We have so much business on this off-day. Below, please find TWO EXCITING POLLS. The first comes from the comments a few days ago, courtesy of That's Rich. Batgirl found the question so stimulating she had to put it in an entry.
I need a ruling. And this is, I believe, an area that the Batlings are singularly well equipped to arbitrate. The current batch of young Twins is composed of a fine array of talented and attractive young men. But, my wife, poor dear, is having a difficult time telling them apart.No, not in the traditional "Who's that playing shortstop?" or "What's number 27's name?" kind of thing. My wife is most excellent at that kind of object recognition. Rather, as I have attempted to spell out for her, some of the young Twins are hotties, some are cuties and some are just dreamy. Cases in point:
Joe Mauer - hottie
Nick Punto, Michael Cuddyer, Juan Rincon - cuties
Johan Santana - hottie
Jason Bartlett - dreamyAlas, however, we have reached an impasse...
Which is Justin Morneau? Is it his cute smile that dominates? Is it his dreamy eyes and languid demeanor? Is it his hot, hot, hot power-hitter skillz? We can't decide.
It's up to you...
Justin Morneau: hottie, cutie or just dreamy?
Note: to all the boyz with emotional ages under 15 who are dismayed by this discussion - yes, I'm a male; yes, happily married; yes, I prefer the opposite gender; no, the foregoing analysis doesn't conflict with that; and I have no problem with it. Flame away if you must, but it says more about you than it does about me...
Dear Mr. Rich--we'll settle this once and for all!
And now, finally, the Chairman Mauer Slogan Contest! The winning slogan will appear on an official BatStore t-shirt. It was very hard to pick the finalists, there were many wonderful entries. Below is just a sample. And remember, we are in no way glorifying Mao, butcher of millions. We're glorifying communism.
LA at Twins. Twins 6, Dodgers 3.
On the Metrodome Plaza before the game, best friends Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau sat on a bench eating grilled corn and talking intently.
"Joe, man," said Morneau to his friend. "You have an attitude problem."
"Huh?"
"I mean, you don't have enough of an attitude. You're third in All-Star voting but you’d be first if you just acted the part a bit. You can’t just get national headlines by being good, you know. You've got to be a showman."
"Oh, well, if I make the All-Star team, it be will a real honor, but I can't really control that, I mean—"
"Oh, cut the crap, Joe. You are so hot right now."
"No, man, I'm just seeing the ball really well. It's a pleasure to help the team."
"Don't give me that Minnesotan crap, Joe. Say it. 'I'm hot.'"
Mauer sighed. "Justin, I'm not going to—"
"And it's not just hot, like, baseball hot. You're hot hot, dude. Come on, it's not enough to wear those sideburns, you've got to own them!"
At that point, Juan Rincon and Carlos Silva walked by. "Hey guys!" called Mauer with a wave. But the two were so deep in conversation they didn't notice him.
"Man, I sure am tired from staying up all night making those fireman outfits!" Silva said, his voice carrying down the plaza.
"That's right," replied Rincon. "I haven't seen such balls to the wall sewing* since the night before Little Nicky Punto's Sondheim revue."
And with that, the pitchers disappeared from view. Mauer turned to his friend, puzzled. "What was that about?"
"Dunno," shrugged Morneau. "Anyway, Joe, the point is you're one hot dude. I mean, here—" he pulled a compact out from his man-bag and opened it. "Look at yourself."
Frowning, Mauer studied his image. And then slowly, something came over him. He drew himself up and smiled at his friend.
"You know what?" he exclaimed. "I am hot!"
"That's right, Joe."
"I'm batting .932. I'm dating a former Miss USA. I'm the exclusive local spokesperson for the excellent Grip N' Go brand from Land o' Lakes."
"Damn straight."
"It's hip because it’s portable!"
"Sing it, Joe."
"I am hot!"
"That's right. There's nothing hotter than you! Name one thing hotter than you!…Hey, what’s that siren?"
From off in the distance, a siren came wailing. As the ballplayers listened the sound came closer and closer. And then from around the corner appeared a big yellow fire truck.
"What the—"
The truck pulled up in front of the two friends, and Johan Santana climbed out.
"Buenos dias, my friends," said Santana. "This is for my home village. They cannot afford a fire truck. I decided to get them a fire truck because I am Johan Santana. Now I am going to take this fire truck to the parking lot and give it a good washing. I hope that I do not get too soapy and wet."
And with that, Johan climbed back into the truck and drove off.
Mauer and Morneau sat silently for awhile as the bright yellow truck and shirtless Cy Young award winner disappeared down 6th street. With tight lips, Mauer folded up the compact mirror and put it back in the man purse. Then, Morneau sighed. "Okay," he said. "Well…that was pretty hot."
*Props to Ysolla for this term.
LA at Twins. Twins 9, Dodgers 2.
In the 6th inning of tonight's game, Joe Mauer hit a single. The hit didn't do anything special, just moved LNP to third—but as one the Metrodome crowd got to their feet to applaud. The FSN cameras caught the faces of some of the fans—eyes full of wonder and delight, shaking their heads and muttering in awe to each other. You could hear the echoes from the future, I saw Joe Mauer when he was just 23, they will say to their kids. He went 5 for 5 against the Dodgers, and it was incredible… That's what the crowd was applauding on Mauer's fourth hit of the night and eighth of the series—the sense of greatness, the sense of history.
Upon watching the crowd's reaction, DickN'Bert started talking about seeing Rod Carew play—BG wasn't really sentient then, but she imagines it was something like this, some combination of joy and wonder, some electricity, some feeling that every beautiful hit resonates through baseball's past and its future.
Maybe Goober can tell us.
A player like Joe Mauer comes around once a decade, maybe two. The last truly great player we had—among plenty of very very good ones (And I'm not counting Winfield and Molitor who came to us when they had no futures on which to dream)—was Kirby Puckett. I remember when he went 11 for 12 against Milwaukee we tell our kids. It was incredible...
Yes, a player touched with greatness comes along once a decade. Unless, for some reason, you get three of them at once. There's Johan Santana, from whom greatness exudes from each pitch (and butt wiggle.) And when he doesn’t win the Cy Young, it will be because he loses it to the number 2 guy in the rotation, the Kid—his career is so young but with each strikeout he makes you stand up, eyes full of wonder and delight. Unless, of course, you're facing him, and then you stare helplessly off into the distance, wondering how just baseball gods could allow you to look like such a foolio, and you slink into the dugout muttering to yourself and questioning your whole belief system and your career choice and your parentage and possibly your sexuality because frankly, as embarrassing as it was, it was mad hot.
How many Hall of Famers do we have on this team? We can't say, of course, but we hear the echoes. Mauer. Liriano. Santana. If the Twins end up being the greatest third place team in history this season, we'll still be blessed, because we got to watch them play.
Image courtesy of Eric
Pretty much you get 5 hits in a game, you're going to get strong consideration for BOD. Which means, of course, that Batgirl's going to run away with this damned thing, because Joe Mauer is going to do this every damned day for the rest of his career. Making him the perennial Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor: 13; Readers/The Field: 11; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 6; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2
The word is the Chairman has moved into third place in voting for the All-Star Game, behind Varitek and Pudge. Go Chairman!
LA Dodgers at Twins. Twins 8, Dodgers 2.
BatMom called during the eighth inning of tonight's game, sometime after the Twins scored their eighth run, to ask, "Batgirl, why are the Twins so good now?"
"I don't know," Batgirl said.
"Because they were so bad before," she continued. "I mean they were really really bad."
"I know," said Batgirl.
"And now they're good. Really really good."
"I know," said Batgirl.
"And that Joe Mauer!," she said, pausing to toke up on some catnip. "He really can hit!"
"Yes."
"But he could hit before! And we sucked!"
You'll have to excuse BatMom, she gets a little saucy on catnip. But the point remains—the same conversation is happening between moms and daughters all over Twins territory, and I don't know if any of them have come to satisfactory resolutions. Theories abound, of course—from the resurgence of the pitching staff to the Revenge of the Red Wings to the majestical miraculous medical ministrations of Dr. Morneau—but Batgirl has a different theory:
We are winning because Joe Morgan is a giant boob.
Hear me out, here. Obviously no one can predict what the baseball gods will do and we must not try to comprehend their ways, for it is blasphemous for our puny little minds to even attempt to understand them. They are divine, unfathomable, impenetrable, and we are but their bitch monkeys.
But sometimes, it's all too obvious.
BG and Jeb watched the ESPN broadcast of the Red Sox game two weeks ago and, of course, the whole thing made Batgirl want to tear out her soul and shred it to bits. The Batbaby can provide better commentary just by pooping. Among the things we learned from Mr. Morgan:
1) He totally knew releasing David Ortiz was a big mistake and Ortiz was going to be as good as he was. (Never mind that no one actually released him.) He could just tell by watching him in batting practice that he was going to be amazing. TR made a huge mistake and everyone knew it at the time; just because TR tried to trade him and no one else wanted him doesn't mean other GMs didn't realize Ortiz's potential, too—they just didn't want to give anyone up for him.
2) The Twins called up Jason Bartlett from Triple A because they really liked his speed. Now, this may be true, but it's sort of like saying the Revolutionary War started because some Bostonians spilled their tea.
3) And finally: there are three teams in contention in the AL Central—El Tigres, the Bitch Sox, and Cleveland. Sure, it would be a long road for Cleveland to climb, but they could still do it. Now, the Twins, you see, the Twins are out of it, because it's not unimaginable to pass two teams, but three? Inconceivable! Never mind that the Twins were one half game back at the time and could have passed them (and probably did) the next #$?&@! day. No, Cleveland's--totally in this thing. The Twins? Totally out of it.
And that's what did it.
Holy crap, did you hear that? asked baseball god #1.
I told you to put that guy on mute said #2.
That's the stupidest #$%$#%^ thing I've ever heard, said #1.
Well what do you expect? asked #2.
It's like he's never actually watched baseball! protested #1.
It's like he has crap for a brain agreed #2
Well, let's show this assweed.
The Twins have won all but one game since then, and have gained absolutely no ground in the division. They have, however, completed the absolutely miraculous task of vaulting a whole half game over Cleveland and are now 6.5 games on top of them. It's all very pleasurable for those of us who get to watch—or it will be until the end of the year when the Twins accept their wild card berth and Joe Morgan smiles his ass smile and says, "I knew they could do it."
It's about frackin' time. The Chairman was hitting below .370! Disgraceful.
Also, triples are hot.
Goober/Doctor: 13; Readers/The Field: 11; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 5; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2
Chicago Cubs at Twins. Weekend Round-Up. Sweeeep.
Friday. Twins 7, Cubs 2.
Saturday. Twins 3, Cubs 0.
Sunday. Twins 8, Cubs 1.
I don't want to take anything away from the Twins this weekend. Cynics might say there's nothing impressive about sweeping a team as hapless as these Chicago Cubs, but anyone who's paid attention to the Twins over the last year knows we could be held scoreless by a bunch of monkeys playing Wiffle Ball. And the fact is, this whole streak of awesomeness started against the Boston Red Sox, who, last time Batgirl checked, were Good at Baseball. And if you look back over the course of our season you might find us decidedly not sweeping teams of the Cubs' caliber. (Or you know, on second thought, maybe you shouldn't look back. We're having such a nice time here, and it's Monday morning and it's Freedom Week and everything, why hurt ourselves so?) And what we had here was good defense, timely hitting, great pitching, and big ol' boom boom sticks. Friday was Justin "is Good" Morneau and Johan Santana combining for another Canezuela gem, on Saturday the Rochester Red Wings showed rookies are doing it for themselves, and on Sunday Bradke and just about all of the offense combined to turn the Cubbies into Batgirl's 10th grade volleyball team, minus the spunk and Bangles tapes. It is, after all, just another manic Monday.
The Twins tried to put an end to the Cubbies' suffering but there was only so much they could do. The North Siders kept finding new and creative ways to screw up—like Todd Walker and Phil Nevin sipping tea and munching on cucumber sandwiches as a ball rolled slowly between them—and no matter how hard the Twins tried, they couldn't get out. Torii Hunter did his best to hit into a double play with RISP but ended up scoring a run anyway. "I did my best, man," he would say regretfully after the game. "They just suck really, really hard." Little Nicky Punto felt so bad about it that after scoring he paused to mount catcher Henry "Cranko" Blanco comfortingly. (Goober: See, that's a difference between playing the Bitch Sox and the Cubs. When you score on the Bitch Sox you try to take their catcher's heads off, when you score on the Baby Bears you take the chance to have a nice snuggle.)
Watching Dusty Baker's face during the three game series was rather like reading "De Profundis," but without the profundity. Each time they cut to him, the mélange of emotions on his face was slightly different—here disappointment tinged with frustration, here anger with a note of agony, here dismay with a soupcon of psychosis. You got the impression the FSN director's default was to cut to Baker on every play given it was more likely his team would do something painful. It was like a three-day long Tums commercial (but without the profundity.)
Batgirl's not making fun of the Cubs by any means. She knows suffering. She knows what it is to scream things at the TV like "CALL FOR THE FRACKIN' BALL YOU NUMBNUT SHITBRAINS!" She knows what it is to tear the TV out of the wall and put her head through it. She knows the garment-rending and the eyeball gouging. We were there not so long ago. But the Twins have found their mojo, the future is bright, and BG's feeling so chipper she's going to challenge the Wiffle-Ball-playing-monkeys to a rematch. That's right. Next off day in Kenwood Park on BG's old t-ball field, we're going to do this thing. Oh, it's on, you bitch monkeys.
If you, like Batgirl, have wasted any part of your life watching The Apprentice, you find yourself all-too-familiar with the phrase, "Step up to the plate." In fact, the only business principles BG has learned from the show is a) Step up and b) Stop obsessing about the #@$!&$ Bedazzler. And now that we have run Johan Santana through the Xerox machine and we're running him out twice every turn through the rotation, we have an outside shot here, and we need the other guys to show us what they've got. And the amazing thing is, suddenly, they have. Boof, Carlos, Bradke—we wouldn't be above .500 right now if they hadn't bedazzled us, or at least stepped up. Brad wasn't perfect, and BG covered her eyes any number of times, but he always seemed to be able to coax out the ground ball, the strikeout, the pop up when he needed to. Seven shut out innings for someone who appeared to be cooked a few weeks ago to give us the sweep and confidence in our #2 guy makes you, Brad Radke, the Boyfriend of the Day. Your turn, Jackal.
Goober/Doctor: 13; Readers/The Field: 11; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2
Every month or so, BG does The Blogger's Minute on CCO's Twins Magazine Show with Rita Maloney. Here is today's version.
Well, Rita, Terry Ryan has made a lot of great trades in his tenure, and for some time it looked like the Pierzynski trade, landing us Joe Nathan, Boof, and your 2006 Cy Young award winner The Francisco Kid, was going to go down as the best trade of the decade. But even that has been recently overshadowed by the trade he made on June 9 of this year—that of powerful but inconsistent first baseman Justin Morneau for slugger and future MVP Justin Morneau.
The first Morneau was expected to be the slugger of the future as he came up through the organization, and when he finally reached the bigs he did not disappoint. He made a general habit of hitting the snot out of the ball, including one home run in Miller Park that traveled all the way back to Minneapolis. But then the scouts figured out how to get to him and he began to flounder. Morneau hit his low the next winter when Yahweh decided to test his faith by giving him appendicitis, pleurisy, pneumonia, boils, leprosy, and Vitamin-A deficiency. The first baseman kept his faith despite the troubles, but couldn't seem to find his swing.
"He's a great kid," said Terry Ryan after the trade was made. "We'll miss him a lot, but we needed to inject some power into the line-up."
"He's got tons of potential," agreed Ron Gardenhire. "I think he could thrive in another organization."
As for the new Morneau, he's been nothing but dazzling as a Twin. He's homered 8 times since joining the team two weeks ago, and is second in the league in RBIs. But it's not just his numbers that have impressed his teammates. His leadership, magnetic personality, and Jacque Jones-like easy smile have earned rave reviews.
"He's such a fun guy," said Torii Hunter. "And he's a kickin' DJ. I've always been pretty west side, but that guy's North Side, if you know what I mean."
We sure do.
A hard one. BG just doesn't know what to do when the Doctor doesn't get this thing, it's been so long. And really any number of Twins contributed to the win, from His Boofness to the Revenge of the Red Wings trio (Tiffles and Kubel and Bart, oh my!) getting us all of our runs to Rincon and Dennys Sampler tying things up so nicely. And BG didn't know what she was going to do until the very end of the game when the Nathannator struck out Phil Nevin for his 100th career save. 100th save? He's been a closer for two and a half years? Crap. That's awesome. And that makes you, the Veep/Automatic/the Nathanest of Joes/ Twitchy McXanax, the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor: 13; Readers/The Field: 10; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2
Um, doctor?
Has anyone in your family ever taught you about sharing?
I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled with this whole homer every day thing. And the whole batting average nearing .280. And the RBI total getting close to Big Papi. But you're running away with this thing and frankly Goober's getting a little bit bigheaded about it all. Maybe tomorrow you could hit your homer after the Twins have gotten a commanding lead, huh? Wouldn't that be nice? Even nicer than teaching another teammate to dance?
Anyway, doc, I'm just suggesting that you keep up your torrid pace, yet find ways to share the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor: 13; Readers/The Field: 9; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2
Twins at Houston. Francisco Liriano 4, Roger Clemens 2.
The Astros fans camped out for days trying to get tickets for the first show in the newly announced Roger Clemens Farewell Tour. Excitement hung in the air thick like full-fat mayonnaise, tinged with hope and longing and memory and the faint scent of stale brats.
"I can't believe we're going to get tickets," said one fan, just as the gates opened.
"Oh!" exclaimed another, "I hope he sings 'Believe!'"
"I was there when he retired last year," said a third. "It was amazing. You should have seen the costumes."
"It couldn't have been as good as the retirement tour of '04," said the first. "Now that was a tour! The laser light show afterwards was kickin'."
"I don't think any of this has really had anything on the retirement tour of '03, though," mused the second. "Now that was a tour! You know, I really thought that was going to be his last show!"
The other fans looked at him in surprise. "Really?"
"Yeah! Aren't I a dipshit?"
"Yeah!"
Meanwhile, inside the clubhouse, Clemens was preparing for tonight's performance, spreading Retin-A on his face, getting his plastic surgeon to add just a little more ass-skin to stretch out the area around his eyes, rubbing his arm with plants from the Genesis Planet, drinking shots of his special concoction of walnut oil and virgin blood with Ponce de Leon, and pulling the velvet curtains over that strange self-portrait that oddly seems to age more horribly with each passing day.
"I'm still beautiful," he whispered to himself.
"You're still beautiful," de Leon agreed. "Have some more walnut oil."
"ESPN is showing the game, right?"
"Right."
"All the networks are here, right?"
"Right."
"The house is packed, right?"
"Right."
"They think I can save them, right?"
"Right."
"Who's pitching for the other guys?"
"Oh, I don't know. Some kid," said deLeon. "I think you had 75 wins before he was born!"
"I—what?" Something flashed through Clemens' face which he quickly restrained, and behind the thick dusty velvet curtain another pustule appeared on the portrait's face. And then it was time. "I'm ready for my close up, Mr. Gammons," he shouted as he strode out onto the field.
Five innings later, Clemens returned to the clubhouse to shower and ready himself for the throngs of press waiting in air thick like mustard, tinged with anticipation and asskissing, while somewhere a game was still being played and a Kid who was born when Clemens had 75 wins showed those who still watched that the ingénue always prevails, especially when he has a kickass fastball. As he strode out to meet his press, a little kid wearing a Twins hat and Francisco Liriano shirt stumbled into his path.
"Wow," the boy said, eyes wide. "Roger Clemens! You used to be big!"
Clemens gasped, then drew himself up.
"I am big," he said grandiosely, "it's the ballparks that got small."
Did anyone in Minnesota think for a second we were going to lose this? It was so cute, all the hype for Clemens when every Twins fan knew he was going to get shown how it was really done. And BG was planning to give this to the Kid, facing the minimum through--what was it--seven? I don't know, it was something. It was like he'd let people on base just to toy with them, like a BatKitty and a toy mouse, except a toy mouse can't hit into a double play.
But Enron Field bilked the Kid out of his shut out like so many California energy customers. It's a stupid, stupid park and there should probably be prosecutions. There aren't any reasonable dimensions, except maybe right center where Sid Hartman's Man Crush (Come here, kid, sit on Uncle Sid's lap.) hit a ball with about half of his strength around 385 feet, for what would become the winning run and giving the Doctor his fourth consecutive Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor: 12; Readers/The Field: 9; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2
Yes, I know, Ozzie, you're a real man.
Twins at Houston. Crooked E's, 5; TC's, 3.
The argument rages on. Was last year's wild card run by the Astros the work of a plucky group of overachievers? Or was it the final pump-and-dump scheme by the masters of Enron Field? With inflated properties such as "the Killer Bees" -- a Fastow shell entity if I've ever heard of one -- and Minute Maid Park itself, it's hard to tell how seriously to take the Astros. But one thing is sure: when a check swing almost flies out of the park, anyone wishing to find the real Homerdome need only get on 35W and drive south.
We can't win them all. I know it's obvious but I'll say it again. We can't win them all. The game is just too weird for that. It all started very well, of course, with the Silvanator back to his Silvanating ways. The ball dove away from the batter's bats. Silva never was far from the strike zone. He wore his pants high and tight like he was starring in the "Chacarron" video. Like they were painted-on denim and he was the first kid in his school to buy acid-washed jeans. Tight and right. But there are just too many variables in baseball, too many unpredicatable moments, to win every game. Eight in a row will just have to do.
Speaking of variables, how 'bout that Kyle Lohse? Now, I've always felt a little bad for Kyle. Not that he hasn't brought it on himself. But for several years he seemed like a nice young man. Quiet. Sort of serious, in a California way. Like Johnny Depp trying to hide his Edward Scissorhands hands. Then the sucking time came. And let no one for whom the sucking time has not come cast aspersions on those for whom it has. Because who knows how you might react. Will it be with a wistful smile and reflections on the Great Wheel of Life? Or with a bat to Ron Gardenhire's door? Hard to know.
This was a winnable game. It never seemed more winnable than in the top of the seventh, when Carlos himself tagged a single to center to start the inning. Standing on first base, he seemed to say, "This isn't so hard. Look at me. El Chacarron stands at first victorious. He compels you to bring him home." And yet there he stood as Castillo and Punto flied out. Mauer walked and Silva -- looking slightly less hubristic -- moved to second. Cuddyer worked the count to 3-1 before poking the ball to the third baseman. El Chacarron stood at second, beached.
And that was that. The game was over, of course, from the second Kyle walked onto the field. The sucking followed him like a giant cloud; you could barely see him through the plumes of sucking. Viewers throughout the five state area were slapping the sides of their TVs trying to clear up the sucking on their sets. And the problem is especially bad in Houston -- a town that knows how to work with sucking. They know that if you paint lipstick on a pig, there are some who might say, "that's dang attractive pig. Turns out I enjoy seeing lipstick on a pig. Indeed, I might like to put the innovators who lipsticked that pig up on the front page of my magazine. And perhaps those very same innovators might like to contribute to my opera hall and planetarium."
It's just a game. And sometimes over the course of a long season, when you're playing in a bandbox, and the home team keeps smacking it into the wall like it's wallyball or something, you lose. And when you lose, you don't take a bat to Ron Gardenhire's door and you don't loaf while backing up home and you certainly don't funnel your losing into off-book partnerships. You take your lumps and come back to work tomorrow.
Kenny-boy knows that now. Maybe Kylie-boy will learn.
This entry composed by Goober, kindly subbing for BG. Thanks, Goober.
Twins at Houston. Twins 6, 'Stros 5 (10 innings).
Batgirl tries to be dignified. Staid. Even-keeled. She wants to set an example for the children—because really, all BG thinks about is the children—that life is full of ups and downs and it’s a long baseball season and you win some and you lose some and sometimes it rains and sometimes there's Carl Everett. But--GOOD GOD BATGIRL IS SO BLEEPIN' HAPPY RIGHT NOW!
I mean, BG was pretty happy on—oh—Friday when we'd won five straight and Silva and Radke had partied like it was 2005 and Jason Kubel was going Boom! Boom! Boom! and Jason Bartlett was, you know, there and did Batgirl mention the five straight? Now, we’ve been down that road before, of course, followed generally by losing six straight but nonetheless—oh, the happiness!
"It's just more fun like this," Batgirl and Jeb said solemnly to each other. "We'd rather lose with various youngins named Jason than be mediocre with middling veterans on the CIA most wanted list." And we'd win again and Batgirl and Jeb would nod solemnly again and say, "It's not that we're winning, per se, it's just so much fun to see those guys out there." And then we'd win again and BG and Jeb would say, "The point is we're looking at the future!"
Batgirl has actually been moved to tears twice during this streak of awesomeness—the first after Kubes hit his grand salami oh-so-many wins ago, and then tonight. The Twins had been losing 4-1 and Batgirl sighed to herself, "Self, it's okay, we have to lose sometime, and losing once every eight games is okay and Roy Oswalt is good at baseball." And then the seventh inning hit and the J-Men (which is like G-men, but stupid) each hit singles and then Tiffles pinch hit for Rad and Jeb said something disparaging and promptly apologized, for Tiffee got a RBI, then Castillo did, then Little Nicky Punto hitched up the green Speedo and hit a double to tie the game, and that's when Batgirl wept.
It was 4-4 then, and suddenly you just knew we were going to win. Because that's what the Minnesota Twins do, you know, they win baseball games. Especially on the road. Our first go ahead run was a rather adorable tribute to small ball—Castillo singling then stealing, LNP walking, and Chairman Mauer throwing himself towards first to avoid hitting into a double play to end the inning. A little Crazy Pepe on the part of the Stros, and the Twins had what would of course be the winning run.
Well, Joe Nathan's saved more games in the last few days then he has all season and that wears on a chap, it really does—he's used to saving a game and then sitting back in the bullpen for three or four weeks crocheting booties for Humane Society kitties, drinking Colt 45 out of a brown paper bag, and thinking what it would be like to be Vice President of a team that didn't suck. So you can't really blame him for blowing the save; he was probably just anxious about falling behind in his bootie-quotient.
And at that point the Houston Astros fans seemed to think they had hope, which is very sweet and all, but they did not know they lived on the Island of Dr. Morneau, where hope goes to die. "Small ball, my ass," said the Good Doctor. "Let's blow this popsicle stand." One pitch, one swing, one ball flying many many moose antlers away and that, my friends, was all she wrote. And the Twins had suddenly won eight straight and were a whole game above .500. And Batgirl and Jeb turned to each other and said, "Oh, #@$& it, it's just fun to win."
BatNote: Joe Mauer has finally cracked the top five in All-Star voting. It's good, but not good enough. You may have voted 25 times, but have your dead ancestors? Your pets? Your toes? Doesn't your pinky toe have an e-mail address? Well, get one, dammit.
Sometime before the bottom of the ninth
"Hey, Veep, can I talk to you a second?"
"Sure, Doctor, what is it?"
"Well, you know how I'm Goober's boyfriend?"
"Yeah, that must be a great honor. He sure loved Dougie."
"I know."
"He's always talking about his sweet swing and what a gamer he is…"
"I know."
"Must be hard to live up to that."
"That's the thing, Veep. Goober took me as his boyfriend and I just haven't really lived up to his trust. But now I haven't had a concussion or appendicitis or leprosy in over a year and I'm due up in the 10th and unless I get another at bat I don't get to be BOD, and then my streak is blown…"
"Your hitting streak? But--"
"No, my BOD streak! Three BODs in three games would be a new record! Goober would love me then!"
"You want me to blow the save just so you can get BOD?"
"Um…yeah. Then you'll get the win in the tenth!"
"But I don't want to blow a save. I'm the Vice President. I have duties…"
"Oh, everyone will know you did it for me, silly goose. It's not like you'd blow a save by accident."
"True. We'll win anyway?"
"I promise. I'll hit a dinger. Think of Batgirl--who's she going to pick otherwise?"
"That's an excellent point. Poor Batgirl. Well, then, you, Doctor Morneau, get your third consecutive Boyfriend of the Day."
Goober/Doctor: 11; Readers/The Field: 9; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2
Okay you guys. Obviously, there's a lot to talk about here, and BG is very grateful to infield for filling in so excellently and Goober for inspiring the Doctor to new BOD heights and to all of you for bringing the Twins to .500, which feels, tonight, like something akin to Nirvana. But now I'm going to talk to you about something serious. No, really. No, I mean it.
BG never talks about politics here, because politics divides us and Joe Mauer unites us. But today is an exception, because the very survival of this blog and others like it are at stake. Basically, the telecom companies are lobbying Congress to dissolve internet neutrality—the principle that no one but the users can choose what sites they visit. Right now, your ISP can't choose only to provide access to some sites, nor can they charge sites for providing access. But that could change.
The big companies—Verizon, AT&T, Comcast, and Time Warner--want to turn the internet into something akin to cable TV—to charge fees, tier access, control what information you receive, and charge content providers for delivering their sites. Essentially, it would mean web sites like Batgirl would be available only to those who can afford the highest level of service, or would be relegated to a sort of internet back road, or would not be available at all.
The recent Telecommunications Act that passed the House contained a provision that would dissolve Net Neutrality, with Congresspeople on both sides of the aisle bowing to pressure from these lobbyists. Now, the Act is in the Senate, and if it passes as-is the Internet as we know it will die. Meanwhile, there is a bipartisan bill going to committee today that could serve as an amendment to the Telecommunications Act persevering Net Neutrality. For more information, please read Save the Internet.
The Senators will vote on the Act this week, and they will have to choose whether or not they will bow to pressure from lobbyists. They need to know how their constituents feel. Go here: Sign a petition, send an email, or best yet, call your senators and tell them to preserve Net Neutrality.
For Freedom! For Liberty! For Batgirl!
Minnesota @ Pittsburgh, 6/16-6/18
W 4-2, W 5-3, W 8-2
Oh.
Oh, my.
My word.
A sweep. On the road, even. Without the benefit of a DH, no less. (Though some will say, and others already have, that has been true all season.)
Two sweeps in a row. Nine home runs over the last two series--four for Kubel, three for the Doctor. 31 runs. 54 hits. 26 walks. Staff ERA of 1.42. 53 strikeouts. 11 runs, 9 earned. A seven-game winning streak.
Hit-and-runs were executed, bunts were placed, bases were stolen. Bats went BOOM! And BOOM! And BOOM! again. Pitchers pitched out of jams and sometimes went multiple innings without creating any. Bases were loaded, and runners were then brought home.
Fans were given hope, and that hope was not cruelly crushed. It was not even mildly dented. Tricky plays were executed. Ordinary plays were executed. Third place was snatched from Cleveland's jaws.
Who are these people, and what have they done with our Twins?
As everybody knows, the Morneauvians first crossed the land bridge to Canada approximately 26,000 years before the advent of the designated hitter. At that time, of course, the Morneauvians were required to field their position. And thus, a great tradition was formed. Mighty sluggers who could also get around a little bit in the field, from Larry "Ridley" Walker to Corey "Korey" Koskie, came down from the great north woods to teach their southern neighbors a thing or two aboot sports. This was well before baseball or even BAK was invented, so these Morneauvians were limited to kicking dust with their feet and shoving tree bark in their cheeks. Nonetheless, it made quite an impression on their southern neighbors. And so the Morneauvians became well known for their crotch-grabbing, cute accents, and taciturn dispositions.
BAK was first brought over from Europe via Iceland. The Icelandic BAK team was on its way to an exhibition game in Greenland when its ship was blown perilously off course, finally landing in L'Anse aux Meadows in about 1000 A.D. When the snows receded in mid-July, the Icelanders named the land "Vinland" and challenged the Morneauvians to a friendly game of BAK. The Morneauvians batted around in the first, second and third innings, prompting the Icelanders to declare the natives hostile, and -- after invoking the ten-run rule -- sail back to Iceland with their skotti between their knjá-liðr. There they awaited the arrival of the Sugarcubes and warned all who came by to never, never sail to the west again.
A whole bunch happened after that -- something about the fur trade, loyalists, some angry hockey goalies, and Quebec -- but my guess is that most of this will be glossed over in the history books. Instead, the historians will look to a midsummer day in Pittsburgh in the early part of the third millennium A.D. There they will see a young lad with a cute accent and taciturn disposition bring another set of buccaneers to their knjá-liðr. Like the Morneauvians of old, they will say, a bona fide Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor: 10; Readers/The Field: 9; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2.
There's been some grumbling out there. And don't think I haven't heard it. Some people think that Cuddles, with his dimples and grand slams, is being discriminated against on account of his hitting so well in our losing efforts. To which I say: "Waah." Other people say, "that Mauer kid seems to be leading the league in just about everything from sideburns to aw shucks, so why does he only have four BODs?" To which I say: "Too bad so sad." And yet, the giant super-computers in the batquarters chug along, and spit our their irrefutable findings, and another B.O.D. is named. Justice? Probably not. But Justin? You bet. Thanks for the timely dinger, Doc, because that makes you the Boyfriend of the Day.
Readers/The Field: 9; Goober/Doctor: 9; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2.
Are you sitting down? You should sit down. This is going to come as something of a shock.
You know the Twins? The Minnesota Twins?
They won a road game.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! Settle down! No need to start packing for the Apocalypse just yet. Now, if they should win the series, then by all means do start scanning the horizon for horsemen.
It was an epic pitchers' duel, hearkening back to the great Santana/Schilling matchup of '06, made all the more dramatic by the thunder and lightning and Biblical amounts of rain outside the window for those of us watching in the Twin Cities metro.
The young guns on the mound were stupendous. For the Twins the 'Cisco Kid was sitting the bitches down left and right, right and left, and even the occasional switch. And our batters faced Pirates' pitcher Ian Snell with this look on their face like "huh??" after every pitch. There was remarkably little assbattery involved, really.
Digression: I noticed early in the game that Cuddyer looks like he hasn't slept in a week. And not the good kind of not sleeping in a week, either. What's up with that? Infield needs a scoop!
But, you see, 'Cisco made a wee tiny mistake in the third, and there was a runner on, and then inning after inning went by and nobody who wasn't a pitcher did nothin'. And it was starting to look a lot like just another day on the road for the Twins. To wit, a loss.
Especially in the 6th when 'Cisco fielded a bunt and kinda overthrew it in the Doctor's general direction and the runner moved to second with one out. But 'Cisco is 'Cisco, and he doesn't give a fig for your runners in scoring position, oh no. He just got himself two outs and left the guy standing there at second wondering if everyone had forgotten about him. They had.
But then in the 7th, all of a sudden, our boys solved the puzzle of Ian Snell. LNP walked. The Chairman singled (naturally). He Who Sleepeth Not doubled and LNP scored. Thus endeth the shutout. Yay!
Next the good Doctor hit a sacrifice fly (because he cares nothing for personal glory; the team is all), and the Chairman came home and we were TIED. Wow.
And then Sweetcheeks came up with one out and a runner on third and I admit I kind of put my hands over my eyes. But Dick said something about a single and I looked up just in time to see Cuddy cross the plate.
So the Twins were leading 3-2 and Snell got the hook and Damaso Marte came on and did what he usually does to the Twins, curse him, which is send them back to the dugout. 'Cisco came back out for one more inning, which turned out to be just long enough for him to get one more strikeout and reach a career-high eleven Ks.
"Just another day," Liriano said. "I strike out a lot of people."
Just another day for YOU, 'Cisco. You and your Santana-like hotness. But a very special day for us fans back home.
So the ninth rolls around and we still have a lead and poor worn-out Nathanator is warming in the pen, which I don't understand because Boo did great in the 8th. So I think to myself, I think, "Self, we need some more runs. If only to give poor Joe a little wiggle room. Or twitch room, as the case may be."
Well, the good Doctor and Sweetcheeks must have been thinking along the same lines, because they both singled. And Lewwwwwww came up and put a decent bunt down third base way, which is good 'cause Gardy had this cute little cocktail dress with matching heels all ready for Lew to wear back to the hotel if he didn't, and then...
...my cable went out.
%$!# storm.
Of course WCCO radio had turned into the Weather Channel while I wasn't looking, so I crossed my fingers and turned on my computer in the middle of an elecrical storm. And I'd like to say I did it for you, dear readers, but that would be untrue. My cable went out with runners in scoring position and I had to know what happened.
And Gameday told me that they walked my boy Bartlett because he's dangerous with that bat, I tell ya. Then the Pirates changed pitchers, and the new guy walked Rondell White with the bases loaded. We had a TWO run lead! And then there was some striking out.
So the Nathanator comes on, and I'm a little worried because frankly he threw more pitches the night before than he had in the entire month of April. But I should not have worried, because he is the Nathanator and 1-2-3! The Pirates got Nathanated.
And the Twins won. On the road.
It's true.
Readers/The Field: 9; Goober/Doctor: 8; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2.
*yaaaaaaaaaawn*
Hmm. Posting before coffee. This should be largely unintelligible. Ah, well, BatGirl will forgive me. She's the forgiving sort. I've just got to remember not to slip up and talk about that time in Reno when she...er, never mind.
Ahem. Moving along.
Let's see. Trying to remember the game. I was there, you know. But until the coffee hits, the memory's a bit shaky. However, I made notes! Yes, planning ahead. Here they are...
Kubel. Boom.
Oh, right. Kubel hit his fortieth home run of the series last night. It was a pretty one, too. Yes, Kubel got out the boom-boom stick again. Or, in the spirit of the sweep, the broom-broom stick.
Right. No puns before coffee. Got it. Stop throwing things, I bruise easy.
Bartlett--diving stop, baserunning, ABs
Oh, yeah! Did you see Bartlett last night? Did you? There's yer leadership, right there! Having good at-bats, getting hits, running the basepaths like the devil (or, alternatively, a plane ticket to Rochester) were on his heels, and making a sweet, sweeeet diving stop in the field.
And I'm not just saying that because he's my #2 boyfriend. (Yes, Boo, you're still #1.)
Ortiz launches moon shot destined to hit Killebrew banner, bounces off speaker to plunk down in front of Torii for a single.
Okay, now that was the single funniest moment of the season thus far. And the luckiest. Then again, I've always wanted to see someone hit one of those banners... But we'll save that honor for the good Doctor, eh?
Silva out. Knee?
No, thank the baseball gods (who are just and kind and hey, thanks for the sweep, guys). Just a cramp. Little charlie horse in the ol' hammy. He's fine.
And was is just me, or were we treated to the 2005 Edition Silva? You know what it was, of course. He wore his socks the right way. The baseball gods smile upon those who wear their socks the right way. Yes they do.
8th: need three pitchers for one out. Bad Justin--no hockey!
Just when the game was cruising along and we're all thinking Papi's speaker-ball will be the most exciting moment of the game, the 8th inning happened. Boo gave up a hit and hit a guy, then Reyes came on and got a grounder to the Doctor, who kinda fumbled it. A lot. Enter the Nathanator, who predictably sat down the first bitch he faced, but then decided to keep things interesting--sac fly/run, single/run, single, popup. But we still had a two-run lead.
They have a lefty sidearmer. Scary.
Not so scary in reality (he let an inherited runner score and dealt us a walk and a hit in the process), but the mere concept of facing a lefty sidearmer gives me the shudders.
Uh...Joe?
Nathan's ninth was, well...a little nerve-wracking. It started out great, with a groundout and a popout, and the loud annoying Boston fan a few rows behind me finally shut the bleep up.
Then there was the single and the stolen base. And then there was Papi, still steamed about that speaker-ball and about getting released all those years ago which is hardly fair because it worked out great for him but there's no accounting for grudges. And Papi smoked a run-scoring single and the Nathanator's laboring at about a gazillion pitches and looking a little peaked, too.
But Joe had a little talk with his glove (he does that, have you noticed?) and my sources tell me his glove said "Snap out of it! You are THE NATHANATOR. THE NATHANEST OF JOES. Sit that bitch down."
And he did.
***************************
Tonight, Liriano pitches AND bats! 6 pm Central, don't miss it.
Yesterday's B.O.D. was devoted to our favorite slab of Canadian beef. But today's is devoted to some different inanimate objects. The one on the left, well, that one's fun for sweeping. The one in the center I believe plays in the outfield for our ten-person softball team. (Poor David Ortiz: Minnesota screws him AGAIN.) And the one on the right . . . what's that on his chin? And didn't the bearer of that scraggy growth just hit three home runs in three days? I suppose the advance scouts are going to catch up with you someday. But for now, those key dingers make you -- and your chin, Kubes -- the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor: 8; Readers/The Field: 8; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2.
Minneapolis/St. Paul, MN - The Minnesota Twins announced today that they have acquired minor league outfielder Brandon Roberts from the Cincinnati Reds in exchange for infielder Jaun Castro.
Roberts, 21, was batting .267 (66-247) with five doubles, one triple, one homer, 15 rbi and 23 stolen bases in 60 games with the Sarasota Reds (A, Florida State League) this season. The 6-0, 185-pounder was originally drafted by the Reds in the seventh round of the June, 2005 free agent draft. In 2005, his first professional season, Roberts batted .318 (87-274) with nine doubles, six triples, four homers, 36 rbi and 32 stolen bases, while being selected to the Pioneer League Year-End All-Star team.
Castro, 34, was batting .231 (36-156) with five doubles, two triples, one homer and 14 rbi in 50 games with the Twins this season. He has a career batting average of .230 (467-2027) with 98 doubles, 12 triples, 31 homers and 176 rbi in 815 games. Castro was signed by the Twins as a free agent on November 23, 2004.
To replace Castro on the 25-man roster, the Twins will make a roster move prior to tomorrow night's game at Pittsburgh.
tap-tap-tap
Is this thing on?
tap-tap
Um, hi. I'm infield. Usually I post over at Third Base Line (there's a link in the sidebar somewhere, if you're curious), but BG asked me to entertain you all while she's lolling on the beach in California. (I expect souvenirs, BG!) I tend more toward sarcasm than sass, but I'll do my best.
Let's just ease into this with that old standard, the running commentary...
Inning the First
Radke loads the bases with one out, partly thanks to Kubel and Bartlett both losing Big Papi's popup in the teflon roof (2010...2010...), but he gets out of it with a couple of popups that actually find gloves.
The Red Sox? Leaving the bases loaded? In the first inning? Against RADKE? Inconceivable! Good job, Brad! Now cut it out with the baserunners, already.
Inning the Second
Boston starter Matt Clement seems to be on a personal quest to throw as many balls as humanly possible without actually walking in a run. He probably wishes he'd walked Jason Kubel, though, because Kubel takes the one and only strike he sees way, way up into the right field upper deck, to heights only Morneau had heretofore reached. One hopes Justin isn't territorial about his landing spot; the last thing this team needs is pouting power hitters.
Boy, is this game starting off SLOW, though. After just two and a half innings, an hour has gone by and Radke and Clement have racked up over 100 pitches between them. "Efficiency" is not the word of the day in the early goings.
Inning the Third
In the bottom of the inning, Clement loaded the bases without any "help" from the roof by issuing three straight one-out walks. Then Torii Hunter came up to the plate and did what he does best--hit into a double play.
New rule: with runners on and less than two out, we pinch-hit for Hunter. I don't care what freakin' inning it is.
Inning the Fourth
Kubel comes within a sneeze of having a two-homer game. Everybody wants Rondell White to get on base, including Matt Clement, who helps him out with a ball to the shoulder. Jason Bartlett (free at last!) welcomes himself back to the big leagues with a single to center. I'm so happy for him I jump right out of my Birkenstocks. Then we get a run the old-fashioned way on a Castillo double. Fast-forward to Joe Mauer's two-out at-bat, when the AL batting leader...grounds out to second??? Oh, say it ain't so, Joe...
Inning the Fifth
Dick & Bert interview Johan Santana. They barely get past "congratulations on your 1000th career strikeout" before Radke gives up the inevitable tater, a solo to Coco Crisp. It's kind of a relief to have that out of the way, really. You knew it was coming, you just hoped it wouldn't be one of those soul-crushing 20-run homers.
Okay, now, see? Hunter + runner on 1st = grounder to the shortstop. Thank the umpire for calling him safe--it could have gone either way. Morneau is out at 2nd. Clement deals a four-pitch walk to Kubel and then leaves the game with some sort of physical problem (as opposed to the six walks). Some guy named, appropriately for Flag Day, Van Buren comes in and gets Rondell White to pop out to short to end the inning, which is kind of like getting my cat to beg for cheese. She just loves cheese. Especially havarti.
Inning the Sixth
Bartlett bobbles a grounder, drops it, grabs it up again and STILL gets the double play started. Now that's impressive. And just a teensy bit lucky.
And, in the spirit of the eternal maxim "he who maketh the great play to end the half-inning, batteth to open the next", Bartlett smacks his second hit of the night as he leads off the bottom of the sixth. Ah, hits from the shortstop...how divine.
Castillo's at-bat takes about ten hours, since Van Buren feels the need to throw three pickoffs for every pitch, but he finally coaxes a walk. Punto puts on a bunting clinic to advance the runners, and Van Buren can pitch to Mauer (yikes!) or intentionally walk him but then face Cuddyer with the bases loaded. Talk about Scylla and Charybdis. Whew. Glad I'm not him. He goes with the intentional walk.
Bartlett nearly gets nailed in the back with a pickoff attempt at third. Wouldn't it have been funny if the ball had sailed off into left? Cuddy's bases-loaded walk is worth a snicker, though. Hey, free RBI! Van Buren trudges off to celebrate Flag Day in the dugout.
Did I mention it's Flag Day? Oh, yes, it is. And with the bases still loaded Justin Morneau plants his flag in the left field bleachers. Oh, Canada!
Inning the Seventh
Go, Radke. Sit. Relax. Enjoy the rare and wonderful luxury of run support. Let Willie Eyre face the Red Sox for the first time. He needs the experience. Besides, he wears his socks the right way.
Inning the Eighth
So, someone decides to jump out of the stands and go running all over the field until they're tackled by the Boston batboy. This makes Willie Eyre laugh too hard to pitch straight, and he gets the hook after two straight two-out walks. Breathe, Willie. Breathe.
Inning the Ninth
Lohse comes on in relief with a seven-run lead. You'd think this would make me feel secure, but oh please by all that's holy don't let him blow this I'll do anything really I will just get us out of this game with a win.
Hey, whaddaya know? He did it!
Twins win, 8-1. And I've got a sneaking suspicion who the B.O.D. will be...
Dear Justin:
I don't know how to say this exactly. But my last boyfriend and I were together for a looooooong time. And he wasn't perfect. I mean, there were times all that sticky-and-glib business would get old. You know, like "Oh, Doug, do you have to be Mr. Quotable all the time -- I mean, can't we just hang out?" And like, "oh I'm so funny with my 'mentally dumber' business." And naming your kid "Steel"? " I mean, "STEEL"? What's up with that? So he was weird, okay? But we had a bond -- a first time boyfriend bond. And it's hard to get over that.
I'll be the first to say it: having you as my boyfriend has been a transition. At first I thought you'd be like Corey Koskie -- a fun Canadian. A jolly mountie or something. But where Koskie seemed to have a twinkle, I've looked in your eyes and I must say, where's the twinkle? I could use a twinkle. A twinkle would go a long way. Because while Dougie was quite a talker, you don't talk so much, and what you say doesn't sound so good.
So talking is nice. But you know what's even better than talking? Winning. And you know how you get to winning? Doing. See, the doing is all. And the more you do, the more you have to talk about. And the more you have to talk about, the more you become the Boyfriend of the Day.
Nice slam-o,Dr. J.
Goober/Doctor: 8; Readers/The Field: 7; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2.
Boston at Twins. Twins 5, BoSox 2. (12 innings).
Goodness, Batgirl said to Jeb at about 8:30. 7th inning already? This game has gone so fast!
A good thing, too, as BG and Jeb are catching a cab at 7am to go to California where Jeb will formally receive his professional smarty pants certification, plus Casa BG is going to have an open house on Sunday so the whole darned place had to be cleaned and kitty litter scraped out of various nooks and crannys while the kitties themselves need to be dumped off at BatMom and BatDads, plus there's the whole packing thing, so, you know, thanks for the quick game and let's just score off Bloody Sock so we can—
Well, just as Jason Varitek so rudely sent a Johan K. Santana pitch long, the BatPhone rang. It was Batgirl's dear friend, Zana Redstocking, who had just picked up the phone to say how awesome Johan is when Mr. Varitek committed his unspeakable act. Since Jason Varitek is Zana's boyfriend, BG can only assume Ms. Redstocking exercised some psychic power, and BG asks politely that she not do that anymore, at least when Johan's on the mound. He's sensitive.
"That's the game," BG said. "Johan's going to pitch like this and lose the #@$@#$@ game."
"No," said Ms. R, "Schilling is inconsistent. You'll win."
"To win we'd have to score," said BG, "and we don't know how to do that."
Silly Batgirl. Dost thou forget Michael Cuddyer and his boom boom stick? True, it wasn't a grand slam—but the Twins can't have a grand slam every game, can they? (And Cuddles only hits those when we lose.)
BG was envisioning at that point a two-headed BOD, Cuddles and Johan holding hands and skipping toward victory. Because—well—Johan. Remember his last start? Remember how it wasn't so good? Well, this one was so good they went back and gave him a win for that game. He struck out the first five—which, if you're counting, goes, "Sit down bitch and bitch and bitch and bitch and bitch. All of you, please, sit down." It got so that when in the third a BoSox ball fell just out of Lew Ford's reach for a hit, BG was glad because it seemed such a shame to waste an out on something that's not a K. On a night when Curt Schilling moved closer to 3000 strikeouts, Johan fanned his 1000th batter and BG is dearly looking forward to the next couple of thousand. He may have them by the end of the season.
Well, of course, as anyone who has to get up early to catch a cab tomorrow knows, the game was not short, not at all. The 1-1 hot-hot-Cuddles-on-Varitek tie lasted through nine, ten, and at some point Zana Redstocking calls and says, "Please, please, I don't care who wins anymore, I just want to go to bed." Opportunities came and went like the days of our lives—eleven, twelve—then, like sand through the hour glass, the tie game slipped through Jesse Crain's fingers.
But it wasn't as bad as it could have been. LNP played a "small" part in the Twins' victory; with the bases juiced and one out, Alex Gonzales hit what seemed to be a basehit, until Little Nicky snapped his green speedo and dove for the ball. They couldn't get the double play, but he kept a sure two run play to one run (not to mention the Doctor who made a great grab on Castillo's errant throw), leaving us with the bottom of the ninth, the middle of the order up, and--dare I say--hope.
Well, with one out, Cuddles took one for the team, then the Doctor (who had been "out" in an earlier inning trying to stretch a single and said a very very bad word) hit a ground rule double and they walked Sweetcheeks—and the rookie stepped up to the plate. Our hearts are in our throats—he's just a kid, it would be so easy to mess up, he's been doing so well, all we need is a sac fly, come on Rookie!—
And, well, boom. And it was just so beautiful.
That is what it is for us now—we don't get to watch the standings and dream of post-season, but we do get moments like these—Johan Santana striking out five in a row, Cuddyer showing Johan he wouldn't allow his start to go to waste this time, and a kid with a lot to prove stepping up in the twelfth and hitting the ball all the way to 2007.
And now, at the very end of the radio broadcast came the announcement that the T-Fat era is over. BG wishes he'd proven everyone wrong and become the third baseperson of our dreams—he's one crazy-ass loon and that, in itself, is enough to endear him to Batgirl. Good luck to you, T-Fat, I'm genuinely sorry it didn't work out. And welcome to the bigs, Jason Bartlett. We're very pleased to see you. Here's to the J&J boys—long may they reign.
Batgirl will be gone until Monday. Infield will be popping in once in awhile and Goober will take care of BOD, post pictures of the BatBaby, and anything else he feels like, and the BatBaby may come and spit up.
"Just hit a double, Kubes," BG said, "and I'll give you the BOD."
"A double, my ass," said Kubel. "Instead, I shall go boom."
"Excellent choice," said BG. "I applaud you."
Goober/Doctor; Readers/The Field: 7; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2.
Last week, we suggested some Mauerist propaganda slogans--and now that the Chairman is AL Player of the Week his support among the people is reaching new heights. Now is your chance to honor the Chairman as he has honored you with his wisdom and his .OPS. We are sponsoring a Mauerist Slogan contest--Team Batgirl will pick their favorites and then we'll all vote. The best slogan will appear on a BatShop T-Shirt. The Chairman serves the people! The Chairman serves the people!
Picture courtesy of Blue Canoe
Oh, and Vote Mauer, for God's sakes. Click on the picture to the left.
Baltimore at Twins. Weekend Round-Up.
Friday. Twins 7, O's 5. (12 innings).
Saturday. O's 9, Twins 7.
Sunday. Twins 4, O's Goose Egg.
It's Tonys night and Batgirl is sure all the Minnesota Twins are huddled around Torii Hunter's big screen TV eating Kyle Lohse's meat pies and arguing over their own picks. Little Nicky Punto likes the intoxicating twenties flair of The Drowsy Chaperone while Michael Cuddyer prefers the toe-tapping charms of Jersey Boys, while Juan Rincon sits sulkily in a corner stroking his Pretty Woman DVD and muttering, "Julia was robbed."
In that spirit, Batgirl has decided to award THE FIRST ANNUAL BATTY AWARDS, based on this weekend of baseball. Awards lean heavily toward Sunday because now that BG's 33 26, she can't remember so far back.
And now, without further ado: The 2006 Battys!
Best Use of a Boom-Boom Stick in a Victory: Dr. Justin Morneau for Friday's 12th inning homer allowing BG to go to bed. Also nominated, Dr. Justin Morneau and Dr. Justin Morneau.
Best Totally Fruitless Use of a Boom-Boom Stick: Michael Cuddyer, hitting his second grand slam of the week in a losing performance on Saturday.
Best 'Nam Flashback: T-Fat, who dodged much broken bat shrapnel to field a grounder today. Also to T-Fat: Best Know Your Limits, for stretching to the very outer limits of his postage stamp range to miss a Miggy double down the third base line by only two or three feet. Keep reaching for your dreams T-Fat!
Best Performance by a Blind Man: I'm sorry, home plate ump Ed Rapuano, but if Joe Mauer says it’s a ball, it's a ball. When the Chairman strikes out after getting to 3-0 with the bases loaded, you can pretty much guess you did something wrong.
Best Revival: Torii Hunter and Michael Cuddyer for popping up and GIDP respectively after the Twins loaded the bases in the first inning on Saturday, in a stunning rendition of last year's smash hit The Bases Are Loaded But Nobody's Home.
Best Tease: Francisco Liriano for walking Brian Roberts to lead-off the game, making them think they might not make asses of themselves the rest of the game. Psych!
Best Mime: Ron Gardenhire, illustrating for Ed Rapuano the intricacies of a foul tip with commitment, passion, and precision. Next up for Gardenhire—Man in shrinking box.
Best Payback: Little Nicky Punto showing Rapuano a real foul tip--in his face. Squeaked Punto, "That's for Cuddy, you bastard!"
Best Payback 2: You see, Carlos, you make the team wear pixie vests, you're going to blow. Let that be a warning to you.
Best Reason to Hide LNP in a Toybox:
Best Reappearance of a Missing Man: The Nathanest of Joes, reemerging from the mists of time to pitch in two games this weekend. Please don't leave us again, Joe.
Best Bad Day: Joe Mauer, going 1 for 4 on Sunday. Get it together, Chairman. Jesus.
Best Everything: Francisco "the Kid" Liriano. 7 innings, one hit, six K's, and one fabulous future.
The prognosis is excellent!
The Doctor/ Goober 7; Readers/The Field: 6; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2.
Oh, doctor? I haven't been feeling so well lately. I don't know, it's like just this feeling of low-grade despair and--
--oh! all better! You're the best doctor ever.
Readers/The Field: 6; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Goober/ Dr. Morneau 6; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2.
Twins at Seattle. Twins 7, Mariners 3.
Picture Courtesy of Eric
Boundless loyalty to Chairman Mauer!
Cheers for the grand victory of Chairman Mauer's revolutionary line!
Go forward through great difficulties following Chairman Mauer!
Chairman Mauer is the Red Sun in our heart! Our hearts are linked with Chairman Mauer's heart forever!
Take the golden road pointed out by Chairman Mauer!
Chairman Mauer's great guidance gives us limitless strength!
When navigating the sea, depend on the helmsman, when carrying out revolution depend on Chairman Mauer!
Set off a new upsurge in the study of Chairman Mauer's work!
Carry out the strength to denounce Carl Everett to the end!
Chairman Mauer is the greatest leader! He shall remain our Chairman forever!
Chairman Mauer's thought heals the deaf-mute!
Pour it on!
The BODSHC wavered a good deal tonight, and in fact began to write an entry for the Chairman, who is the greatest baseball player of all time, but the by laws specifically call for the coveted award to go to that boyfriend who most contributed to the Twins victory--and Lew Ford's 2 run double (which would have been three had Little Nicky Punto not frozen like prey in a wide open prairie at 3rd) gave the Twins a healthy cushion on a day when the heavy responsibilities of the office began to wear on El Presidente, and that makes you, Lew Fordwalker, the Boyfriend of the Day.
Readers/The Field: 6; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Goober/ Dr. Morneau 5; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Jeb/ Lewwww3; Sooz/Stewie 2.
Twins at Seattle. Mariners 10, Twins 9. (11 innings)
Please note: BG started this entry in the middle of the game and, if you watched the game, you understand why it makes no sense at all.
10:58 pm: Okay, it's nearly 11:00 and we're in the 5th inning. Right now the score is 5-4 but BG expects it to be about three times that by the time this damned thing ends at 4 or 5 am. Jeb has just announced his plan for victory: "If we get 6 or 7 hits in an inning and Boof only allows one home run each inning, we might just win." As much as Batgirl is loath to criticize her husband, who is after all her lord and master and she is but his property, she must humbly and respectfully dispute his math because it takes us at least ten hits in an inning to score one run.
I mean, there are so many ways to make outs, really there's a whole world of possibility out there, and it's important to discover each and every one of them, to really invent new and wonderful ways of working out of scoring situations, to explore each and every corner of this unfathomable vastness, this incomprehensible infinity, because it reminds us that the only limits are those of our imagination. Somewhere in Twins Territory there is a child with a problem to solve and that child sees Lew Ford run toward third with Luis Castillo still on it, and he says, "My goodness, there is no problem I cannot overcome, for the universe is limitless and the world is my bitch." And it is beautiful.
And then—
11:25 pm: Oh, goodness. The funny thing about starting these entries when the game isn't over yet is things can change awfully quickly. When BG started, the game was rather close and sometime later Raul "Please Go to the Other League" Ibanez hit a Dennys Sampler Reyes pitch straight to the Moon Over My Hammy, and it was sad because of course the Twins could have had so many more runs if they hadn't been inspiring young children with their exploration of the limitless expanse of possibility, but you win some, you lose many many more--and poor Joe Mauer and Joe Nathan and Jo-Han--but what are you going to do?
And then—
12: 01 am: Well, and then, to begin, Juan Castro doubled with one out in the eighth. Then Luis Castillo walked. Then Lew Fordwalker—who, despite a couple brain farts on the basepaths and losing his shoe on an extremely silly defensive miscue in the eighth, has been having a kick ass game—hits a single and suddenly the bases are loaded with one out. For some teams, having the bases loaded with a five-run deficit means a possibility of getting back into the game, which must be very nice for them. The only reason to keep watching, really, was the fact that Chairman Mauer was up and he is quite clearly the greatest baseball player ever. Well, the Chairman walked. Mike Hargrove seemed upset with his pitcher for it—he clearly didn't realize walking Joe to score just one run was probably the best possible outcome for him. And of course that was the end of it, for if the Chairman can't do it, well then, I mean, look, Torii popped out and now Cuddy's up and it's 1 and 2 and—
Boom!
Now, the thing about this grand slam thing is you score four runs at once. This is extremely awesome, especially when you're behind by four runs. And as fun as finding new and crazy ways to blow scoring opportunities is, BG posits that this is actually even more fun.
1:02 am: Less fun, however, is staying up until 1:02 just to watch Carl Everett rip out Batgirl's heart and hit it to Vancouver. BG never liked him.
BatReminder: Have you Voted Chairman yet? You have? Have you voted 25 times? No? Well, get to it, darn it. Click on the poster to the left and vote your pants off, vote like you've never voted before!
Twins at Seattle. Mariners 4, Twins 2.
It is sign of the horrible perversity of Satan that the date he put into his Palm Pilot for the End of Time would coincide with something as pure and good as Cupcake Day. And when BG woke up this morning, checking carefully out of her window for boiling seas, bloody moons, and a two-horned Beast, she had one last wish—that each and every person on earth would be able to enjoy his cupcake before the End came. Batgirl savored hers early (thanks to BatBandwagoner who caused 6 + 6 cupcakes to appear on her doorstep this morning), with a tall glass of lactose-free milk (though, really, why bother with the Lactaid when the end is nigh?).
It didn't happen, of course, unless the End is very much like every other day except with more cupcakes. Batgirl thinks, ironically, it's the goodness of Cupcake Day itself that may have saved us all (the power of Cupcake Day compels you—take thatPrince of Darkness!). Whatever the reason, we seem to have survived, eschatologically-speaking, though not so much baseball-wise. I don't know what's a more ominous sign—the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse prancing down your street or the Twins with late-inning scoring opportunities. And exactly how many plays do we need to watch the left side of our infield botch before we call in those horsemen ourselves?
You see, the thing about the Beast is he comes well after the apocalypse has started—in other words by the time he's skipping around making fire fall from the sky and giving everyone UPC code tattoos, earth has already entered a great-big rebuilding phase. And the Beast was there tonight at SafeCo, lingering on the field as the Twins continued their sloppy defense, at the plate as one after another blew a scoring opportunity. He was there, putting his mark on those who will not be saved, and maybe he'll be there tomorrow batting for the Twins because God knows, he can't do any worse than the guys we have now.
Edit: infield has a pretty great analysis of the blown pop-up in Saturday's game.
A few links while you're enjoying your cupcakes:
New blogs are sprouting up all over the place! There's Twins without Spin in which the elusive Mr. Baseball No. 1 gives his thoughts with a healthy combination of stats and sass, not to mention a strange affection for T-Fat. And Gutter Ball, where SDave, with the help of Neutrino Boi and Dr. Jane, give previews of most games (including projected B.O.D.s) and general commentary. The best Twins trade of the new millennium has yielded a a Boof Bonser fan site as well as the brand spankin' new Thank You Brian Sabean, the San Fran GM who made it all possible. And then Twins Cards is an e-collection of baseball cards sorted by year and it's just darned cool...can't quite remember the roster in 2000? Look at the cards. And finally hot hot Red Wings closer Pat Neschek has a blog, which is pretty much the coolest thing ever. (Thanks to Infield for the heads up.) In other blogger news, BG is crazy about Will Young's Win Probability charts after the games, and find herself quite engrossed with Aaron Gleeman's Top 40 Minnesota Twins. (Bruno was robbed, AG, robbed!)
Meanwhile, for your off-line reading pleasure, Batgirl's been heartily enjoying Mark Lamster's Spalding's World Tour which tells the story of Albert Spalding's mission to introduce baseball to the world in the late 1800's. The book got a pretty kick ass review in the Times on Sunday. Also getting a kickass review in the Times is Torii Hunter, the Man with the Golden Mitt.
And finally BG's somewhat giddy about the prospect of Morneau as catcher only because it's going to be a long season and she needs something else to amuse herself. Plus when Gardy told him to put on the catcher's gear..."and a cup" she totally heard a few strains of the Nutty song in the background.
Oh, and if you haven't yet....Vote Mauer! Click on the poster to the left.
EDIT Every Day Super Goddess sends BG the best Bday present ever.
Twins at Oakland. Weekend Round-Up.
Friday. Twins 2, A's 1.
Saturday. A's 2, Twins 1.
Sunday. A's 5, Twins 1.
Oh, man, you guys, BG had this whole entry started, but the fact is it's 11:00 and she's so tired her eyes are bleeding. As you all know we are approaching the anniversary of Batgirl's birth (also "Cupcake Day!"). A simply day, of course, is not enough to honor the occasion and Batgirl generally likes to declare the surrounding time "Batgirl Week," which has thus far entailed lots and lots of food including All-You-Can-Eat sushi at Martini Blu tonight. It turns out, when pressed, Batgirl can eat a great deal of sushi.
There also was, Batgirl must admit, several glasses of some sort of blue-colored drink (orange vodka, sake, blue curacao, and pineapple juice) more than Batgirl would normally have ingested, but you see, boys and girls, drinking makes the pain go away. And Batgirl was in so very much pain. It all started so promisingly—sure for a long time on Friday it looked like we were on the road to handing El Presidente another soul-crushing loss, because we're the Minnesota Twins and crushing people's souls is what we do. And it was the 7th inning, the President had given up two hits, and unfortunately one of those hits involved Frank Thomas and his boom boom stick, and the Twins, of course, had their heads deeply up their ass-bats (and BG doesn't mind getting shut out by Barry Zito, but, really—Kirk Saarloos?). Then Cuddy led off the 8th with a base hit and the good Doctor strode up to the plate and BatDad said, "Wouldn't it be great if he hit a homer?" And Batgirl, Jeb, and BatMom all agreed that, yes, it would indeed be great if he hit a homer, and, well, boom! And yes, it was great. Dammit.
It seemed to portend such good things, because last year the Twins never would have won that game (since winning would after all, have required scoring runs). But with one swing of the bat the Doctor said, "No, no, this is not last year, and this year I have not suffered from pleurisy or a concussion or leprosy or the heebie-jeebies and I can hit the ball many moose antlers when the situation calls for it." And so, on Saturday, when Bradke found his groove (or something very like it) it seemed that the Twins would find a way to win for him, and really there were so many chances, so very many chances…
Batgirl listened to Saturday's game while cooking dinner—an artichoke pesto lasagna—and if her dinner guests wondered what the odd flavor was in the white sauce, well, that was Batgirl's youth. I don't know what’s more discouraging, hearing somebody pop up a late-game crucial bunt or having the go ahead run score because Morneau and Castillo decided it would be a great time to play Keystone Kops on a routine pop-up. But the thing is, it wasn't a great time, not at all, in fact it was a totally shitty time and Batgirl doesn't know why you would do that to her so close to her birthday.
So, basically, if I have this straight: now that the pitching is somewhat under control, the hitting has decided to go all craptastic again. Meanwhile, the Batbaby can field better than this infield, with only slightly more drool, and all of that leads a (bat) girl to drown her sorrows in blue curacao. At least she knows where to send the rehab bill.
BatNote: The Twins may not have been interested in giving BG an early bday present, but look what the mega-fantastic Duke from Oakland is sending her:
That is an A #1 Torii Hunter BP home run ball, signed to a very close personal friend of Batgirl's.
Sweet.
Doctor, Doctor
Give me the news
I've got a bad case of
loooooooooooovin' you......
Readers/The Field: 6; Batbaby/Torii: 6; Goober/ Dr. Morneau 5; Batgirl/Chairman 4; Sooz/Stewie 2; Jeb/Lewwww 2.
Click on the kitty to the left to visit the BatStore.
What are you doing right now? Bored at work? Really? Want to waste time on the internet AND support a worthy cause? The Chairman does not even rank among the top five in AL catchers for All-Star voting. Silly, isn't it? We can't get him to win, but we need to give him a better showing than this. Vote Mauer. Pour it on!
