the hard choices. And, let's face it, some people's boyfriends have been really, really bad for some time. And, well, those particular boyfriends, we need them to be good. We need them to hit the ball. We need them to, say, get an RBI double and a homer—not in one month, but in one game. And when they do, it's the B.O.D.S.H.C.'s job to say, right-o, old buddy! Cheers to you! Oh, and, Hey, Curly McSlumpypants, for the love of all that's holy KEEP IT UP! And that you, Justin Morneau, are the Boyfriend of the Day.
Field/Readers 16, Sooz/Stewie 10, Jeb/Lewwww 8, Goober/Dr. Morneau 7, Batgirl/Joe 6.
F.O.B. Steve from the sadly defunct M's blog Mariners Wheelhouse gives us some tips on our newest aquisition:
In Boone's good seasons in Seattle, he consistently hit the ball with power to right field. The Mariners believed Boone's problem the last couple of years was that his bat slowed down, so he couldn't hit the ball hard as consistently as he had in previous years. They believe he compensated by shortening his swing and trying to pull the ball to generate power, instead of continuing to hit the ball to right and aceept the loss of power. When the Mariners took Boone out of the lineup for 10 games in June to work on his swing that was what they had him working on.At the time the Mariners let Boone go, Hargrove commented that after his time off, Boone came back with things fixed, but shortly thereafter revereted to his previous habits. The Mariners DFA'd Boone after he proved unable to shake the old habits or unwilling to accept that he was no longer going to be a 30 HR guy. Perhaps Molitor will have more success.
Anyway, as you track suckitude for Mr. Boone, you might keep that in mind.
Hitting ball to right side => good.
Hitting ball to left side => suck.Actually, I should amend it a bit. It's not quite as extreme as I made it sound. Boone also has been good turning on inside pitches. During his good years, though, he drove outside pitches to right with authority. He was particularly effective on pitches high and away, and at times was actually a sucker for a shoulder-high fastball off the plate.
And I think the comment pertains to Boone swinging with the upright stance he uses before he has two strikes. In previous years, hit many balls to right field using that stance. Very few this year. He swings out of his heels trying to pull the ball until he has two strikes and puts himself in the hole.
so, I should say:
Hitting ball to right side with upright stance => Good
Hitting ball to left side => Suck.
Thanks ever so much to She-Ra, P.O.P. and Wonder Woman for the absolutely magnificent idea.
Click on the kitty to the left to visit the Batstore!
Twins at Detroit. Twins 10, Tigers 5.
Hey, Batgirl.
So, um, I'm suspended for the game tonight and I thought I'd use this chance to apologize to you and your readers. I said some things on Monday that I really shouldn't have said. I know you didn't fall down that hole on purpose. I know you wouldn't do that, Batgirl. Sure, you milked it for all it was worth (I mean are you on DQ's payroll, BG? I thought you were lactose intolerant!) but I don't think you did it on purpose.
And you know how I said Hunter Wendelstedt was a big—well, it rhymes with "trucking bassbowl." That was a little uncalled for. Sometimes we say things, Batgirl, we say things we don't mean because we're angry. I'm sure it's happened to you. It's just, I bet when it happened to you no one put it on the internet. And I bet no one remixed it to a groovy dance beat. And I bet your wife didn't listen to both the thing-you-shouldn't-have-said and the remix. I'm suspended for one game, but I'm grounded for two weeks. Meanwhile, Hrbie keeps leaving the thing on my voice mail. Very funny, lard ass.
Okay, anyway, so my point is I'm really sorry. It was nice of you to edit out all those bad words, though I noticed you seem to have a slightly different standard when someone else blogs for you. But that's your prerogative, I guess. I'm just saying.
Well, anyway, it's just the 4th inning, but the game's going pretty well. We scored 5 runs in the second inning which was pretty cool. Sure, when I manage, the guys can't get a run to save my life, but they go all Offensive-Powerhouse for Scottie Ullger. Even Morneau got a hit, and he couldn't hit a pitch thrown by my Aunt Fanny, and she died in 1995. But it was nice to see that there is a force more incompetent than our offense, and that is the Tigers D. It was cute when Pudge tried to throw to the first baseman, and the first baseman wasn't there. No wonder he lost a jillion pounds; his soul's getting eaten away every night. That's got to be, oh—
Huh. Well, you know? The ump just warned both benches. Interesting. Fascinating, really. Jason Johnson goes butt-hunting for Little Nicky Punto, and they warn both benches. Well.
Normally, this is the kind of thing that would really pi—I mean, make me angry, but not today. There's no way I'm going to call the umpire a trucking bassbowl, because you shouldn't call people names. There are several reasons for this, including: 1) It isn't nice and 2) You get grounded. And Ullger did a good job of protesting the warning anyway—really, he sort of sauntered out and muttered a few things and meekly went back into the dugout like a good little boy. That's appropriate behavior—we shouldn't kick dirt and throw things at umpires because umpires are our friends. Even though it is absolutely ridiculous that they warned our bench when we didn't do a single darned thing. Even though they've taken away the inside part of the plate from Johan. Even though we can't protect our guys now. Even though we've gotten screwed on that all year. Even though this rule is the most moronic thing to happen to baseball since Hunter Wend—Ah, never mind. Well, anyway, Ullger did a good job; he just registered his disapproval and sat back down and, now, the game can continue, nice and civilized, and no one has to get tossed, and no one's wife has to get upset. It's a good way of doing things, if you don't mind being a huge pansy.
Huh. Well, you know the funny thing? They just called a Craig Monroe foul ball a homer. The third base ump didn't see it right and called it wrong, and then they had a conference, and then, well, I guess the other umps didn't see it either. The funny thing is Craig Monroe saw it—he started running then stopped and turned back toward home and said a very naughty word, the kind of word that can get a grown man grounded. Everyone in Tiger stadium—or whatever the heck it's called now—saw it, apparently, except for the four umps. I guess that's the problem when you spend so much time with your head up your bass.
Well, Scottie's barking a little more now, but I have to say, he doesn't really have the hang of this. What you have to do is kick the dirt around home plate so the ump has to clean it off. Otherwise, you just look like a chicken flapping around out there, and unless you lay out a big chicken turd right there on the field, it's not going to do anything. And if Little Nicky Punto can hold you back, well, you’re not angry enough, I tell you what. And now the whole dugout's barking. Heh, I think Newmie just questioned whether the ump's parents were married upon the occasion of his conception and eventual birth. Ooh, Liddle got in a good one. He may be a pretty boy, but he sure can swear. And I think Radke just—oh. Oh my! Wow, well, I never would have thought of putting those particular words together in that particular way, but, you know Radke's a bit of a surrealist.
Oh, huh. Well, Brad's in here with me now so I'm going to pass this thing on. One sec.
Brad Radblog.
Twins at Detroit. Twins 10, Tigers 5.
[EDITED].
Q: Joe, why are you so awesome?
A: I don't know, Skippy, but I have to say, the faith and love of Batgirl sure helps.
Q: I bet it does, Joe. Now come on, it's time for homeroom.
Field/Readers 16, Sooz/Stewie 10, Jeb/Lewwww 8, Goober/Dr. Morneau 6, Batgirl/Joe 6.
Latest trade scuttlebutt has the Twins involved in a three way with Boston and Florida, getting Mueller for Mays and Romero. That seems a mite excessive to Batgirl. Here's the article from the Boston Globe. (Thanks to Carrie IC for the heads-up)
EDIT Here's more from the Boston Herald. Are the Twins trying to get Mueller and Millar? Please note that one article says the Twins are not willing to part with Lohse but rather Mays, and another says they'd rather deal Lohse, so, you know, take them for what they're worth.
... Batling DhruvK provides this mangificent reenactment.
Might we suggest reading it while listening to DJ Goober Goob's phat Gardy's Tirade Remix?
Baltimore at Twins. Twins 3, Orioles 2.
AP WIRE REPORT
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Emotions ran high on the Metrodome Plaza today as a local girl was rescued from what was once thought a bottomless pit.
Twins Territory resident Batgirl, age, um, 27, was pulled from the Holy Crap That Sucked Monument three days after she fell in during the Minnesota Twins ill-fated weekend series against the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.
Ms. Girl lived on stale cake and dirt but what really kept her alive, she says, was hope.
"I knew I wasn't going to be down there, forever," said Ms. Girl. "I knew they'd come for me—eventually."
But would they come in time? On the last day of her confinement, Batgirl reports, she began to have strange hallucinations.
"(Former Twins pitcher) Rick Reed came to talk to me. He's been doing a lot of spelunking since his retirement, and he was coming up from China. We had a really good conversation. I thought maybe he could save me, but I've learned it's not a good idea to pin your hopes on Rick Reed."
Things grew worse as the day wore on.
"I was starting to get really cold and lose feeling in my head," said Ms. Girl. "I heard this weird creaking noise and I saw a man was lowering himself down. At first I thought it was Miguel Tejada coming to step on my heart. But then I saw that the man was wearing a Twins uniform and when he saw me he smiled the most beautiful smile, and I knew who it was."
"Come on Batgirl," Jones said, "it's time to get you out of that hole."
After the rescue, authorities worked effortlessly to reunite her with the rest of Team Batgirl. After a long search, they found the remaining members enjoying some nice Dream Pie Blizzards at Dairy Queen. When questioned, Girl's sister-in-law Sooz said that all three flavors were quite delicious, but she liked the French Silk one the best.
With all love and respect and gratitude and, yes, a little lust to Jacque Jones--not to mention to the baggie in right--the B.O.D.S.H.C's eyes turn to an earlier run-scoring play. The Twins were, once again, scoreless through much of the game today, despite several opportunities (many of them created by Juan Castro). Then in the sixth, Little Nicky Punto got a lead-off hit and it seemed there was an outside chance we might be able to score him. Maybe with some small ball? A bunt, a sac fly, a stolen base, and a little help from Crazy Pepe? No, how about a triple from Mr. Shannon Stewart putting the Twins on the board, setting up the tying run, and giving Stewie the Boyfriend of the Day..
Field/Readers 16, Sooz/Stewie 10, Jeb/Lewwww 8, Goober/Dr. Morneau 6, Batgirl/Joe 5
Gardy has apologized extensively for Monday's tirade about umpire Hunter Wendelstedt, but Batgirl felt it was extremely important that everyone know what he's apologizing for. Fortunately, the KQRS morning show got a recording of the whole thing.
Here's the clip from KQRS. (It's their DJs laughing.) Please note that Gardy weaves an exquisite tapestry of obscenities. Thank you ever so much to Batling Nick for making the file.
UPDATE: Team Batgirl has now put Gardy's comments to a groovy dance beat!
Baltimore at Twins. Twins 4, Orioles 3.
Well, it's cold and dark down here, but that's the thing with holes in the ground—you don't fall down them for the amenities. The rest of Team Batgirl threw down a couple blankets and some cake pretty soon after Batgirl's endless plummet, which was thoughtful of them, except the cake had a bite missing from it. Batgirl's first thought, of course—after "Who took a bite out of my cake?"—was of her duty to her readers. Quickly, she tapped out a message in Morse code asking the rest of Team Batgirl to blog for her until they could get her out. There was a long silence, and then a blogtron came drifting down into the darkness suspended by a jerryrigged parachute followed by a crank-operated TV.
Well, okay.
Now BG's been cranking, she's been cranking hard for two days and so she's managed to catch much of the action. The reception's a little wonky though—Jeb has apparently stationed one of the BatKitties near the hole with a tinfoil antenna/helmet thing. The thing with BatKitties though is it's hard to get them to stay still. Sometimes, bugs fly by. BatKitties like bugs.
But that's not important. You don't care about that. The truth is, Batgirl is stalling here because she's not sure what to write. See, she watched the game, but there's not a lot of oxygen in this here pit and, again, the reception is weird, so she can't really trust her senses. The thing is, Batgirl seems to be under the impression that we won tonight. More than that, BG really gets the sense that we scored more runs than the other team.
Could this be true? BG's been Morse coding furiously, but no one from Team Batgirl seems to be around—Guys? Guys?—so she can't get any confirmation.
This much is clear. Lohse was totally 2002 in his performance, allowing two earned runs through six, and we went into the late innings tied. Now, BG's watched a lot of games lately, so she had a pretty good idea of how that was going to end up. The Twins were destined to lose this one by one run, it was just a question of when that run would score. Perhaps the 7th, when Shaggy Guerrier came on in relief and—Zoinks!—put runners on first and second. Or when he was relieved by J.C., who came on to face Rafael Palmeiro with those two runners on, for--well, it might be the lack of oxygen talking—but BG remembers pretty clearly that J.C. isn't always at his best when he inherits runners, and as Batgirl distinctly recalls, Palmeiro's gotten a little more "pop" in his "bat" lately. But J.C. coaxed a double play out of him, and somehow we survived the 7th.
But in the 8th, ah, surely this would be our downfall, for J.C. gave up a lead-off walk, and deep in the earth Batgirl felt a great rumbling that she assumed came from some organ of Gardy's or another. Walks, you see, will haunt. Especially lead-off walks given up by J.C. Romero in the 8th inning. But a sweet Bret Boone over-the-shoulder catch and a smooth 3-6-3 later and once again, we were home free. And then Batgirl started to wonder: Could we—possibly—hold them long enough to score a run of our very own?
No. No. As we learned on Monday, hope is the pill they give you to make it all hurt more in the end, and thanks to a base hit, a passed ball, and a sac fly the Twins went into the bottom of the ninth, once again, down a run.
But then—oh—again, BG's not sure about this. I mean nobody got any hits or anything, and there was absolutely a ground out and a strikeout, and did our catcher just try to steal a base? Who thought that was a good idea? But somehow Joe Mauer was on 3rd with two outs and things got very still inside Batgirl's hole. It's possible this is the point she passed out and started hallucinating, because a few batters later Jacque Jones hit a long ground ball to Miggy Tejada--who has a new Corvette courtesy of the good folks at Chevrolet--and then the next thing Batgirl knew the Twins were rushing the field, jumping up and down, and even—could it be?—smiling. Smiling! Also, Jacque Jones looked like a giant sandwich.
Well, look, it was probably just a dream, or something, but even so, it's a dream BG wanted to share with all of you, because it is a beautiful dream, one of togetherness and peace and joy and warmer blankets and, like, a protein bar or something? Anything?
Okay, things might be a little disjointed for awhile. BG doesn't know how long she's going to be down here. It's going to take a series win, maybe two, and BG hopes that it comes quickly because she misses the BatKitties. Plus, the food sucks.
It's not often a BODSHC gives a catcher the Boyfriend of the Day award for his baserunning speed--no matter that Joe Mauer had two doubles on the day, one accounting for the Twins first run of the game. It was in the ninth inning when the Chairman truly earned his stripes--no, not when he gave up the passed ball that eventually resulted in the O's go ahead run, that wasn't so cool--but in the bottom of the inning with another pathetic one-run loss looming over our heads, Mauer came up and drew a walk. A walk! The next batter struck out, but Mauer headed for second on strike three, so shocking catcher Eli Whiteside that he threw the ball into center field. Mauer took third, then when O's closer B.J. Ryan played a little Crazy Pepe's Chug and Toss, Joe scored on a wild pitch, tying the game, saving the day, and giving himself the Boyfriend of the Day.
Field/Readers 16, Sooz/Stewie 9, Jeb/Lewwww 8, Goober/Dr. Morneau 6, Batgirl/Joe 5.
The Red Sox have called the Twins looking for pitching. Boston is believed to be interested in lefthander J.C. Romero, who could help stabilize a bullpen that had a 5.51 ERA entering Monday -- the second-highest in the American League.The Twins, of course, are looking for hitting, and the Red Sox might be willing to deal veteran third baseman Bill Mueller, who is batting .277 with four homers, 36 RBI and a .379 on-base percentage.
Mueller was the 2003 AL batting champion when he hit .326 with 19 homers and 85 RBI. Those numbers fell to .283, 12 and 57 last year. He is making $2.5 million and will be a free agent after the season...
And it looks like Scott Baker will be back with us soon:
With a doubleheader at Detroit coming up Saturday, the Twins will call up righthander Scott Baker from Class AAA Rochester to pitch in one of the games. Baker on Sunday held Durham to one run on two hits over eight innings, improving to 3-6 and lowering his ERA to 3.01...To make room for Baker, the Twins will send a position player to Rochester.
Who do you think that position player might be? BG has some theories.
Also, if you haven't seen the papers on Gardy's umpire rant, please do. Here's Reusse's column
There were numerous graphic posterior references in Gardenhire's tirade -- always a problem for a daily newspaper, particularly for one that's never been more committed to family values.
and the PiPress:
"He's an (expletive),'' Gardenhire said. "Hunter Wendelstedt's a big (expletive expletive). He can kiss my (rear)."
Looks like blogging didn't help Gardy calm down.
Baltimore at Twins. Orioles 3, Twins 2. 11 innings
Oh, great, so I get tossed from the game and I have to blog for BG again. That's just fabulous. That's exactly what I need, to do your [EDITED BY JEB] entry for you while you are sitting in your [EDITED] hole eating [EDITED] bon bons. I mean sure, Batgirl, you make like it was an accident and all, but I know the truth. You talk all Tom Paine, but as soon as things got a little tough you saw the nearest hole and dove right into it. You don't see me diving into holes—oh, no. I've got a [EDITED] job to do. I've got to manage this bunch of halfwits, pantywaists, and [NOW, REALLY GARDY]wads. I've got to pitch BP for them every day. Do you know what my ERA is this week? It's 1.25. And the only reason it's so high is that I pitched to the players' kids on Sunday morning. That little Ford boy's got some pop. I'm going make him my DH. He can't do any worse, I tell you what.
Okay, well, I lied, BG. I can’t take it any more either. That pitch Mauer looked at was such a classic strike the Teamsters called a meeting about it. I just had to get out of there because when a grown man wants to cry, he likes a little privacy.
It's hard, BG. My pitchers, well, they've pitched their tails off, BG. The whole pitching staff is totally tail-less now, BG, but that's just the kind of guys they are. Absolutely willing to sacrifice their tails for the team. And you know what they get in return, BG? Bupkis. Bup—[EDITED]—kis.
Look at Big Carlos tonight. Have you ever seen anyone pitch so well in your life? Have you? Nine innings, eighty-five pitches, with one mistake to Sammy Sosa. One mistake. My guys, they can't take the pressure any more. They're cracking. After the Sosa homer, Big Carlos goes in the dugout and just starts washing his hands, over and over again, and I tell him to cut it out, and he says he can't, he just has to keep washing because he's "unclean." I'm no shrink, BG, but that doesn't sound good. Yesterday, after giving up the dinger to Jeff DaVaWhoever, Joe Mays comes into the clubhouse with this really funny look in his eye, puts the Gatorade bucket on his head, and introduces himself as the Queen of England, and he fancies a scone and then would like to attack France.
It just ain't right, BG, I tell you what.
You know how they say that if a million monkeys typed on a million typewriters one of them would eventually produce War and Peace? Well, give me that damned monkey and I'll bat him clean-up. I don't even need the War and Peace monkey. I'll take the DaVinci Code monkey or the Thinner Thighs in 30 Days monkey. I'll scatter the monkeys through the line-up and put a whole bunch of monkey chow on second base and see what happens. Worse comes to worse, the other team's infielders slip on the monkey chow and can't execute the double play.
You know what the crazy thing is, BG? I actually let myself hope when we came back in the ninth tonight. When Torii hit that double and then they made that retard-o play on Boone's bunt, I thought we could come back and win. I thought the agony might stop. Oh, BG, I clapped my hands together and I said, "I believe!"
You know why that happened BG? Because sometimes it's not good enough to rip off a man's testicles. Sometimes, BG, you gotta stomp on them, too. And you know what? Even without testicles, I'm still going to pitch a no-hitter at BP tomorrow.
Oh, [EDITED] BG, I don’t know. There was a time when I thought it would be really fun to be a manager, but I can't help but think there's got to be another job. I'd rather wipe a million monkeys' [EDITED] than live through another week like this one. In other words, I don't really know what you're doing down there in that hole, but I've just got one thing to say: Make room for me.
Do you have a burning desire to hang out with Matt LeCroy? Then follow around esteemed Twins blogger Will Young.
Now, it's important to note that Justin Morneau is Will's girlfriend Laurie's boyfriend, and--after meeting Will and said girlfriend at Spring Training--that seems to be fine by Justin. As for Will, well, see for yourself:
Our Story Begins In Baltimore:
I did see Matthew LeCroy sneak into the dugout so I moved over in his direction. Eventually, I was right above him as he was getting a glass of water. I called his name and got his attention and unfurled the “Matthew LeCroy is my nonsexual mancrush” shirt that I purchased via BatGirl’s website. He paused to read it, and then smiled at me and gestured for me to toss it down to him. He caught it and began showing all the guys in the dugout (my roommate told me the list included Morneau, Gardenhire, Tiffee, LEW!, and Newman) and let each of them have a chance to read it. Then, he let me toss down a Sharpie and he signed it for me. Tomorrow night, I’ll be wearing it proudly.
I should also mention that the Matthew LeCroy man-crush shirt was discussed by several people on the field today. Al Newman’s eyes bulged out of his head and he said, “Matt told me about that in the locker room yesterday and I thought he was joking. That thing’s for real!” Gardenhire paused, reread it a second time, and muttered, “Well, if you want to be wearing that I guess you can.” Bert also did a double-take at the shirt and he, too, was both surprised by its content but willing to approve its message.Finally, on his way into the dugout after the game, I hollered out, “Matt, thanks for signing my shirt yesterday.” He paused, looked up and spotted me. Smiling, he responded, “Anytime…anytime.”
While I was away from posting, I was spotted by Matthew LeCroy in the Mall of America last Monday. Yes, I didn’t spot a player, he spotted me. As Greg,Justin Morneau’smy girlfriend and I walked through the concourse, a large, graying man waved at me while standing with his wife and daughter. The story, of course, started when I had him sign the man-crush shirt back in Baltimore. Then, on Saturday when I arrived in Minneapolis, I was driven to the Twins ProShop to get a picture with him while I was wearing the shirt.There wasn’t a line, so we spoke for a few minutes about where I got the shirt and when he was told about Batgirl’s great site, he said, “Somebody sent her music video (Oh Five!") down to the locker room one day. I was dying when Justin was singing. It was great!” Then, I began trying to explain all of the nicknames, but the only one he really grasped was Little Nicky Punto. “He’s little alright,” he agreed. Anyway, I thanked him for the picture and thought that our paths would not cross again for the season.
So anyway, two days later I’m walking through the Mall of America and he recognized me. At first, I just saw somebody waving at me from across the concourse before I looked closer to see who it was. So, there you have it. Laurie is now recognized by her wannabe boyfriend while I am recognized by my faux man-crush.
And then, last week:
I’ll end with a slightly humorous story. As you may recall, on an off-day two months ago my brother Greg and I (along with Laurie) bumped into Matthew LeCroy at the Mall of America. Steve, my other brother, was not able to join us on that fateful day because he was still down in St. Peter studying for his finals at Gustavus.So anyway, Steve is back in the Twin Cities for the summer. Yesterday, he was driving out of Southdale (note that this is a completely different mall), when he looked over and saw Matthew LeCroy in the car next to him. Steve promptly rolled down his window, got Flounder’s attention and gave him a wave. The moral of this story is quite simple. If you would like to have the opportunity to meet Matthew LeCroy at some point outside of a baseball field, I suggest that you pick an upcoming off day. Then, coordinate a time to meet with my sister (the only sibling left who has not graced his presence) and choose a local mall (if he keeps moving in the same direction, I would suggest Ridgedale). Then, keep your eyes peeled for a large, graying man and tell him that I say hello!
Weekend Round-Up. California Angels at Twins.
Friday. Angels 3, Twins 2.
Saturday. Twins 5, Angels 4.
Sunday. Angels 2, Twins 1.
These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives everything its value.
So says Tom Paine, but the truth is, Tom Paine was a big weenie. He might have rallied the populace during war time, but he never fell twelve games back of the tyrannous Bitch Sox. Sure, the Continental Army may have sucked it up big time for the first few months of the War Against the British, but I don't think they ever committed two errors in one inning to allow three earned runs.
Yeah, British rule blew; I don't want to take anything away from our Founding Fathers and what they fought for. But, really, could some high-priced tea and a little billeting here and there be nearly as bad as facing Bitch Sox rule of the AL Central for the whole freakin' season?
I think not. In the last couple seasons, the Twins have governed the Central, but they haven't been obnoxious about it. They haven't been grabby. We liked to exercise a kinder, gentler leadership. We never seized hold of the division like some kind of power-mad pinstriped generalissimos—no, we asked nicely. We gave everyone else a chance.
But the Bitch Sox—no, no. They don't falter. They don't slump. They don't lose. Ever. And I'm here to say it's not nice. It's not just bitchy, it's fascist. And fascists are bad.
Now, I'm lashing out a bit. The tragic events of this series were not entirely the fault of the Bitch Sox. We did manage to lose three of four to the Angels, not due to the crushing weight of the yoke of oppression, but by skill alone. I mean, when your pitchers only give up eight earned runs over four games to one of the best offensive teams in the game and you still lose three of four, well, that takes some serious talent. There should be a monument built to that performance. We could dig a giant hole in the middle of the Metrodome Plaza and dedicate it to this weekend. Tim Pawlenty could call a special legislative session and leaders of both parties could come together and work day and night to move the Holy Crap That Sucked Monument Bill through as quickly as possible, for the good of the whole state, and when they announce the success of the bill, they'll hold hands and afterwards have a nice snuggle. There could be a band, and a ribbon cutting ceremony, and free cake, and everyone will come and gape at the giant hole we dug for ourselves.
Oh and Team Batgirl will be there, because they love their Twins and they also love free cake. They will hold hands and move in awed silence toward the hole, they will stand over the rim and gape into the endless blackness.
"I never knew a hole could be so deep," Jeb will exclaim.
"Or so dark!" Sooz will marvel.
"Or so very, very cold," Goober will say.
And Batgirl will peer into the hole, frantically looking for some bit of light therein, she will get down on her hands and knees, and push her head into the hole trying to find a little bit of meaning, she will lean so far forward in her desperate search that she will tumble into the hole and begin her slow plummet through eternity.
And Team Batgirl will stand over the hole, shaking their heads, listening as Batgirl's screams slowly fade, growing softer and softer until they, too, vanish into blackness.
"Well," Goober will say, "that sucked."
And Jeb will shake his head. "Only the Twins can help her now."
Will they, Twins fans? Stay tuned.
From the Strib:
Luis Rivas, who debuted with the Twins in 2000 and was their starting second baseman for three division championships, was optioned to Class AAA Rochester on Saturday to make room for infielder Michael Cuddyer, who will be activated from the 15-day disabled list today......"Somebody had to go down," Twins manager Ron Gardenhire said. "I'm sure Luis isn't very happy. He's been here in the big leagues for a long time."He didn't play well early in the year. He had a back injury. He hasn't gotten many at-bats."He needs to go down and play. We don't want to lose him out of this organization."
When Rivas first joined the team, the organization felt it had a long-term answer at second base.Rivas played very well defensively and showed signs of being a functional offensive player. But, for whatever reason, Rivas has regressed in recent years. He doesn't cover as much ground as he once did and doesn't get on base enough to do what he does best: steal bases.
Rivas softly said, "It's just the way everything is," as he packed and left the clubhouse.
Rivas hasn't been able to contribute in some time, and this was certainly the roster move that makes the most sense--but you know what? BG just feels bad for the guy.
Good luck, Luis.
Dear Michael Ryan,
Hey, you remember how we were down 4-0 going into the 4th inning tonight? That sucked. Especially when most of those runs scored when our infield went all Bad News Twins on us in the first. You know what's not fun? Turning on the game at 6:45 to find us down 3-0 with 2 errors. That's not fun.
But you remember how we started scoring in the 4th? That was fun. The Chairman did a nice job leading off with a hit, and Lil Sweetcheeks was all clutchrific, and even the Doctor got a RBI, which was totally awesome. But do you know what was really awesome? When you hit the holy bejeezes out of the ball and tied up the game. That ruled. Not only did we win, but we scored more than two runs in the process and that makes for a happpy Batgirl and gives you, Michael Ryan, the Boyfriend of the Day..
Sincerely,
Batgirl
As has been reported earlier, the wife of Rochester Red Wings manager Phil Roof has cancer. This week, Roof bid good-bye to baseball to take care of her.
Here's the article:
It seemed that Phil Roof should have been anywhere but standing on the mound Tuesday afternoon at Raley Field, throwing batting practice to men more than half his age. The sun over northern California was high and hot and if anyone was looking for a respite from a cloud or two, it was not to be found as temperatures pushed their way toward 100 degrees. And, despite the buckets of perspiration that had Roof drenched from head to toe, he never let up, lobbing pitch after pitch to the International League squad in preparation for Wednesday's Triple-A All-Star Game.Most 64-year-olds wouldn't want to be in Roof's position, either on the mound or facing what he has waiting for him when he returns to Kentucky this week after the All-Star festivities have ended. Roof, a baseball lifer, will peel off his uniform for the final time after Wednesday's contest, retiring from the game that he has served so well for more than four decades.
LAA of A at Twins. Angels 3, Twins 2.
Dear Bret Boone,
Hi! Welcome to Minnesota, Land of 10,000 Lakes! We’re glad you're here. I have really good news for you—you won yesterday's round of Minnesota Twins: Hottest Chick!! Turns out as a chick, you're mad hot!
Well, the BatFamily was at the game tonight, and we sure cheered loud for you. In fact, everyone did. I bet that felt pretty good. I bet it would have felt even better to get a hit!
What I'm saying is I can imagine it must be really hard to go into a new clubhouse and all. You really want to fit in! Usually, when people try to fit in to a new group, they make a huge effort to be like everyone else in the group. I can see that's what you were doing with the bat tonight. But, you know, the Twins have always respected mavericks, and I think Torii Hunter's much more likely to let you hang out with the cool kids if you do something really different, like convert on those opportunities. Give it a try, see what happens! You know, the last guy we acquired during the All-Star Break went oh-fer on his first day, too, and he ended up being the team MVP! Isn't that cool?
Welcomingly,
Batgirl
Dear Mike Scoscia,
BatMom got a good gander at you when you were coming off the mound and wanted you to know that neon red isn't really a very slimming color. She suggested black, perhaps with some kind of vertical stripe pattern to draw the eye upwards.
Helpfully,
BG
Dear Vladimir Guerrero,
You know I'm not sure red is the best color for you either. You know what would be a really good color for you? Dark blue. Dark blue would make you look really, really, really hot.
Thoughtfully,
BG
Dear Brendan Donnelly,
Hi, I'm Batgirl! Let's talk about things that aren't cool. ABBA, for instance. ABBA isn't cool. Wearing socks with sandals=not cool. Black socks and shorts, also not cool. And you know what else isn't cool? THROWING AT PEOPLE'S HEAD.
Or is the ball just a little slippery without pine tar?
Curiously,
BG
Dear LNP,
You sure did a good job leading off the seventh inning with a walk. Given that the strike zone was the size of, well, you, I think that was pretty impressive. After all, in a one run game your job in the late innings is to get on base, no matter what, and then the next guy can bunt you over into scoring position! It's perfect! A well-oiled machine!
Enthusiastically,
BG
Dear Juan Castro,
Meet Sooz for bunting practice tomorrow at noon, okay? I suggest you be punctual.
Ominously,
BG
Dear Kyle Lohse,
Okay, you know what? You kept the Angels to three runs. That's impressive. The Angels are so good they're from two cities! You got Vladimir Guerrero out twice. Vladimir Guerrero is really scary. Did you know his last name means "warrior" and his first name means "I kick your ass all over the place?" It's funny because it's true.
Okay, the fifth inning wasn't your best. You know how they led off with a single, a double, and a triple? That was kind of scary. It made BatMom bury her face in her hands, which is very sad. But it could have been a lot worse. Darin Erstad hit a ball that would have been an out if Matt "Twinkletoes" LeCroy hadn't fallen down trying to field it, and you could have totally lost your sh&t there, I mean you could have gone all Tom-Cruise-On-Oprah, but you didn't. Maybe it was just because Bret Boone came over and patted you on the butt afterwards. I thought that was pretty cool. That's just the kind of move we can expect from a veteran like Bret Boone. Before we had Bret Boone, who would have come over and patted you on the butt, I ask you? We haven't had a good butt-patter at second base since Lombo!
But I digress. Other than that one inning, you were hot with a capital K, even a backwards K. Thanks for not sucking this year!
Appreciatively,
BG
Dear Matt LeCroy,
You know how you fell down trying to field that ball at first? That was funny. Both funny ha-ha and funny hmmmm.
Conflictedly,
BG
Dear Chone Figgins,
Usually, it's spelled differently. That's why we get confused.
Phonetically,
BG
Dear Torii,
Call me.
Warmly,
BG
Well, of course we're all very excited about the Bret Boone trade, but questions still linger! Will a winning team help him revive his All-Star Form? Will his glove help our struggling infield? And if we a chick, would he be hot?
Readers, see for yourself.
It's been a very exciting year so far on Minnesota Twins: Hottest Chick. Justin Morneau may be struggling a little, but as a chick he's hot hot hot! In the second round, Shannon Stewart proved that real women have curves.And in the Special Coaches Edition readers told Stephanie Liddle she could coach their bench any time. And now, it's time for another prelim round of:
Mikalea Redmond
Juancarlita Romero
Juanella Rincon
Martha LeCroy
Jo Mays
Luisa Rivas
Jessie Crain
Britney Boone.
A close personal friend of BG's has an essay on the Boone trade on ESPN.com's Page 2.
Dear Fox Sports,
Hi! You don't know me, but I've been watching for you some time. Actually, we spent a lot of time together last night—you see, I used to love the All-Star Game, and I still watch it over some misguided combination of nostalgia and obligation. Well, anyway, I can't remember precisely the point that watching the Midsummer Classic began to feel like watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, but if I had to bet, it would be somewhere around the time you started broadcasting it.
Now, I'm not trying to be mean, here. It's important to remember that we all have things we're good at and things we're not so good at. I, for instance, make a great pie crust but can't hold a tune. So if I'm going to invite millions of Americans over to my house, I am much more likely to make a pie than to start covering Mariah Carey. It's just more polite. You're very good at many things. You have really amazing robot animation and laser sound effects; I don't want to take anything away from the lasers. But, the thing is, you totally suck at broadcasting baseball.
But, really, is this such shocking news? You had to know it, deep in your hearts. See, I think if you have to spend a lot time thinking about how you're going to keep people entertained during a baseball game, then you're probably not the best entity to broadcast said game.
I mean, do you remember the pregame? Your broadcasters got to interview one of the greatest baseball announcers of all time. They got to talk to Ernie Harwell! And you know what happened? He talked for a bit and Jeannie Zelasko cut him off. She cut him off. It was sort of like when I cut off a Yo Yo Ma performance of Bach's "Prelude to Cello Suite No. 1" to play "When the Saints Go Marching In" on my recorder.
And you know why she cut him off? So they could show some schlub from Texas participating in the Taco Bell Throw The Ball At The Damn Target. Jeannie Zelasko cut off Ernie Harwell to sell freakin' chalupas. (Was this our punishment for not voting in Jeter? If so, we're really, really sorry.) That wouldn't be all the fast food hawked by Fox announcers, though—Joe Buck did a Burger King promo then announced that the whole Detroit crowd was "having it their way." This is a time he could have been talking about baseball.
In fact, the only time the announcers seemed at all interested in talking about baseball was when they were interviewing the managers as the game was going on. I know that's old news now, but if we need to hear that Terry Francoma is having a great time, couldn't we do it before the inning actually starts? Or—I know—how about after the freakin' game?
Credit where credit is due: I do have to compliment you, though, on your Mound Cam innovation. We got an angle on the pitchers we never thought we'd get, and I have to say if I ever run a Name That Butt: Special All-Star Edition, your viewers will be all over it. And should we do a Name That Crotch, they'll be good at that, too!
Here's the other thing. It doesn't make the game better to have the fans vote for the MVP, it makes it stupider. I know it's a difficult distinction, but it's a really important one. And while it's all well and good to have Chevrolet give Miggy a Corvette, Miggy doesn't need a Corvette. Batgirl needs a Corvette.
So, anyway, what's important here is that you gave it the old college try. You've been monopolizing the sport for years now, robbing it of any sort of—oh—heritage, poetry, class. And I think it's time to focus your energy on something else. Something a little more flashy. Football, say. Or NASCAR. Or Battlebots. I'll even make you a pie.
Yours,
Batgirl
Phil Rogers of the Chicago Tribune asks Can't The Sox Get Kenny? Curiously, at the end of the article he seems to imply The Gambler could come back to Minnesota. It seems an awfully strange thing to say, though I suppose anything could happen. Lou Pinella couldget Manager of the Year.
Rogers helped the Minnesota Twins win the Central in 2003 and could follow new second baseman Bret Boone there in a trade. There's not a contender he couldn't help, including the team with the best record in the majors.
Jayson Stark at ESPN gives some dubious props for Twins in his Midseason Awards:
BASE-STRETCHER OF THE HALF-YEAR -- Speaking of Great Moments in Baserunning, we turn our attention to the exploits of Twins flake Matthew LeCroy last weekend.LeCroy -- who is so nimble that the Twins have compiled an actual highlight video of the 8,000 times he has literally fallen down on the job -- is also one of those speedsters who makes Juan Castro look like Scott Podsednik.
But for some reason, he tried to go from first to third July 3 on what looked like a game-winning single by Mike Redmond. Which meant Torii Hunter (the runner on second) had to shift into late-breaking turbo to make sure he crossed home plate before LeCroy got tagged out at third.
Fortunately, LeCroy stampeded into third safely, with a slide that manager Ron Gardenhire said later looked more like "a man falling down a stairwell." So the run counted. The Twins won. And Gardenhire then told the Minneapolis Star Tribune's Jim Souhan: "My goal is always to watch Matty slide -- because when Matty slides, that's more entertaining than baseball itself."
AND
Top Five Injuries of the Half-Year FIFTH PRIZE (HOTEL-LIFE DIVISION): (TIE) Twins shortstop Jason Bartlett ripped off a fingernail -- in his hotel room -- while trying to rotate the TV so he could watch a basketball game. And teammate Terry Mulholland missed a game when he rolled over in bed and a runaway feather from his pillow decided to insert itself in his eye.
Meanwhile, ESPN.com Page 2's Eric Neel picks Johan Santana for his dream team.
I could trot out a bunch of numbers to justify Santana, but I'm not going to do that, because you know the numbers and you dream about the numbers and you wish, the way a man in the desert wishes for a puddle of rain, that the numbers were for you instead of me. But numbers aside, my thing with Johan is this: He can pitch. He isn't just blowing guys away (though he is surely doing that), he's also toying with them on changes of speed and almost computer-calibrated location. All of this means we're likely to see him maintain his high level of performance, I think, because it isn't a straight physical gift that might one day up and leave him, like a flighty girlfriend who suddenly got a better offer.
In more Johan-related news, Gordon Wittenmeyer at the PiPress talks to El Presidente about his slightly-less-Supernatural season in Johan Santana Has Something To Prove.
And the Strib reprints a story from the LA Times that asks Where Have All the Organists Gone?
Oh, man, there hasn't been this much of a to-do around Twinsland since the Twins front office cast their eyes at Anna--I mean Kris--Benson. The Twins went out and got themselves a real live professional baseball player, welcoming him with open arms into their Happy Haven for Light Hitting Second Baseman. But this is no Bruno for Tommy Herr (spit)--obviously the risk in a trade is what you give up, and in Terry Ryan's infinite wisdom we seem to have acquired Bret Boone for a dented batting helmet and a bag of Big League Chew. It's more 'acceptable risk' than 'blockbuster deal', but we're Minnesotans--that's how we run our lives. Anyway, BG stopped doubting Ryan after she loudly complained, I can't believe we gave up Bobby Kielty!
The Strib lays out the terms:
It's a low-risk move for the Twins. Seattle has agreed to pick up the remainder of Boone's $9.2 million salary this season, around $4.6 million, The Twins will send the Mariners a low-level minor league player to be named later. The Mariners didn't have any other leads, so they took the Twins' deal rather than get nothing at all. So the Twins aren't giving up much while they hope Boone will thrive in a playoff chase and rediscover the form that led to seven consecutive seasons of at least 19 homers and 63 RBI from 1998 to 2004. Boone's 252 career homers are the sixth most ever by a second baseman.
Meanwhile, Pat Reusse reveals that Bret Boone actually invented the Boyfriend of the Day:
Boone was known in Seattle for wearing T-shirts that paid tribute to his greatness -- presumably in jest. The most notorious came in 2001, when he had a T-shirt from Nike's "Chicks dig the long ball" advertising campaign. "I wore it every day, and put a piece of tape over 'the long ball,' " Boone said. "I would write in the name of the player who I thought was the hero from the night before. The other guys waited to find out who was going to get the name on the tape."If no one was worthy, I would put my own name on the tape: 'Chicks dig Boone.' It was a lot of fun."
As for BG's fellow Twins bloggers, reactions are ranging from ambivalence to uncertainty. Here's a few samples:
Twins Geek: Hmm. Might work.
Question 3: Will Boone turn back into a stud? (i.e. Should I get excited about this trade?)This is (literally) the million dollar question. You definitely should be excited, because it looks like the Twins just got something for nothing. Or at least nothing more than being attractive to an aging veteran.
But your excitement should probably be tempered a bit if you heard Terry Ryan in any of his interviews this weekend. Ryan was NOT optimistic in acquiring Boone, and claimed that he would only acquire him if Boone became a free agent. Which either means that he was playing things very close to the vest, or that he didn’t feel like Boone was likely to rejuvenate his career here. I would bet on the latter, and I would be that Ryan is probably right.
Aaron Gleeman: Ah, why the hell not?
With all of that said, trading for Boone carries very little risk as long as the PTBNL is no one significant. If all the Twins are sending to Seattle is a live Single-A arm or perhaps a Triple-A spare part -- and I have enough faith in Terry Ryan to believe that's the case until proven otherwise -- this amounts to little more than claiming a player off waivers for the second half.
Frightwig: Eh.
This smells an awful lot like Chicago picking up Roberto Alomar last year--and didn't we snicker at Kenny Williams and those miserable bastards then?Yes.
Infield at Third Base Line: Ah, heck, I dunno...
Has he sucked because his team sucked?Maybe. A lot of people (including the Twins front office, which ain't exactly stocked with morons), seem to think the excitement of a pennant race will bring out the best in him.
Is he a better option at second than a healthy Nick Punto?
Probably not. But second isn't Punto's only position, and we do have that glaring vacancy at third.
Is he a better option than Rivas?
Probably. Even if he hits for a Rivas-like average, he's got way more power, and that means something to this team. It means runs.
The Bleacher Bums: Oh boy.
Oh boy.
The Minnesota Twins announced today that they have acquired second baseman Bret Boone and cash from the Seattle Mariners in exchange for a player to be named later.Boone, 36, was batting .231 (63-273) with 30 runs, 15 doubles, three triples, seven homers and 34 rbi in 74 games for the Mariners this season. He had a .299 on-base percentage and a .385 slugging percentage before being designated for assignment by the Mariners on July 3.
Here's a link to his career stats.
More from the Seattle Times:
Bret Boone, designated for assignment eight days ago, was traded this morning to the Minnesota Twins, according to a source at the All-Star Game in Detroit.The move, which may bring the Seattle Mariners very little in return, if anything, was said to have been completed just hours before Seattle officials were to place the 36-year-old second baseman on irrevocable waivers that would officially have severed his ties to the Mariners and made him a free agent.
Here's the blurb from the PiPress:
Terms of the deal were not immediately known, but Seattle is thought to be paying the remaining $4.6 million on Boone's contract -- minus the pro-rated major-league minimum ($316,000) that Boone’s new club would be required to pay.
More to come. Many thanks to T-Mac for the heads up, and to the good folk at The Dickie Thon Fan Forum for the leads.
Last week, BG posted a link to the Courage Center Ultimate Twins Fan Vehicle Raffle. The Courage Center is also looking for volunteers to help staff the raffle at various events and Twins games. If you staff a game, you get a free pass to the game (though you can't go until the 3rd inning. Perfect for a Bradke start!)
For more information, look here.
Twins at Kansas City. Weekend Round-Up.
Friday. Twins 5, Royals 4.
Saturday. Royals 12, Twins 8.
Sunday, Twins 3, Royals 2 (12 innings).
THEORY #1: Once upon a time, God ruled heaven with the beautiful angel Lucifer at his side. But Lucifer suffered from the sin of pride and soon he gathered a group of angels to try to overthrow God. It did not go well, and Lucifer and his minions were cast out of heaven. The fallen angels then constructed Yankee Stadium from where they plotted their evil revenge—they would get back at God by tempting his most treasured creation—baseball-player-kind—to play like ass-crap. Despite his omnipotence, God let the demons battle for the souls of ballplayers everywhere—for he had given both players and angels free will. It was their choice whether to follow the path of good or the path of sucking. It couldn't be helped.
Oops.
THEORY #2: Once upon a time, the great god Zeus ordered the Hephaestus the craftsman to make the world's first woman. Hepaestus made Pandora, a lovely creation in the image of Aphrodite. The other gods gave Pandora gifts—Athena granted her life and a fab wardrobe, Aphrodite a beautiful smile and some bling, and Zeus gave her curiosity and a strange sealed jar which he warned her never to open. Then Zeus sent her down to earth to live among baseball players. Unable to control said curiosity, Pandora opened the jar and out swarmed terrible beasts named E-4, KL, GIDPwRISP, and Frank Thomas. As a curse from Zeus to humanity, poor Pandora had let out all the world's sucking. In penance, she spent the rest of her days as a Cubs fan.
Oops.
THEORY #3: Once upon a time, Tezcatlipoca ruled the earth. As you would expect from the god of evil, night, and sorcerers, Tezcatlipoca got his jollies leading baseball players down the path of sucking. The rest of the gods—especially Quetzalcoatl, the god of benevolence—were not happy with Tezcatlipoca's rule and so they created a race of giants to destroy him. The giants, though, were out for the whole season with a knee injury, so Quetzalcoatl had to do it himself, and he struck the evil god into the waters with a staff. But Tezcatlipoca turned himself into a tiger and pulled his enemy to earth, causing a great hurricane which destroyed most of the world. The humans that survived were turned into ignorant monkeys, who then disguised themselves as relief pitchers and snuck into the bullpen for Saturday's game.
Oops.
WHAT I AM trying to show, here, is that sucking is something humankind has been trying to understand since its very beginnings. Every system of mythology and faith has an explanation for the origins of sucking, a tale for mothers to tell their wide-eyed children when they ask, "Mommy, why must we lose to the Royals?"
In other words, it's been a hard few days. After the irrational exuberance caused by the sweep of the freakin' Devil Rays, Twins fans could hope that we had gotten the sucking behind us. We were quickly proven wrong in a week when Ervin Santana won and Johan Santana lost. The Star Tribune called two games on two distinct nights the Twins' worst loss of the season, and they were right both times. Batgirl is tense, the Batkitties are at each other's throats, and even the most even-keeled of Twins bloggers are getting a little crabby. Or a lot. Yes, we came out of this Weekend Round-Up ahead, but it was not pretty, and Batgirl has to spend the All-star Break getting her eyes reattached. You'd think she'd have learned to stop gouging them out during the 2002 ALDS, but some lessons just don't take.
The point is, the Twins played .500 ball this week, we played to a split with the Kansas City Royals, and unlike Mr. Cranky Pants BG believes we're better than that. This is the third All-Star Break in a row where BG's gone in believing the team is better than its recent play. The two previous years, she was right. And this year?
A lot needs to happen for our boys to contend for the division title. The hitters need to take some pressure of the pitchers by, well, hitting. The pitchers need to remember that they're good at baseball. The infield needs to mind their p's and q's and stay the heck away from El Monstruo.
As for the Bitch Sox, well, let's not worry about them. They've been playing incredible baseball and if they keep this up they're going to do something historic. All BG asks is that we give them a run for their money, if they falter, that we're there to catch them, and that Justin Morneau start hitting homers again. Is that so much to ask, really?
It's time for us all to have a few days off, to look at where we've gone and where we're going, to find ways to be a little more Quetzalcoatl and less Tezcatlipoca.
In closing, BG would like to present her Keys to the Second Half:
STOP SUCKING!
And that concludes Batgirl's KEYS TO THE SECOND HALF! Okay, boys. Go home. Get some rest. And when you come back, let's play ball.
With two outs in the 12th inning of today's interminable, hellacious game, Littly Nicky Punto managed a single against the apparently indomitable Mike "Knock on" Wood. The Twins had left the bases loaded in the 10th, then went down uno-dos-tres in the next two, so precedent was not with our boys. But Joe Mauer had already caught 12 innings in 8 jillion degree heat, and he'd had enough. He lined Wood's 3-1 pitch to right for a single, advancing LNP to 3rd. This allowed Torii Hunter to execute his ingenious master plan--Hunter grounded to 3rd baseperson Mark Teahan but splintered his bat in the process, sending a piece of bat with the ball, confusing the heck out of Teahan, and scoring LNP for the winning run. With a healthy nod towards Hunter's martyred bat, the BODSHC gives Joe Mauer the Boyfriend of the Day..
Field/Readers 15, Sooz/Stewie 9, Jeb/Lewwww 8, Goober/Dr. Morneau 6, Batgirl/Joe 4.
The Bearfriend of the Day
T.C. Bear has won the All Star Game Mascot Home Run Derby. Congratulations, Mr. Bear. Now suit up. Your team needs you.
Field/Readers 15, Sooz/Stewie 9, Jeb/Lewwww 8, Goober/Dr. Morneau 6, Batgirl/Joe 3
From the Strib:
What did Torii Hunter do after arguably the Twins' worst game of the year? Grab a bat and helmet -- and head for the shower.
The outfielder, with encouragement from catcher Mike Redmond, stripped down to his socks, put on the helmet, grabbed the bat and walked into the shower. It was his attempt to liven up a dead-silent clubhouse Thursday night after an 8-5 loss to Kansas City put the Twins 11 games behind the Chicago White Sox in the American League Central.
"Guys were in here acting like their dog died," Hunter said.
So he went into the shower, swinging a bat and making teammates scramble. Still lacking clothes, he then marched down to the coaches room to ask for extra batting practice.
"They said no," Hunter said. "What's wrong with that? That may be the way I do my routine. I don't know what's going on here. When you ask for flips, you should be able to get more BP. If I want to go in there naked, does it matter?
Twins at Kansas City. Royals 8, Twins 5.
Okay, first of all, Batgirl owes everyone in Twins Territory a huge apology. It was just last Wednesday that Batgirl wrote a post about the Royals pitching staff suffering from a massive suck lag.. Things were said. Words were used. Words like, "incompetence," and "pain," and, well, "suck." BG even made fun of Jimmy "Gobble" Gobble, and I ask you, what has he ever done to her? Nothing, that's what.
Well, ever since then, the Twins are 0-2 against that incompetent, painful, sucky, Gobble-y pitching staff, and as Benjamin Franklin famously said, she who laughs first, well, has to watch her team drop two to the Royals. And, let me tell you, nothing, I mean nothing's worth that.
So, Mea Culpa. Batgirl is sorry. Elle regrette beaucoup. Batgirl will never do it again. From now on, she will blog with nothing but the utmost respect for the boys in grape. I mean, just look at the game today! Jose Lima came in with an ERA that matched his weight—if he weighed 760 pounds that is. That must be respected. Proper respect--or "props," if you will--must be given. Attention must be paid. This is no marshmallow, no pantywaist, no Jimmy "Gobble" Gobble—oops—I mean, no turkey. This is Jose "Lima time!" Lima! Just because he's only won one game this year, because he has an ERA higher than Batgirl's in her 6th grade softball team, just because he sucks total ass does not mean we should not respect and fear him.
And wasn't there something different about Lima this time? BG couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something to his appearance, something new, something springy and girlish, as if he'd taken off a little of that stubborn winter-weight or found something to take care of that not-so-fresh feeling....
Oh, wait, I see, now that you mention it, it was pretty hard to miss actually. Huh.... Interesting choice. ...As long as he's happy.
This brings up point #2, which I'll express in form of a quiz:
Q: What Do These People Have In Common?
 |  |  |
| Cybil Shepard | Lindsay Lohan | Jose Lima |
Come on, boys. It's Lima Time.
Because he's signing the hood of the Cars for Courage Ultimate Twins Fan Vehicle, that's why. Dodge donated a 2006 Charger to Courage Center that has been signed by 40 Twins, past and present. The car will be raffled off on Fan Appreciation Day. You can buy a raffle ticket before every Twins home game on the Metrodome Plaza, at Courage Center, at select Dodge dealerships, and at other locations throughout the summer. For more information and a schedule, please see the Courage Center website.
For more pictures of the car, please click below.
Twins at Los Angeles or Anaheim, or whatever. Angels 7, Twins 6.
In the early 1800's, the new nation found itself trying desperately to remain neutral while war raged in Europe. With no army to speak of and most of their navy on the D.L., Twins Territory simply didn't have the manpower to fight a war.
Meanwhile, The Anglican Empire of Great Britain had been fighting the Napoleonic Wars for some time and was having a depth problem as well—one which it solved by stopping Twins ships and impressing anyone who even looked British. (And by impressing these sailors, I do not mean that the British could, like, recite pi to the 100th digit or do a killer tap dance, but rather I mean that they took the sailors, stuffed them in a burlap sack, and said, "Guess what? You're in the Royal Navy now! Pip pip!"
Well, one day the Anglicans—called Angles for short—ran across a ship called the U.S.S. Minnesota Infield. The ship was ragged and full of holes, seemingly patched together with a curious combination of haste and reluctance. The ship was staffed by cast-offs from other ships—deadbeats, misfits, and lame-os, and most in the course of service had managed to injure themselves in some ridiculous way or another. It seemed the whole crew was hobbling, bandaged, blind; indeed the ship's doctor, one Mr. Terrence Ryan, was once heard to remark, "I'd shoot the wounded to put them out of their misery, but then there'd be no one left to sail me home."
This did not stop the H.M.S. Adam Kennedy from boarding the Infield, and before anyone knew what had happened, they'd bound and gagged Ship's Boy Little Nicky Punto, stuffed him into a laundry bag, and welcomed him to the Royal Navy.
But Little Nicky Punto was the son of a friend of the President of Twins Territory, and when he got word of the boy's impressment, he decided he had had enough. The President passed an act prohibiting trade with the Angles. Called the Non-Intercourse Act, it was deemed by many to be way harsh.
So it came to pass that in 1812, Twins Territory declared war on the Angles. It was a questionable decision, given the shoddy state of the Infield, not to mention the rest of the roster.
But the Angles were worn out from a tough series against the Oakland Frenchies and at first it seemed that the young and completely unqualified country might whip their red-hatted heinies again, especially with General Johan Santana starting. Even the Infield managed to score some impressive early victories at sea, not to mention the unheralded U.S.S. Backup Catcher.
But the war took a dark turn in the seventh inning. With the bases loaded and the boys desperately needing some insurance battles, Col. Lew Ford flew out. (Ford would later be court-martialed, but acquitted on the grounds that "everybody does it.") Then the Angles came up to bat. Quickly, Chone "Shawn" Figgins blockaded Chesapeake Bay, then Vladimir Guerrero did the same to Long Island, and suddenly the Angles had blockades on first and third. And then Garret Anderson came up to bat.
Well, suffice to say, pretty soon the Angles had hit the boys in blue where they lived and were marching on the Metrodome Plaza. Before anyone knew what had happened, Johan Santana had given up the lead and the Angles had taken over the Metrodome.
Oh, how the Angles enjoyed ransacking that beautiful symbol of Twins power, that elegant embodiment of the young nation! They looted the place, stealing valuable bobbleheads from the souvenir shops and gorging themselves on Dome Dogs. Then, they set it on fire. Laughing, they sat on the Plaza eating BBQ corn while the Dome burned to the ground.
Oh, yes, the Angles hoped to strike at the heart of the young country, to divide its people and set them against their leader. Little did they know that the heart of Twins Territory was much more than a building…
The Twins in the Dome hadn't had much warning about the Angle invasion—indeed they were all set up for a monster truck rally that evening. But when word came, they barely had enough time to flee to their Hummers with their lives. Corporeal LeCroix didn't even have time to save his crawdads.
As the Dome burned, the team gathered at Benihana—exhausted, scared, covered in soot. There were some tears shed, and yes, there was some despair.
"We're ruined," said Sgt. Luis Rivas of the Infield.
"It's over," said Pvt. Jesse Crain of the Bullpen.
"This is ass-crap," said Lt. Kyle Lohse of the Dawghouse.
"Guys," said a voice. "What are you doing?"
They all looked up. First Lady of Twins Territory Corri Ford was standing on a table, holding a large sheet of rolled up blue plastic in her hand. "Stop your moaning!" she commanded. "It’s just a building. No one was hurt, and we can live to take on these Angles another day. Anyway, the heart of Twins Territory isn't the Metrodome."
The players looked around. "It's not?"
"No," she said. "I have it
