And the September call-ups: Scootie Baker, Chris Heinz, and Alexi Casilla.
Kansas City at Twins. Twins 3, Royals 1.
So stick it, suckers!
That's right, Landed Gentry beeyatchs. Think you can come into my house and make fools of my boys? Huh? Well, how about I sic a little Johan Santana on you, how do you like it? He's the President of the United States of Batgirl, and he's not some wussy, do nothing president, like the guy with the eyebrows and the dog in Clear and Present Danger. He's like a Harrison freakin' Ford president, like if you're going to hijack his plane to hold him hostage in order to get crazy-ass Russian generals released from jail, well, first off, that crazy-ass Russian general is going to get shot, like a lot, and secondly Harrison Ford is going to kick your ass and the very last words you're going to hear are him snarling, "Get off my plane," before he throws you the hell off and you strangle in your own parachute. Hard. That kind of president, my friends.
Okay, okay, I know I might be overreacting, they're the Kansas City Royals and when they win we should give them lots of encouragement and praise, like a toddler who uses the poo poo tron correctly, but, frankly, I can't seem to face up to the facts. I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax. It was all so easy back in June when we were winning all the time yet were completely out of the pennant race—all the pleasure, none of the soul-curdling pain. And the Twins, meanwhile, are like that guy in that new movie where he has to keep his adrenaline going the whole time, it’s like Speed except he's the bus and the speedometer is his heart and also I don't think Sandra Bullock's in it. But the point is, as soon as the adrenaline goes down, the bomb goes off, and the Twins, who just returned from Bitch Soxia to this, are like that. So what I am here to say, and I am speaking to you, Minnesota Twins, is now the games are all important, every single one, from the Yanks to the Devil Rays, to the Ligers, to the Royals again, and Batgirl wants you to keep plunging those adrenaline shots directly into your big ol' small market hearts.
You know who knows this? El Presidente. He showed up to deal tonight, and deal he did, on just a day and a half's rest, too. We've seen some nearly-mortal performances from Supernatural the last few weeks—and for the President, nearly mortal is still good enough to be the best in the league—but this wasn't one them. Two on in the seventh with one out? Qu'est-ce que c'est? Oh, well, here, try to hit this. Can't? Too bad. Please, have a seat. And, while we're at it, you, in the on deck circle? Why don't you just sit back down. Thank you ever so much.
Johan knew he was going to have to pitch his brains out tonight because, other than Michael Cuddyer who apparently didn't get the memo, the Twins offensive players clearly had decided to take a few days off from all the hurly burly and sent surgically-altered animated corpses to the park to play in their stead, and those corpses sure as hell can't hit. Which goes to answer the eternal question—who would win in an epic battle between Royals starting pitchers and animated corpses. Turns out it’s the Royals starting pitchers. Who knew?
So it was Johan's job not to let in any runs, figuring one of the corpses might accidentally make contact eventually, (thank you, Rondell White-corpse), and he performed admirably until Esteban German so rudely dinked a homer off the left field wall. I hate people when they're not polite.
We were sunk then, until the animate-corpse Twins figured out a way to suck and score runs at the same time—GIDP with the bases loaded. That was all Johan needed to kick the Royals off of his plane for good.
It was a heroic performance, worthy of Harrison Ford, of poetry, of song, of—dare I say—Johan Santana. This is what is known in the business as stepping it up. To close, this from genius Batling Twayn, with a little help from Walt Whitman:
O Johan! my Johan! our fearful trip’s not done;
The ship’s not weather’d every rack, the prize we seek’s not won.
The port is near, the crowd you hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding Sox of White,
Have on deck this KC wreck;
We face the Yankees’ might.
O Johan! my Johan! rise up and hear the yells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the victory bells;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the Dome a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Johan! dear Johan!
More laurels upon your head;
It is no dream that on the mound,
You’re the one batters most dread.
"Where is the fire?"
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 22; Sooz/(Cuddy) 11; Batbaby/Torii 10; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Jeb/Lewwww 4.
Kansas City Royals at Twins. Royals 4, Ass Bats 3.
Oh, for &*@$'s sake. You know what? Here Batgirl is, busting her balls, day in and day out—and she, of course, does not have balls because she is a lady, do you hear her? A %#$#@*& lady! She's not going to blog on this %$&! $#@%. She's got things to do, people to see. Okay, she's got nothing else to do. But that doesn't matter.
The point is, Batgirl's eyes are burning and her soul is slowly dying, and, my dear Twins, it's your f@#$&*$ fault. If you close your eyes and listen, that isn’t the wind you hear, but Batgirl's cries rending the sky asunder. She gives and she gives, and what does she get back? Bup-$%&#@?#-kiss.
Oh, Twins, I don't know why you treat me so bad--think of all the things we could have had.
You ass-weasels.
[JEB: Ass-weasels are no laughing matter. Have you seen what they'll do to a person when they get riled up?
BATGIRL: SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!!]
I don't know what the hell's going on around here with you guys, but we were a good baseball team like three days ago. Remember that? You do? Really? Well, then what in the hell happened? News about Pluto finally hit the clubhouse? Lew Ford's wayback machine gone all higgledy piggledy? (And if there's a proper way to spell that, it beats the #@$%!?&# shit out of Batgirl.) Well whatever the flying$@#$ is wrong with you guys, get the $#@& over it, get your head out of your gigantic collective @$$ and start playing some $%&*@#! base ball.
You know, apparently there was some guy running on the field tonight, and DickN'Roy were pretty annoyed with it—what they clearly didn't understand is the poor chap had been driven so barking mad by the soul-crushing ass-battitude that he was suddenly convinced he was being chased by a pack of rabid ass-weasels and ran onto the field to save his life. [Jeb: See, I told you.] What I mean to say is that could have been any of us. What I mean to say is we are all that guy, you, and me, and the Batkitties three, and it's time for us all to come together, so go to your kitchen right now, get down a candle, no not that one, the smell's too sweet—there, that one's better—and light it for that poor guy who's in some jail cell right now shaking and rocking and drenched in sweat and screaming things about small furry rodents and the Royals' pitching staff and double plays. At least he got to completely lose his mind and didn't have to watch the end of this %$#%&*?$! game.
I can't believe I missed @#%&*!% Project Runway for ?$%&*$# this. (And anyone who reveals what happened has to watch this whole %&*$%#@!% game again. Twice.)
I mean it.
SI looks at the AL Wild Card. Meanwhile, lots of Twins on the national media: Torii Hunter will be a guest on the TV show "Rome is Burning" at 3:35 p.m. CT. Joe Nathan and Juan Rincon will be featured on ESPNews' "The Hotlist" at 4 p.m. and Gardenhire will take part in Jim Rome's radio show at 1:20 p.m.
Thanks to Wonder Woman for the heads-up! Also, on Labor Day, MPR's Midday will be doing it's annual State Fair Twins show at 11. If you're at the Fair (and, really, why wouldn't you be) go to the MPR booth and ask all your Twins-related questions of F.O.B. Howard Sinker. There will be PRIZES!
Mucho thanks to pollyannah for the awesome images. And mucho thanks to all who order from the BatStore; your purchases help pay for the tools of Batgirl's long-distance blogging.
Kansas City at Twins. Royals 2, Twins Zip.
This entry featured BAD BatCoding that lost half of the content. It's ALL FIXED NOW
When Johan Santana woke up this morning, he felt strange. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something seemed to be missing. It was something like when Corey Koskie stole his mojo, yet there was more to it than that. He sat up straight in bed, looked around, and he told himself, This is not my beautiful house! And then he looked in the bed next to him and told himself, This is not my beautiful wife!
He jumped out of bed and took quick stock of himself. He still felt like an All-Star, but suddenly not in a good way. He darted into the bathroom, and a quick look in the mirror showed what was wrong.
He had turned into Mark Redman.
Something terrible had happened. But Johan did not panic; he did not want to let on that anything had happened. So, naturally, there were some crazy shenanigans that morning, including "Mark" reaching for the Frosted Flakes when he hates Frosted Flakes, and totally missing the Redman family's customary post-breakfast ass-grab. But, nonetheless, Johan escaped without raising too much suspicion, and it was time to head to the ballpark.
When he got there, the first thing he did was run into the Twins locker room.
"Hey, Red Man!" said Brad Radke. "What's shaking?"
"Um, hey, Brad. Um, have you seen Johan?"
"Sure! He's in the bathroom. It's weird he's just been staring at himself in the mirror all day long with this crazy smile on his face…"
And then Johan knew beyond a shadow of the doubt what had happened. He tore into the clubhouse bathroom and slammed the bathroom door behind him. And there, standing in front of him, was himself.
"What did you do, you cabron?" spat the real Johan.
The fake Johan threw up his hands.
"I didn't do it! I just woke up like this!" Redman-as-Johan paused, and then added, "It was awesome."
"I don't believe you."
"Come on, Johan, we're the Royals! We can't do anything."
"Good point," said Johan, sighing. "Well, what do we do about it? How do we switch back?"
"Do we have to?"
"Yes!"
"I don't know," said Redman. "I think we have to learn something about each other…and about ourselves."
"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"That may be, Johan, but one thing is true."
"What?"
"You have to go pitch."
Yes, it's true. Johan Santana had to go out and pitch against his team. And what was he supposed to do? The logical thing would be to go out and trucking buck, but as has well been established, Johan Santana does not know how to trucking buck, and the rest is Kansas City Royals history. By the time the dust had settled, Johan had his first complete game shutout of the season—unfortunately it was against his own team.
After the game, Johan and Redman met up behind the Dome. Redman could barely contain his excitement. "Do you know what you did to my ERA?" he exclaimed. "That was amazing! I've never seen anything like that!"
"Did you learn something about yourself?" asked Johan, dejectedly.
"Yes!" said Redmond. "That I'm awesome.….What about you?"
Johan sighed. "Same thing," he said sorrowfully. "Same thing."
Now featuring ANSWERS! Click on "continue reading" at the bottom of the entry. Mucho congratulations to Chris and CB for getting the two toughest.
Courtesy of Wonder Woman, this lovely spread from the Twins Magazine. Readers, can you name these baby Twins? (No fair if you already saw it.)
Also, for your reading pleasure, from Off the Baggie The Secret of the Twins' Success.
Friday. Twins 5, Bitch Sox 4.
Saturday. Twins 8, Bitch Sox 7. (11 innings)
Sunday. Bitch Sox 6, Twins 1.
Well.
Batgirl, for one, is completely done for. Today's loss was unfortunate—though expected—but a rather welcome respite from all the heart attacks and aneurysms of the weekend. A few of those can really do permanent damage to a girl. The Batkitties are still under the bed, fearful of some stream of joy/agony induced expletives to come streaming at a high volume out of Batgirl's mouth. They're very sensitive, you know.
I hope you got to sit yourself down and watch some baseball this weekend, because I'm here to say games don't get much better than this. Sometimes, Batgirl wishes we could separate these games from the tension of the playoff race, because if this string of magic and miracles doesn't hold out, she doesn't want it to take away from how fracking awesome these couple of days were. And if you're feeling low one of these days, go read the BOD threads for Friday and Saturday, and remember this playoff-baseball in August, when a bunch of replacement players and replacement parts showed us they're the team to beat in baseball.
I mean, did you watch the games? Really? Are you okay—can I get you a nice tisane or something, or a sedative or a large forehead-ready mallet? Okay, really, just let me know, because I got plenty. Friday seemed doomed almost from the beginning. Bradke out in the third inning, Vasquez dealing… and then, well, a little miracle happened. (animation courtesy of Kurtis). Little Nicky Punto went yard, and suddenly all things seemed possible. Cuddy singled, Morneau singled, Guillen put in David "No, it's too" Riske, and Torii Sweetcheeks Hunter stepped to the plate. And, ah, well….
Boom.
Hold me like you did by the lake on Naboo.
By the time Lew Ford ran all the way past home plate, through the Twins dugout wall—leaving a KoolAid Man hole—and all the way up to Wrigley for the winning run in the ninth, most of us required electroshock therapy. I mean the game could have gone into extra innings and if Rincon pitched the ninth we would have only had Nathan and Will E. Eyre left, and what would that have been like, huh?
Please don't hurt me.
Well, funny story, that. All looked good on Saturday for the Twins when they struck first, with an RBI Rondell triple that he punctuated with this awesome flying leap onto (and I do mean on to) third base. And then things got really crazy and Dennys Reyes went all Moon Over My Hammy, and there was something horrible having to do with Jermaine Dye that I've sort of blocked out, and then Ol' Papa Stelly went to the bullpen cupboard to get his poor doggie a relief pitcher, and when he got there, all there was was Willie Eyre, and the poor doggie went, "Oh, crap."
Silly doggie.
Picture courtesy of AnnaM.
Now, a couple of quick points as we head into this much needed off day. First off, Jermaine Dye is awesome, Batgirl really likes him and has since his Oakland days, even though it wasn't very nice of him to come into our division and kick ass like this. And he completely deserves MVP consideration, and it would be so great to have an MVP from the Central, and in fact BG thinks whoever gets this Wild Card for their team should get the MVP—but if she hears one more person in Bitch Soxia cluck that Dye's not getting any attention for the award she's going to have some sort of violent spasm (I mean worse than this game) because it's all anyone is talking about this week. Even the PiPress mentioned it, and they just ran an article about the meringue sweeping baseball stadiums around the country. Sportscenter had this whole thing right after Saturday's game talking about him after his game-tying homer, and they obviously put it together thinking the Sox would win, and then it was like, "Oh, also, they lost." And then Baseball Tonight called him the "hero of the game" on Saturday which was sort of cute on account of the losing, and the heroes of that game were clearly, as Batgirl pointed out already in her role as BOD Supreme High Commandress, 1) Little Nicky Punto 2) Sideshow Pat Neshek and 3) Will E. Eyre.
Secondly, there has been a lot of teeth-gnashing in Bitch Sox blogdom this weekend, beginning with Friday's loss, and Batgirl must admit she does not understand it. This thing wouldn't have been near over even if we'd won today, and now there's a 1/2 game separating the teams—which could change in a day. So, my South Side friends, fret not, there's a lot of baseball to be played, and we could match up pretty well in garment-rending over whose starting ro' is more f'ed. So, buck up, and we'll see you guys in a month.
There is much rending of garments and gouging of eyes in Bitch Soxia. The Chicago Tribune has an excellent recap of last night's game, which -- to paraphrase Anthony "Broadcasts Sans His" LaPantas -- must be why Abner put lines down on a field in the first place. Money praise:
I'd rather do anything in baseball than face those piranhas," Guillen said. "They're hungry, and they show people they're hungry. I love those guys, I really do. I enjoy my team, but I love the way [the Twins] approach the game."But doesn't Guillen take pride in the way his team approaches the game?
"We're not rah-rah," he said. "That's special stuff over there. No big names, no big-money people, no big stars, but the way they go about their business is awesome. I call them little piranhas because ... those guys bite little by little, and all of a sudden you're dead. I love it, I'm sorry.
"A better team than mine? No, but I love the way they play the game."
If he was trying to soften up the Twins, it backfired, because they won for the 51st time in their last 70 games.
Somebody send that man a "Gotta Smell 'Em" t-shirt.
The Sun Times is also suitably gob-smacked.
Mr. Baseball No. 1 outlines the most important defensive play of the evening.
Will Young goes through a detailed WPA for the game.
You want to bring us down? You want to mess with us? Really? You can't. Oh, you can try—you can sure as hell try, what with your relentless "coming back" and your big-hitting Jermaine Dyes. Sure, we can get down, but we're not out—no, no. We're never out. We've got these guys, you see, they call 'em piranhtas, and they might be little, and they might have broken parts, and they might make choo choo noises when they run, but they're going to get you, you see, they're going to get you in the end. They're going to make great plays, they're going to run like hell, and they're going to get hits when they're needed, they're going to smell those RBIs and damn they smell tasty. And you know what else? Things might get a little tense here and there. The whole bullpen might fall apart around us. And then they might call this kid in with the bases loaded and a 2-0 count, and on deck is this guy who hit the ball 700 feet against him the day before, and he gets out of it with the lead in tact. And you know what else? Then you’re the 13th man in a twelve man bullpen and you’re the only guy left who can pitch and the game is all in your hands and everyone is scared pantless and you know what? You do it. You get in there and you say, "No one knows who I am but I wear my socks the right way and tonight these bitches are mine." And that's why you, Little Nicky Punto and the Piranhtas, and you Sideshow Pat, and YOU, Will E. Eyre, are the co-Boyfriends of the Day.
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 21; Sooz/(Cuddy) 11; Batbaby/Torii 10; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Jeb/Lewwww 4.
Some weekend links for the series:
Mr. Baseball No. 1 has a good round-up of the Chicago papers comments about Johan Santana. Ozzie seems to think the players are letting Santana beat them in their minds, whereas Batgirl thinks he's beating them just fine with his pitching.
Jesse's recap somehow does justice to the game. Also at Twinkie Town, cmatheson has a fabulous discussion of the 2007 roster and explains Radke's prognosis.
Will Young's WPA for this game is pretty fun.
Strib news: Playoff rosters are coming. And from the PiPress a couple days ago, Dennys Sampler Reyes is the LOOGY of the future.
Holy Moses. All right. First off, Batgirl's totally spent. Secondly, um, yay. Things didn't look so good when the Twins were down 3-0, and even worse when Bradke started the third inning on the bench. But we are the Minnesota Twins, we are proud and noble and strong, and we scoff at adversity, and WE KICK ASS. So many people worthy of mention tonight—from Shaggy "I Will Never Get a Win" Guerrier to Jesse "AJ JUST GET THE FRACK OUT ALREADY" Crain to Little Nicky Punto, who rode his magic unicorn all the way over the right field fence for his first homerun of the year, to Jason Bartlett for the game-winning RBI, to Lew Ford for going wee wee wee all the way home (and then some), to Joe Nathan for doing that voodoo that he do so well, to the genius Bitch Sox fan that interfered with Justin Morneau for the last out of the game, but Batgirl's going to give this one to Sweetcheeks for barreling into Jamie Burke for cranking that gorgeous three-run jack to put the Twins up, not to mention leading off the ninth with a hit, and all of that makes you, Sweetcheeks, the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 20; Sooz/(Cuddy) 11; Batbaby/Torii 11; Batgirl/Chairman 8; Jeb/Lewwww 4.
To get you in the mood for Ragnarok this series...
Click here.
(Cubicle-land warnng: Sound will play--and it will rock...Swedish style!)
Twins at Baltimore. Twins 11, O's 2.
Okay, Batgirl's been waiting to use that one all season. She's also been waiting to use "It's Hard Out Here for a Gimp," which could apply in so many situations, including, perhaps, the story of Luis Castillo's year. And it is hard, it's hard out here, when you’re trying to get the money for the rent, for the Cadillacs and gas money spent, because a whole lot of bitches talkin' shit, will have a whole lot of bitches talkin' shit.
And don't I know it.
The point is, it didn't seem like the Boof, the Boof, the Boof was going to be on fire at all this season. Sure, there were some smoking innings in there (remember when he loaded the bases and then struck out the side?) but mostly we were lucky to get him at body temperature.
And it's been a little trying, frankly. We're in a pennant race, here, people, Batgirl's all on edge, and we've got a pitching rotation held together by wishes and fish glue. It's Santana, Radke, and pray like hell for three days of rain. (The actual meteorological event, not the Richard Greenberg play, though Batgirl thinks Julia Roberts was very brave to go on Broadway like that, where you actually have to, you know, act, and everyone was so mean to her and then she got snubbed for a Tony but had the dignity to go up and present at the ceremony, because that's Julia for you--dignity, which is something those fancy pants Broadway actors with their training and their talent don't know a thing about. So there.)
The thing is, it always feels like our doom is right around the corner, sometime roughly after Joe Nathan closes a Johan Santana start—and yet somehow these pray-for-rain guys have been managing to come through when we need them. The Boofster's Kid Funky Fried act was beautiful tonight—one walk, seven hits, and 2 runs that came on a 2 run homer in the seventh—more than that, he always seemed in control.
It helps, of course, to have an offense destined to produce 11 runs in one night. The Chairman and Cuddles were a combined 7 for 8, with 8 RBIs and three runs—slumping behind them were the Doctor and Sweetcheeks, with a long homerun a piece. Castillo was 3 for 5, LNP 2 for 5, making for a generally awesome evening.
Batgirl needed this. She has no fingernails left. Every time she thinks she can't take any more of this, she worries the baseball gods will grant her wish and take it all away. Our boys have been playing it this close for so long—always just behind in the wild card race and every time they get the lead it falls through their fingers. Batgirl wants it this weekend, she wants it bad. She's already talking to herself in tongues, and the game doesn't start 'til tomorrow. It's going to take all of us, my friends, you and me and the BatKitties Three. It's going to take Radke, Santana, and Silva pitching their bests, it's going to take the boys doing this whole monster mash thing they've been doing, it's going to take Little Nicky Punto and all of the powers at his disposal.
Picture courtesy of Eric based on 87&91s haiku.
Are you ready? Are you focused? Have you stretched, rested, hydrated? We don’t know where we'll be at the end of the weekend, but one thing's for sure--we'll have a whole lot of bitches talking shit.
Okay, you could just about flip a coin here, because the 3 and 4 hitters were nothing but boyfriend on boyfriend hotness--not, this time, a Cuddyer sandwich on hot buttery slices of JM, but two thick, sweet, layers of 3 and 4 cake frosted gently by a Justin Morneau Boom Boom stick--but after much agony and deliberation Batgirl is giving this to the Chairman, simply because the early runs were more critical, not to mention his role in taming the Boof. So:
Picture courtesy of Eric
The Chairman serves the people, goes 3 for 4 with 4 RBIs, and earns himself the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 20; Sooz/(Cuddy) 11; Batbaby/Torii 10; Batgirl/Chairman 8; Jeb/Lewwww 4.
A very sad day for the BatFamily. Goober and Sooz's dear bunny, Snowy, left this mortal coil yesterday. Snowy was an extraordinary rabbit. She had full range of the house and took advantage of it admirably. There's nothing really cuter than sitting in a house and seeing a bunny hop by. Her happiness led to an extraordinarily long life that was still much too short. Snowy's interests included getting her nose rubbed, getting stroked by your foot, and being incredibly cute. She liked to sleep under Goober and Sooz's bed, eat yogurt drops, she conquered wood floors and stairs at the age of six, ate half a bag of triple washed salad every morning, and was brave, strong, and sweet. In her formative years, her name was Snowy the Cute Bunny, but her full name was Snowy Victoria Sullivan. She died peacefully at home yesterday afternoon at nearly ten years old. She will be much missed.
Twins at Baltimore. Twins 4, O's 1.
Dear Matt Garza,
Hello, we haven't met before. My name is Batgirl. At various points during your extensive and glorious major league career I am going to make fun of you, and probably see what you would look like if you were a chick. Batgirl's guess: not that hot. But you never know until you try, do you? Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for not sucking tonight. We need you. See, we've got Johan Santana, who is going to win the Cy Young, and Brad Radke, who is living on prayer and fish glue, and then we've got—well, you. And Batgirl lived last year without a playoffs and you know what? It totally sucked. So how about you and BG strike a deal. You be good the rest of the reason (oh, and all of next year too, that would be great, thanks) and BG doesn't turn you into a chick. Deal?
Accommodatingly,
Batgirl
Dear Ron Gardenhire,
What did you say to Angel Hernandez to make him kick you out of the game? It couldn't have been very nice. Were you upset about something? Maybe you have too much stress in your life. Maybe you need Little Nicky Punto to sing you a song or pull a unicorn out of his kiester? Maybe next time you don't like a call you could have LNP pull a unicorn out of his kiester right then and there. I bet the umps would have a better strike zone then.
Helpfully,
Batgirl
Dear Angel Hernandez,
Touch-eeee. How'd you like a unicorn in your kiester?
Jeez,
Batgirl
Dear Pat Neshek,
Your new nickname is "Sideshow Pat," even though Batgirl might call you Pat the Bunny every once in awhile, because you are cute and cuddly and you have a crazy-ass pitching delivery, just like a bunny. Also, your ERA is 0.84, and your blog rankings must be through the roof! Care to share blogging tips with BG sometime? Which is more challenging, relief pitching or blogging? Which is more of a pressure-situation? Do you ever get blogging cramps? How about blogger's itch? And blogger's remorse? Batgirl was once in a sanitarium for two weeks due to a massive case of blogger's remorse. They had good cookies.
Wistfully,
Batgirl
Dear Torii Hunter,
You know, if you wanted to hit a massive dinger every three or four games from now on, that would be pretty cool.
Just saying,
Batgirl
Dear Michael Cuddyer,
You know BG's favorite moment of the game? It wasn't your gorgeous run-saving catch or your RBI double or your RBI single. It was when you hit an excuse-me off the end of your bat. It was a certain out, but you ran down to first base like you were being chased by a naked Mike Redmond. And that, Mr. Cuddles, is hott.
Love,
Batgirl
Dear Jason Kubel,
You seem to be struggling. We all struggle from time to time, and Batgirl feels your pain. Clearly, you need to go on some mystical journey with the other Jason-aspects and find the magic crystal that is the very core of your power and, I don't know, lick it or something. I think it tastes like strawberries and regret.
Concerned,
Batgirl
Dear Other Jason Aspects,
You don't need to lick the crystal. You're doing just fine.
Appreciatively,
Batgirl
Dear Boof "John" Bonser,
Your turn.
Pointedly,
Batgirl
Dear Bitch Sox,
You know how you lost the first two games of this series? Do it again!
Encouragingly,
Batgirl
BatNotes: The comments to yesterday's entry resulted in some work of special note. The following material is not suitable for children, the infirm, or the faint-hearted.
First, from Spacey Stacey and YankeeFan, sung to They Might Be Giant's "Birdhouse in Your Soul:"
Tiny hero in the infield by the baseline
Who watches over you?
Let a little Punto in your soul.
Not to put too fine a point inside
Watch the horn before putting it in your backside
Place a little uni in your hole.
Then, from 87&91, a series of Punto/unicorn related haiku, including the whole reason the Japanese invented haiku in the first place:
Beware you Bitch Sox!
Nicky’s riding his magic
Fucking unicorn.
Genius.
First off, a huge BODSHC shout out to young Master Matt Garza for his first major league win, a quality start, and giving us all reason to breathe again. But the BOD is not to be his, yet—BG doesn't want to give him too much in one night. And his line was helped tremendously by some truly tenacious D, including a whopper of a catch by our erstwhile third baseperson. And the glove work was merely the cherry on top of a delicious offensive powerhouse sundae. Quietly, Cuddy is moving ever-closer to 100 RBIs for the season, and Batgirl, for one, thinks that would be mad hot. He's a streaky cat, that DJ Cuddles, and if he chooses to streak us all the way to the playoffs that's just fine with Batgirl. Three for five, two doubles, two RBIs, and one beautiful catch—that makes you, DJ Cuddles, the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 20; Sooz/(Cuddy) 11; Batbaby/Torii 10; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Jeb/Lewwww 4.
Twins at Orioles. Orioles 6, Twins 3.
When Little Nicky Punto was, well, littler, his mother sat him down one day and had a serious talk with him. "Little Nicky Punto," said she, "I know it must be tough to be so much smaller than all of the other boys, but I just want you to remember that size is measured in all sorts of ways. You may not be the biggest boy on the block, my sweet, but you can be the biggest ray of sunshine. Remember that."
Truly, advice to take to heart. And Little Nicky did. Right then and there, he vowed to follow his mother's advice. This trait served him very well through his youth, because if there's one thing the boys in the neighborhood like, it's someone who strives to be the biggest ray of sunshine on the whole block.
Why he didn't fit in with the Phillies is a great mystery, but when LNP was traded to the Twins, he stood on a crate in the clubhouse and proclaimed, "I'm so glad to be here and be a part of this team. I just want you guys to know, whenever things look dark in your soul, I want you guys to open up the windows of your heart and let a little Punto in. I think you'll find you'll be glad you did."
So, whenever a Twin struggles, you can find Little Nicky there, trying to let a little Punto in. Like tonight. When Carlos Silva gave up a homer to Nick Markakis, the second batter of the game, Punto came sprinting out to the mound to offer some encouragement.
"It's okay, Chief," said Punto. "One bad pitch, that's all. You can do it."
"I can?"
"Of course you can! You're Carlos Silva! Now get out there and show them!"
"I will!" Silva said brightly. "Thanks, Little Nicky Punto!"
In the third inning, when Brian Roberts led off with a solo homerun, Punto sprung to the mound again.
"It's okay, Chief! Two bad pitches, that's all! You're doing great!"
"He hit the shit out of that thing!" said Silva.
"Sure, but it's just one run. Don't worry, Carlos! Turn that frown upside down! Now, it's Markakis again. You show him who's boss, okay?"
"Okay, okay," nodded Silva. "Thanks, Little Nicky."
Two pitches later, Markakis had hit the ball over the right field fence, and Punto found himself out on the mound, slightly breathless.
"Oh...my God," said Silva, weeping slightly.
"No, no, Chief, don't despair! Just think, he can't possibly hit another homer off of you!"
"Oh, man, this is going to suck," breathed Silva.
"No, Carlos! Don't say that. Every time I get down, I just sing myself a little song. And it goes like this:"
Cheeeeer up! It's all gonna get better
Cheeeeeer up! How bad can it be?
It's a world full of magic, of unicorns and rainbows
It's a world filled with love for you and me!
"There. Now, do you feel better?"
"I guess. Thanks, Little Nicky Punto."
Well, after Markakis' third homer of the game, Little Nicky Punto had to sing several more verses of his song, which was a bit taxing as improvisation is not one of Punto's skills and he couldn't come up with anything to rhyme with "empowerment." By the time Corey Patterson went yard, Punto could think of nothing to do but run into the clubhouse bathroom, kiester a small unicorn, and pull it out of his ass in front of the pitcher--to no avail.
And after the game, as Silva sat in the clubhouse with his head in his hands, Punto put his arms around his friend and said, "Don't worry, Chief. Other than the solo homers, you pitched great!"
Batgirl knows you all have been waiting for this with bated breath, and she apologizes profusely for her lack of guidance in this important matter. Indeed, the nature of Pat Neshek's nickname has spawned a passion unlike BG has ever seen--there were over 30 suggestions, and getting them down to ten was more than challenging. Some, like, "the Knight who says Neshek," were too unwieldy to make the list but deserve special mention. Thank you for all of your wonderful suggestions. Vote with great consideration. The winner will be announced later in the week.
A couple quick items of interest from the Strib. Redmond's help comes in many forms. and, in case you missed it, Guillen keen on 'Punto and the Pirhanas.'
Chicago at Twins. Weekend Round-Up.
Friday. Twins 7, Bitch Sox 3.
Saturday. Bitch Sox 4, Twins 1.
Sunday. Twins 7, Bitch Sox 3.
Oh, like you didn't know this was coming…
The weekend began normally enough. The surging Twins met the Chicago Bitch Sox in an ultimate battle between good and evil. Twins fans eyed the first game with some trepidation, for their starting pitcher was a simple man from the country who spent most of his evenings playing pick-up games with his brothers Ralph and Hurl and various local goats. But they didn't have worried—those goats were mean sons of bitches and prepared the young Boof well for his battle against the forces of darkness. Boof held up admirably, buoyed by the heroics of a ragtag ensemble of misfits with hearts of gold, including the Mighty Canadian, the Fearless Midget, the Sweet Cheeks. And afterwards, the Twins and their fans were ebullient. The underdog had overcome, and Misters Radke (who is so hot) and Santana (who is en fuego) would be pitching the next two nights. What was there to worry about?
But in the Bitch Sox clubhouse, Ozzie Guillen was planning a nefarious scheme. "I have overused my pitching staff and they are not up this ragtag bunch of misfits with hearts of gold," he said, rubbing his hands together evilly. "All of my plans will go awry. I cannot rely on pitching or defense or boom boom sticks, so it is time to institute…. Plan B!"
Jermaine Dye's eyes grew wide. "Plan B? Are you sure? Innocent people will die!"
"Who gives a @#$%?" asked Guillen. And then he got on the bullpen phone and whispered, "Send 'em in."
The Twins took the field on Saturday, chattering happily, confident that they would arrive at their destination safely, and the game began. Perhaps if things had unfolded differently, the disaster could have been stopped. Perhaps if the Dome crowd hadn't been cheering so loudly, someone would have heard Guillen's diabolical laughter. Perhaps if someone had bothered to check the contents of the large crates that had appeared on the baseball field. But, alas, no one did.
"Does anyone hear a ticking noise?" asked Little Nicky Punto, looking around and missing a ball.
"Is there a hissing?" asked Jason Bartlett, checking his six and missing a throw.
And just like that, the boxes came open.
It was horrible, horrible. Snakes came pouring onto the field, biting players in unmentionable places. They were everywhere, coming out of the turf, slithering out from under the bases. One dropped from the roof just as three Twins were trying to field a pop-up to right field causing many Twins fans to wonder, "Isn’t there anyone on board who knows how to fly this damn plane?"
Yes, things looked bad for our boys—until today Johan K. Santana strode to the mound, set his jaw, and declared, "I am so sick of these motherf—ing snakes in this motherf—ing Dome!"
It looks like a $#@!%&*@?! snake, what do you think it looks like?
"Come on, gang!" said Mike Redmond. "We're not going to let these stupid snakes beat us. Half of them are CGI, anyway!"
"Yeah!" said Michael Cuddyer.
"Yeah!" said Torii Hunter.
"Let's go kick some snake ass!" said Joe Nathan.
"Do snakes have asses?" whispered Little Nicky Punto.
So, Santana and the Twins set to ridding the Dome of those motherf---ing snakes. Santana toyed with them, letting a snake reach base here and there and then plunking them.
"God, he can kill them with four pitches!" marveled Punto, right before getting swallowed by a boa.
Jason Tyner hit one directly at Paul Konerko, who screamed like a little girl as he got bit and threw the thing toward second base. Torii Hunter hit one over the left field seats, where it swallowed a Dome Dog and promptly died.
This is the way of things—sometimes the badguys will sick a crateload of snakes on you, and sometimes some innocent people will go down in the process, and in those moments you need a hero, and a comely unflappable stewardess, and someone who can fly a plane, and a band of misfit passengers with hustle and heart who take their bats and beat the living crap out of those snakes. And the Twins had all of those things this weekend, and came out triumphant.
After the game, as the snake corpses littered the field, the Twins eyed them in stunned silence, awed by everything that had passed.
"I can't believe Ozzie did that," Pat Neshek said finally.
"He tried to kill us with these snakes," said Jason Tyner.
"You know," said Mike Redmond after a pause, "that is really the dumbest-ass thing I've ever heard in my whole life."
Phew.
It's not that you expected we were going to lose this one—it's Johan Santana at the Dome, after all. But, you know. There was the fear. And maybe even some cold sweats. And when the Bitch Sox struck first in the third, Batgirl wanted runs and she wanted them NOW. Like four. Four runs would be good. And if you could add another one later, that would be really awesome, because Boo hasn't really pitched in a few days and it's possible he could let in a run or two—I mean not likely, of course, but possible. And so for batting in runs 3 and 5 and reminding everyone why you bat clean-up, you, Michael B. Cuddyer, are the Boyfriend of the Day.
Picture courtesy of Will.
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 20; Batbaby/Torii 10; Sooz/(Cuddy) 10; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Jeb/Lewwww 4.
Since Aaron's too busy inking glamorous contracts to do a link-o-rama, here's a few links to pass your time 'til Brad Radke cheats death a little more. Patrick Reusse is positively ebuillient about the Twins success, Mr. Baseball No. 1 has a much-needed chat with Ozzie Guillen, Jesse at Twinkie Town gives some love to the Boofster, Will Young is back from vacation, and Brad Zellar reemerges to look at the season. We've missed you, Brad.
Ahhhh....that was fun. And Boof! Hey, Boof! That was cool. And after a potential return to ass-battitude, oooh, the bats! The Doctor was mad hott tonight, after hitting a lot of balls 407 feet yesterday he discovered the wonders of singles, and Little Nicky Punto showed some Punton power, but Batgirl's going to give this to Sweetcheeks, because gave us a lead from which we never looked back, because he looks like his feet are about to fall off, because we need him to get hot again, plus she misses the BatBaby a good deal, and that makes you, Torii Hunter, the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 20; Batbaby/Torii 10; Sooz/(Cuddy) 9; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Jeb/Lewwww 4.
Cleveland at Twins. Indians 3, Twins 2.
It is no doubt that one of the factors leading to the Twins improved play this year is increased clubhouse harmony, but all of that was threatened today, thanks to a controversy of galactic proportions.
It began positively enough, with Dennys Sampler Reyes complimenting Johan Santana on his Dome winning streak.
"That's what I like to see," said Reyes. "Certainly. You start at the Dome, you're going to win. It just makes you feel better about the world, you know, one of those things you can really count on. Like e=mc squared, like the Pythagorean theorem, like 12 months in a year, seven days a week, like nine planets in the solar system…."
"Uhhhh, Dennys," interrupted Mike Redmond, who had been thumbing through a copy of Astronomy Today.
"Que?"
"That's not true."
"Que?"
"I mean there aren't going to be nine planets anymore. There are either eight or twelve, or maybe even many more."
Reyes stared at Redmond, unblinking. "I don't believe you," he said, after a few long moments.
"It's true," said Redmond. "Look!" And he passed Reyes the magazine. Quickly, the portly lefthander skimmed the article, tears filling his eyes. "But…but…this can't be!" he protested, and then went running out of the room, sobbing.
"What's wrong with Dennys Sampler?" asked Pat Neshek.
"Oh, he's upset about Pluto."
"The dog?"
"No, silly. The planet. Pluto might lose its status. See, it's really too small to be considered a planet. Even the moon is bigger, and it doesn't behave like a planet. Like, if it's a planet, then all these other really small bodies should be planets, too."
"But…" protested Neshek…"Pluto's a planet. There are nine planets. My Very Eager Mother Just Served Us Nine Potatoes!"
"Right," said Matt Guerrier. "My Very Enormous Monster Just Sucked Up Nine Pomeranians."
"No," said Jason Tyner. "It's Merlin's Very Extravagant Mother Just Sent Us Nine Parakeets!"
"Well," shrugged Redmond. "Not anymore. Either there are going to be eight planets or twelve, and if there are twelve it will be eight 'classic' planets and four dwarf planets, called plutons. See, there's this other sphere that's actually bigger than Pluto. It's called UB313—"
"Didn't they sing 'Red, Red Wine?'" asked Matt Guerrier.
"--Also known as Xena."
"Sweet," muttered Lew Ford.
"And then there's Charon, Pluto's moon, and Ceres. They'd all be planets, too."
"That's stupid!" protested Neshek. "You should just keep them the way they are!"
"That's not going to happen," said Redmond.
"Look," said Josh Rabe, "They made a mistake. They thought Pluto was bigger than it was. But Pluto's not a planet. It's a big ball of ice. We shouldn't go redefining reality because some people can't deal with change. There are eight planets."
"Well, what's wrong with adding more planets?" said Neshek. "The more the merrier, that's what my mom says."
"But Ceres is an asteroid!" protested Rabe.
"You're an asteroid!" grumbled Neshek.
At this point, Little Nicky Punto spoke up. "Sometimes, just because something is little doesn't mean it’s not special," he said, his voice cracking a little bit. "Pluto may not be very big or be able to sustain life or do anything cool, but I think it's got a lot of heart."
"Hee. It's a PUN-ton!" laughed Juan Rincon.
"Oh, yeah?" squeaked LNP. "You're a gas giant!"
"Save Pluto!" cried Tyner.
"Screw Pluto!" cried Mauer.
And so it went, all the way up to game time, players hurtling astronomical insults at each other as the argument grew more heated. At one point Torii Hunter became so enraged when Justin Morneau suggested Pluto's elliptical orbit disqualified it automatically that he punched the Canadian, who promptly hit Torii over the head with his boom boom stick.
Needless to say, it was a fractured bunch who took the field today, and while that-guy-who-looks-like-Frasier-Crane may feel his pitching was what carried the day, we Twins fans know the truth. Blame Pluto.
Stupid planet, anyway.
Cleveland at Minnesota. Twins 7, Indians 2.
Batgirl missed the first few innings of the game tonight (the BatTivo still isn't hooked up, meaning, for one thing, Batgirl will not get to watch Project Runway tonight and anyone who reveals anything about Wednesday night's will get banned and subject to a personal fashion critique from Michael Kors, and locked in a small room with Vincent and Angela) so she doesn't know if there's a reason the FSN crew kept flashing their camera at Mike Redmond during tonight's glorious eighth, but whatever the reason it was simply awesome.
In a K-Fan interview this season, Sweetcheeks credited the backup backstop for the lightened clubhouse dynamic this year—mostly, Torii said, due to his habit of walking around in socks and his birthday suit. (Is this, in fact, the reason for the Twins' oh-so-dramatic turnaround? For somehow BG thinks Mike Redmond did not disrobe during the T-Fat era. Something about that guy just makes you want to keep your clothes on.) More than that, he seems to have become the spirit of the team. Every time someone did something good tonight, the camera would flash to him and his little pre-pubescent mustache, on his feet clapping and shouting, jumping up and down in the dugout, running out to be the first person to greet someone who scored, wrapping his arms around them in big hugs—and I don't mean those woosy, I'm-going-to-stand-a-couple-of-inches-away-from-you-and–pat-your-back-really-hard-in-a-way-that-may-cause-you-pain-but-that's-just-how-macho-I-am man hug, but a real live I'm-going-to-hold-you-oh-so-gently-because-that's-how-proud-I-am-plus-I'm-not-wearing-any-underwear hug.
Here's a guy who gets to play once a week, who's back-up to a punk kid with brace mouth who happens to be the greatest baseball player of all time, who spends his life in benchwarmers book club meetings with Li'l Rod and Tiffles, and he's more into the game than anyone else in that clubhouse. Redmond was recently signed to a two year deal with an option for a third year, at which point he will be 97 years old, but Batgirl cares not. When the new park opens in 2010, BG wants Redmond there—in whatever capacity…assistant bench coach, mustache groomer to Wayne Hattaway, Dennys Sampler to Dennys Sampler Reyes, BG cares not—but she wants him there, tapping his nose, screaming from the clubhouse, stripping, stripping, stripping with love of the game and esprit de corps and probably some exhibitionism that should be worked out with a therapist, preferably a Freudian though maybe a Jungian could work too because there are clearly some major symbolism issues—and we'll see him and cheer and we cannot help but take off our clothes too, because it is baseball, it is our privilege to watch it, we stand naked before it, and who the hell needs clothes, anyway?
Lots of contenders tonight, from Carlos "Sink it Like" Silva* to Li'l-Rod, to Bartman for the leather, the bat, and one kick ass bunt, to the Chairman for his two RBIs, but Batgirl does so love the idea of a solid number four filling in between our hearty, buttery, steaming slices of JM-ness, and she also likes it that Cuddy is apparently still pissed about the walk yesterday, plus she forgot to mention his awesome throw yesterday, and that BOOM! tonight crushed the Tribe's little spirits--and that makes you, DJ Cuddles, for the second day in a row--the Boyfriend of the Day.
Picture courtesy of Will.
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 20; Batbaby/Torii 9; Sooz/(Cuddy) 9; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Jeb/Lewwww 4.
*Phrase courtesy of the Juan "Smiling Assassin" Rincon Fan Club.
Cleveland at Twins. Twins 4, Indians 1.
Batgirl can't quite remember the provenance of all this exuberant nose-touching the Twins are doing. You know what she means—whenever someone does something good they look into the dugout and tap their noses. Jeb says it comes from Mike Redmond, who with runners in scoring position is fond of yelling, "SMELL 'EM." This is all fun and games until you consider Mr. Redmond's nudist predilections.
Regardless, while there was a lot of smelling going on around the Dome this weekend, it was more of the nose-holding variety. That is the sort of thing that makes a (bat) girl end up in a hole. How the team that accomplished the preternatural miracle of winning two games from the Tigers could suddenly suck beyond all recognition is a great mystery. Batgirl thinks Lew Ford, desperate to contribute to the team while he was on the DL, came up with a plan. He would build a wayback machine and journey through time to kidnap last year's 3-5 starters, install them in the rotation, and then all would be well again in Twinsland. (He, naturally, didn't think of the consequences of his actions, as any Star Trek viewer knows, once Silva '05 and Silva '06 ran into each other in the clubhouse, the whole space time continuum would be destabilized and one would have to give up himself to save the other and the whole world and with our luck it would be the one with the low ERA.) Well, Lew built his machine and, as these things go, something went very wrong with the flux capacitor and what emerged in the clubhouse Thursday morning was last year's offense. Naturally, it took a few days to figure things out, though they should have had some clue when Justin Morneau got boils and Little Nicky Punto was heard humming "My Humps." Needless to say, once they did figure out what had happened, Lew got benched. Again.
Well, it took some doing to right things again and there was a moment where the thing threatened to reverse itself and suck in Brad Radke all the way to last year, who hung onto the clubhouse towel racks for dear life, shouting SWEET JESUS NO I AM NOT GOING BACK THERE, and from the ethereal distance Christopher Lloyd shouted, "Then pitch, my good man, pitch like you've never pitched before!" and Bradke held onto his hair and closed his eyes tight and said, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home," and the flux capacitor exploded and all was back to normal.
Mostly. As you may expect, the explosion left a rift in the fabric of time that lingered in the clubhouse. "Do you see that?" Juan Rincon said to Pat Neshek. "That's a portal that will take you all the way back to last year."
"Cool!" said Neshek.
"No, no, it's horrible! Horrible! You must stay far far away, my young friend, or else all your worst nightmares will come true."
But before tonight's game, Johan Santana called the team together in front of the rift. "You see this?" he said, speaking loudly over the giant sucking sound. "This great big hole wants to take us back to last year. And we have been afraid of it—yes, I see it in your eyes, Justin Morneau and Michael Cuddyer and Little Nicky Punto. But we must not be afraid. Together, we are stronger than all the sucking forces in the world!"
"Yeah!" shouted the Twins.
"Now, go on," exhorted Johan. "Look into this horrible abyss. Gaze at your fears, then scoff at them, laugh at them, spit in it if you must. For it is 2006, and we do not suck anymore."
Well one by one the Twins lined up to stare into the abyss, to confront it, to mock it and eventually—yes, to overcome. And if the 2005 Twins found great loogies being hocked at them from above, they surely did not notice, for they had their own problems. And if Carlos Silva tried surreptitiously to crawl in, well, can you blame him? When the last player was done, the Twins rose up and stormed the field, the sucking sound all but forgotten until after the game when after all the players had left and Mike Redmond had finished sweeping and prepared to shut off the lights for the night, gazed at the abyss, put his finger on his nose and said, "Smell This."
BatNote: Tonight, Baseball Tonight will be featuring Twins All-Time Web Gems. Thanks to Will for the heads up! Please note that in the clip Matt Weiner refers to Justin Morneau as our catcher. And they say we get no respect...
With all due props to El Presidente—who showed us tonight why is he so universally beloved by the whole electorate, and who followed Mr. Brad Radke's statement-making performance with one of his own, and the gods know we need it—what we also needed after weekend of ass-battery of epic proportions was some clutch hitting. Which means, essentially, that when a guy is on base in front of you, you don't hit into a double play. Crazy, I know. The Twins had a few chances to pad their lead tonight, and just couldn't convert—and it looked as if the Twins might blow another chance in the eighth. And then Jake Westrbook intentionally walked Joe Mauer to get to Michael Cuddyer, which really just makes him angry. Cuddy laced the pitch to left, got two runs of padding that turned out to be quite essential, and earned himself the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 20; Batbaby/Torii 9; Sooz/(Cuddy) 8; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Jeb/Lewwww 4.
If YOU are a MidAtlantic Batling and YOU are interested in seeing the Twins/Orioles series with your comrades, email TwinsProf and he shall help organize. Go to the comments to this entry and click on BG's name to email TwinsProf. (Done to avoid massive spam for TwinsProf....)
Oh, my darlings, Batgirl is sorry to have left you for so long. Every moment was agony—and she is really not exaggerating. Extra special thanks to infield and RD for their excellent service during Batgirl's great time of need. It could not have been easy. We saw things—horrible things. Liriano down! Liriano out! Ass battery up the yin yang! But they performed admirably.
First off, everything on the east coast blows. Verizon is full of ass. When Batgirl called in July to order her service—and she uses that word lightly—she was assured that they would not mail the intertron tron until she arrived. Lo! What's this? A postcard from UPS, dated the day after Batgirl placed her order, with the totally wrong address on it, your intertron tron cannot be delivered to this totally wrong address, we will hold it in our warehouse for ten days, and then it will be shipped to China and turned into parts for this new line of robots we're making and those robots are going to seem like a really good idea until they evolve and decide mankind is evil and nuke the crap out of us. And so Batgirl calls to say YOU GUYS SCREWED THE POOCH and NO! DON'T MAKE THE ROBOTS IT WILL BE THE END OF US ALL and there's no option to press for that and gets put on hold and transferred around and put on hold some more and hung up on a couple of times and essentially the robots are already here, they're answering the phone and they are already trying to kill us softly with how much they suck.
And then it would be better to call Comcast Comcasst. Why, just today, Batgirl was to get her cable hooked up so the BatKitties could watch Animal Planet, not to mention Batgirl's MLB EXTRA INNINGS package, and she waited ever-so-patiently for the nice cable man to come and do the voo doo that he do, for he was to come between 11 and 1 and Batgirl waited and waited and finally at 1:15 she called and Comcasst said, "Oh, your order was cancelled," and Batgirl politely inquired as to why and Comcasst said, "Because the technician went to your service address and they said no one ordered cable there," and Batgirl politely said that that was absurd because Batgirl had, indeed, ordered cable—complete with Animal Planet and BBC America and MLB EXTRA INNINGS—and no one had, in fact, arrived at her service address that day and if they had she certainly would have let them in with a smiling face and sunny disposition and further more if there was a problem why on earth did they not use the communication device known as the telephone, because it can be quite handy when you need to ask someone where they live. And Comcasst said they did call and the phone was disconnected. And Batgirl said that was very silly, since she was talking on that exact phone at that very moment, which means one of three things have occurred: 1) Miracle (It's alive!) 2) Slipped Into Parallel Universe 3) Comcasst is completely incompetent. You be the judge.
To make a long story short, Batgirl has suffered. Oh, how she has suffered. And reports from Twins land have been enough to make a girl lock herself in a room with the Verizon phone robot—hello? Hello? What happened to my team? Where are my runs? CAN'T ANYONE SCORE ANY BLEEPIN' BLARGIN' RUNS? Batgirl had an anxiety dream that she was called into pitch—and Batgirl is many things, but a pitcher is not one of them. She does not have the disposition and her few attempts at it during softball were rather like something out of a JC Romero appearance with less velocity and more weeping. But the team needed Batgirl and Batgirl was going to saddle up even though she wasn't going to make it out of the first inning and everyone knew it. This, Batgirl imagines, is much like Boof Bonser went through when he was called up. TR said, when trying to make the decision between whether to call up Boof or Scooty Baker, that he opted for Boof because he has a better strikeout pitch. Batgirl does not believe this for a second—she thinks TR put their baseball cards up, threw some darts, and that was Twins fifth starter history.
So, it's been hard is the point and Batgirl must admit she was feeling a certain amount of despair on Sunday, as if she may not be able to go on. But then Brad Radke took her in his good arm and said, "Batgirl, sometimes times are rough, sometimes your arm is held together with fish glue and your heart is heavy and the pain it burns it burns and all you want to do is go find some place where the telecommunications companies are excellent and curl up in a little ball with your batkitties and hide from the cold, cruel, incompetent world, but you have to get out there because your team needs you, because the ass-bats are on the rampage because the sucking times are threatening, and because you are Brad Radke and you are here to pitch."
Yes, my dears, Brad Radke put his arm around all of us yesterday, and he showed us something about living. Sometime in the future you will be in a place of great struggle, you will have impossible odds before you, but you will remember Brad Radke on Sunday, and you will get out there anyway, and you will pitch seven beautiful innings without your arm falling off, and it hurts like a bitch but it doesn't matter because you have a job to do, and you do it.
(Now, if only Comcast/Verizon felt the same way…)
P.S. Don't understand waiver trades? McSweeney's Rick Paulas lays it all out.
His shoulder is held together with fish parts. His hair is also held together with fish parts. But never you mind, because for the second start in a row, Brad Radke is the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 20; Batbaby/Torii 9; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Sooz/(Cuddy) 7; Jeb/ (Silva) 4.
Maybe you're old enough to remember this era. Or maybe parents or older siblings have relayed the drama. Or perhaps the name "RonDavis" has meant nothing to you other than a name in a blog. Whatever the case, today's Star Tribune offers up a retrospective on an era of Twins' history that ended 20 years ago today. Click here and enjoy!
Twins 0, Jays 5. Darnit.
By the time Infield slipped out of work today (a little early, truth be told) she was tired and cranky on account of not getting much sleep last night after having some tattoo touchups that evening (word to the wise: save it for the weekend. What was Infield thinking?), and she was all hopped up on Advil Cold & Sinus 'cause something is going around the cubicle farm and it's got her in its crosshairs.
Infield got home promptly at 5:00, dashed inside, donned her "Nathan Saves" shirt, grabbed her trusty scorebook and was back outside in plenty of time to catch the 5:15 northbound, which should get her to the Dome in plenty of time to get some Joe Mauer sideburns which would not be worn (oh, no!) but instead sent to BG, because Joe is BG's boyfriend, not hers.
Infield has chosen not to own a car because of the global warming and the price of oil and the fact that she learned to drive in south Texas and they don't have snow there, plus she has all the depth perception of a drunken moose. Also, ever tried to park in Uptown? Not good. Usually busing works out nicely, especially with the traffic anywhere near downtown being completely psycho early of an evening, but today? The Metro Transit let Infield down.
The 5:15 deigned to appear at 5:35, and proceeded to meander from Uptown to Downtown in twenty-five freakin' minutes. This is a ten-minute trip, people! And what with the walk to the Dome from Hennepin, Infield got there well over an hour after she left home, and there were no more sideburns, leaving Infield to hope that someone else had the same idea and was not riding the Bus of the Damned.
In a case of small-world-meets-big-BatCommunity, Infield's season seats are located directly behind Wonder Woman's season seats, and it turned out that WW had had the same idea about getting some of those sideburns to BG, but had gotten there even later than Infield.
Then the game started, and Silva looked good and it seemed that perhaps the worst of Infield's day was behind her. But then four innings passed without anyone scoring, and Infield started to get a little nervous because she knows Carlos likes some run support, and can get kind of antsy without it. And sure 'nuff, in the 5th Carlos loses the no-hitter to Lyle Overbay and the shutout to Bengie Molina, who solved the Torii Hunter problem by sending his homer both over Torii's head and off to one side.
But he stopped the bleeding after that, and Infield thinks pretty much every Twins fan there figured, "Eh, two runs. This is a good-hitting Twins team. Two runs is nothing to fret about." And perhaps the Blue Jays thought the same, because in the seventh they went for the insurance. Loading the bases with one out, they then scored when Carlos and Joe got their signs crossed up a little. Carlos seemed just a tad upset when Joe, who was set up low and in, couldn't get his glove on that wild pitch up and away. Oops?
Carlos seemed even more upset two runs later, when Gardy gave him the hook. The Jackal stalked back to the dugout, filled a paper cup from the Gatorade bucket, and threw that cup against the wall in the mildest-mannered bout of pitcher rage Infield has ever witnessed. But that's Carlos for ya.
Pat Neshek came on then, did his little sidearmer bouncy dance and struck out Frank Catalon-howtheheckdoyouspellthat. And Frank took a couple of steps toward the dugout and then looked back over his shoulder at Neshek with this expression like "Is this guy for real?", and Infield and Wonder Woman got a nice (and only slightly hysterical) giggle out of that.
Neshek got out of the inning with a second strikeout, and the Twins did, um, nothing in the next half-inning. Then Jesse Crain started warming up and Infield asked Wonder Woman if maybe Luis Rodriguez could pitch instead? And WW pointed out that was maybe a touch harsh, and in all fairness Infield had to agree, but with Lohse and Romero both gone someone in that bullpen has to make Infield all twitchy, and Crain is the lucky winner these days 'cause she has a huge, squishy soft spot for Willie Eyre, who wears his socks the right way and was very charming to her at the last TwinsFest.
But Crain did fine, and then Guerrier did fine, and in between the Twins did nothing again, and finally one more round of nothing in the bottom of the ninth and there's yer ballgame.
So Infield closed her trusty scorebook, turned to Wonder Woman and said, "Well, crap. Now I have to go home and write something funny about this game."
And WW winced a little and said, "Ooh, there wasn't really anything funny about this one."
Preaching to the choir, Wonder Woman. Preaching to the choir.
To: JustIncredible
From: RD
Re: No. 30
I knew you were saving your 100th RBI for a meaningful and dramatic time, and that so explains the earlier at-bats. That home run was one of the most incredible moments of my baseball watching years, and anyone who didn't lose it with some love is lacking this, that or many other things. Totally, totally cool. And I love that the ball was retrieved and is going to your Dad. Make sure that Joe Vavra gets a knock-off, though!
To: Luis Castillo
From: RD
Re: Man love
The most noticeable part of the scene after Morneau's home run was your wraparound hug from behind on El Presidente. Sometimes you seem a little bit stoic and detached on the field and in the dugout. But anyone who knows what's up knows that you're playing through some leg problems that you're doing your best to minimize. Four hits and three steals in a pretty good job of minimizing. Keep showing the love.
To: Michael Cuddyer
From: RD
Re: Your face
The look on your face after JustIncredible's home run was pricless. You didn't hafta say a word to be saying thank you, thank you, thank you. When the history of the season is written and recited, no one will remember that strikeout just before No. 30. Don't let down, dude. Tell Little Nicky Punto that no one will remember his three strikeouts either.
To: Gardy
From: RD
Re: Your moves
You've made Dennys Reyes feel every bit as studly as the more established relievers, and you got payback tonight when he took down Granderson for the 3rd out in the bottom of the 8th. I'm thinking you wouldn't have done that with Romero last year, right? It makes me all the more proud that you did this on the first anniversary of the night -- Aug. 9, 2005 -- when RD 'n' Sweet-n-Sassy bought you a drink in Seattle, and you sent drinks back to our table. Thanks, bubba. We promise not to give you crap for driving that Hummer.
To: Joe Torre
From: RD
Re: The Yankees
Dude, just get those games locked up, OK? It's 7-0 when Project Runway starts, 7-2 during the first commercial, 7-3 at the end of the show and 7-6 when I'm driving home. May your bullpen be that shaky when the Twins come to town next month.
To: El Presidente
From: RD
Re: Your work
Seven innings, four hits, two walks, 10 bitches-sat-down. One messed-up changeup doesn't change that you stepped up in the way that Bradke did Tuesday night and the way that we expect the Jackal to against Toronto. Fine work.
To: Batlings
From: RD
Re: The home run
If you want to hear Gordo's call or see the FSN video, go here.
To: Matt Garza
From: RD
Re: Your arrival
Pretty friggin' cool, huh?
To: Everyone who reads this
From: RD
Re: Miracle Treat Day
Folks, you've read it a couple of times on Batgirl, but Thursday is THE day for you to hit the local Dairy Queen and buy a Blizzard Flavored Treat. Part of every purchase goes to the Children's Miracle Network, which does wonderful things for sick and injured kids. Added karma to all Batlings who include their favorite Blizzard flavor with their post. RD is a Key Lime Pie guy, by the way. Happy Miracle Treat Day, which sounds more than a little bit like what happened in the eighth inning, huh?
Excuse me, this may seem strange, but didn't I know you at some point? I can't quite place it, but I seem to remember you from somewhere. Oh well, I'm sure it will come to me.
Goober/Doctor 21; Readers/The Field 19*; Batbaby/Torii 9; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Sooz/(Cuddy) 7; Jeb/ (Silva) 4.
[*This includes a B.O.D. from yesterday for Bradke.]
I had some fun with an inning-by-inning commentary the last time I subbed for BG, so I'm dusting off the idea again tonight as the Twins tried for their first win of the year in Detroit.
1st inning
Nothing but ground ball outs. Huh. Weird.
(MIN 0, DET 0)
2nd inning
Since when does Dimitri Young hit triples??? Detroit takes an early lead. Surprise, surprise, surprise...
(MIN 0, DET 2)
3rd inning
Little Nicky Punto, tiny superhero, puts the Twins on the board with a one-out double, and Chairman Mauer sacrifices himself for the good of the people to plate the tying run.
(MIN 2, DET 2)
4th inning
Leadoff hits are good. Leaving runners stranded on third is bad. Especially when you're playing the Tigers, who see something like that and then decide to taunt you by loading the bases with no outs. And if you're Jason Bartlett and you're not wearing your socks the right way tonight, which explains a lot, you stand out there in the field and you watch Radke's bum shoulder start to smoke and you really, REALLY wish you'd hiked up your pants and knocked that runner in, because maybe that would have taken a little wind out of their sails before they came up to bat.
And then Craig Monroe smokes one to left, but there's Jason Tyner snatching it out of thin air and going all Liriano on their asses, grooving a beauty of a fastball from the outfield straight down the center of the plate to Mauer for the out and the funky double play. And lo and behold, Radke teases Sean Casey into a popup and somehow they don't score.
(MIN 2, DET 2)
5th inning
You know what's as good as a leadoff hit? A one-out double and an error. And you know what's even better? A Chairman Mauer RBI double after that.
Now, here's an interesting question. If you're a pitcher, and you and your catcher get your signs crossed up and he's sitting low and in and you pitch up and away to Doctor Morneau and (oops!) tag the umpire in the arm, do you pretty much figure your strike zone will be the size of a pea for the rest of the game?
(MIN 3, DET 2)
6th inning
The home plate umpire is cursed. How else do you explain getting hit twice in as many innings?
(MIN 3, DET 2)
7th inning
Radke goes seven. This is exactly what the bullpen needed. And look, we have a lead! A lead nowhere near big enough to make me feel at all comfortable, but hey.
(MIN 3, DET 2)
8th inning
The home plate umpire is most decidedly cursed. Who's ever seen an ump get hit thrice in a game before? I certainly haven't.
(MIN 3, DET 2)
9th inning
Hey! No throwing at Bartlett's head! That's my #2 boyfriend right there!
Loading the bases in the top of the ninth with a one-run lead is good. Driving insurance runs in with a groundout is even better! Watching them walk Doctor Morneau to reload the bases is simultaneously disappointing and kind of funny. Watching Sweetcheeks ground out to the pitcher, however, was not funny at all.
As the bottom of the inning opens, Dick Bremer starts talking about all of Detroit's exciting walk-off wins this season. Shut up!!
Twitchy resists the Bremer jinx through two outs, then coughs up a walk and a single. Uh...Joe? Stop that! But by inducing a popout to Cuddyer in right, Joe says, "the nail-biting may cease".
And then he thought a little, and he added, "Until tomorrow."
From the Star Tribune:
With their starting pitching staff in tatters, the Twins promoted top prospect Matt Garza to the big leagues Tuesday and sent Mike Smith back to Class AAA Rochester.Garza was expected to join the team for Tuesday night's game against the Detroit Tigers. He likely will make his major league debut Friday, against the Toronto Blue Jays at the Metrodome, but the Twins had yet to say.
There were no updates on rookie All-Star Francisco Liriano, who is out indefinitely with what appears to be a left elbow injury.
Thanks to Batling Aurora for the heads-up!
Are you like RD, trying to figure out just how discouraged you should be following the opening game of the Detroit series? I mean, the guys showed up after a four-game thrashing of the Royals and there were visions -- which now seem like illusions -- of battling for something more than the wild-card spot.
RD did his fair share of fumin' tonight, pounding the dashboard of the RDmobile when Jason Bartlett lined into that double play in the seventh with the score 4-3 Detroit and, as Gordo put it: "...the Twins about the tie it up..."
That was before Jesse Crain opted for the wrong, wrong, WRONG time to do his little comedy routine in which he acts like a member of the Kansas City bullpen. It had to be that, right? He'd walked 11 batters all season in 53 1/3 innings ... and then ... tonight ... coming into a one-run game, he walks the first two batters he faces and a 4-3 lead becomes 8-3 on his watch.
Geezola, canola. Jesse! (Actually, RD may have dropped an effin' F-Bomb or two while watching that performance.)
Speaking of the F-Bomb, RD now needs to decide whether there's really a problem with Liriano's forearm, or whether he was the victim of a Detroit team that has an exuberantly intelligent approach to hitting the ball and learned something from its struggles against him a week ago Friday at the Dome. We all should have a better answer to that one after he pitches against the Jays on Saturday. RD and Sweet-n-Sassy will be sitting right behind home plate that night, so we'll know before most of you -- and we'll share.
(RD's late-night update: "$#!+")
How good is Detroit? Well, the Tigers have a better road record than home record and yet they've still won 18 of their last 21 games at Comerica Park. They're 40 games over .500, which means that if they lose as many as they win for the rest of the season, their record will be 101-61. And they've won 10 more games than any other team in the majors. And... and... and... and... and... and...
So here's the deal. Forget about the division race, OK? You'll save a lot of wear and tear of the parts of your brain that process baseball. Know that the Twins are in one incredible wild-card race and that, with trips to Boston and New York coming up, as well as six more against against the Tigers and nine against the Bitch Sox, it's gonna be a tough road to the postseason.
If the Twins somehow manage to win the wild card, it's going to be a memorable couple of months until whenever the end comes.
As Tim Gunn would say to the Twins right now, if he could take a break from the rule-breakers and cat-fighting on Project Runway, "Make it work."
Tuesday morning updates on Liriano:
From the Star Tribune.
From ESPN.com, via the Associated Press
From mlb.com.
From the Pioneer Press.
From the Detroit point of view:
And finally, a sweet story from Monday's New York Times.
Batlings, there is a book about 'Cisco. It's called Throwing Bullets. Further info on Third Base Line.
infield: Well, RD, how about that? The Twins sweep the Landed Gentry in four games. Though it would probably be more accurate to say that Kansas City swept themselves. Every one of those gajillion walks they handed out was just another bristle on that broom.
RD: You couldn't be more right, infield. And, quite frankly, while some are saying that sweeping the Royals is a bit like beating your little sister at arm wresling, a sweep is a sweep is a sweep this time of year. If they want to keep sending Ambiorix Burgos to the mound and Reggie Sanders, the Royals' answer to Tony Batista, to the plate, so be it.
infield: Very true, RD. Of course, the Twins were working with some substitute players, too, but with considerably more success. I tell ya, the Twins farm system must have some kind of Miracle Gro for Prospects, because Minnesota gets itself a bumper crop of surprisingly good players every year.
RD: Well, position players, anyway. Two of the Jasons -- Bartlett and Tyner combined Sunday for nine hits and Josh Rabe made a fine catch in left field. If only the auditions for the No. 5 starter would go so well. Bonser, Baker and Smith sounds more like a law firm than a roll call of those recently auditioned. Mike Smith -- 3 innings, 80 pitches, 1 glove throw. I don't suspect we'll be seeing much more of him. But the important numbers are this: 4 games, 4 victories, 630 frequent flyer miles between Kansas City and Detroit, where the Twins begin a BIG 3-game series Monday against the Tigers.
infield: That fifth starter is a conundrum. Lohse traded, Baker and Bonser racking up their own frequent flyer miles, and Smith picking a very bad time to give Crazy Pepe's Chug n' Toss a whirl. I do wonder who we'll see in five days, RD. I'm all for giving Shaggy a shot, but I know a lot of folks out there are salivating over the thought of Matt Garza. And speaking of the phenomenal performance of Jason Bartlett today, I'd just like to point out that his 5-for-5 day came when he decided to wear his socks the right way for the first time this season. Coincidence? I think not.
RD: Amen to that, infield. And as long as we're pointing, I'd like to point out that it feels good to walk away from a game to see an excellent movie,as I did Saturday when Sweet-n-Sassy suggested seeing "Little Miss Sunshine," which by the way is NOT the Jeremy Bonderman story. I suspect that Batlings will be paying undivided attention to the games over the next three nights, although Monday is a travel day for Batgirl and we wish her all the best as she and JEB set forth on their Eastern adventure.
infield: You know what gives me hope, RD? Hope for the upcoming series and for the rest of this season? It's the way this team is sucking it up and soldiering on, despite the no doubt crushing knowledge that Batgirl can't be with them right now. Just look at all they've accomplished since her cable got turned off. It's inspiring, it really is.
RD: Speaking of inspiration, RD feels inspired to end our report with some haiku, if that's OK. So here goes:
Batgirl has gone East
Where she'll resume writing soon
Twins kick a$$ for her
This was a tough decision until Jason Bartlett laced his fifth hit of the night. The two of the three Jason aspects that played went 9 for 10 this afternoon, and Bart was nothing but kickass, going 5 for 5 with two runs and two RBIs. It's been said before, but I've got your fire in the belly right here. And that's why you, Jason Bartlett, are the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor 20; Readers/The Field 18; Batbaby/Torii 9; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Sooz/(Cuddy) 7; Jeb/ (Silva) 4.
BatNote: Want to know how Joe Mauer got his sideburns? Batling Beth has the answer...in LegoVision!
Batgirl's offline for a few days. Goober will be BODSHC, and, as such, is always right.
We can (and apparently do) hit all the damned runs we want, but it's not going to mean anything without some pitching. The Lefties of Doom can only do so much, the Elder Statesman is doing is best, but it's time for Mr. Carlos Silva to step up. And you know what? Two starts in a row, he's stepped up. He was helped by some flashy defense and more run support than he had all of last year, plus--you know--the Royals--but the point is the results. For presiding over your second straight blowout, and for pitching a near flawless game until it was well in hand, and because we need you to keep it up--this is why you, Carlos Silva, are the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor 20; Readers/The Field 17; Batbaby/Torii 9; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Sooz/(Cuddy) 7; Jeb/ (Silva) 4.
Oh, man. This was not a game you wanted to lose. The Twins left roughly 847 players on base, and each time you thought--next time. Next time we'll take the lead. And then someone (I'm looking at you Jason Tyner) hit the first pitch into a double play and you'd think--next time. Please? Anyone? And then Jesse Crain gave up another run in the eighth and it appeared there was not going to be a next time. And then Joe Mauer--who had blown a chance with bases loaded earlier-- sauntered up in the ninth and BOOM! Great, wow, it would have been really nice if Crain hadn't given up that run, now we're still down a run and it's the ninth inning and, oh, hello, Michael Cuddyer, how--
That sound you heard was everyone is Kauffman's stadium's neck snapping as they watched Cuddy's homer go out. That tied the game, set up the Twins win, and gave, you, Michael Cuddyer, the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/Doctor 20; Readers/The Field 17; Batbaby/Torii 9; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Sooz/(Cuddy) 7; Jeb/ (Silva) 3.
Author's note: BG is off for a few days bravely claiming a portion of Red Sox Nation in the name of Twins Territory. Substitute bloggers will attempt to keep you rabble amused in the meantime.
Twins @ Landed Gentry, W 8-2
Half an hour before the game Thursday night, a knot of Twins huddled in the visitors clubhouse in Kansas City.
"Well, who's it going to be tonight?" asked Radke. "I can't, I'm starting. I have to go warm up!"
"I could do it," offered Luis Rodriguez.
"Hah. You did it yesterday, and look where that got us!" snorted Little Nicky Punto.
"Well, you did it Tuesday, and that was just as bad!" Lil' Rod retorted huffily.
Radke rolled his eyes and grabbed his glove. "I gotta go. You guys work this out." And he left.
"That was NOT just as bad!" yelled LNP. "Yesterday we had THREE errors!"
"One of them was yours, stupid!"
"And one of them was yours, clutz!"
"Hey, now, everybody settle down," said Torii, stepping between LNP and Lil' Rod. "I did it on Monday, and we kicked ass, so I'll do it again."
"Ummm..." interrupted Lew Ford, adjusting his reading glasses. He was peering at a small leaflet. "It says here each team must send, at minimum, seven different players in succession."
The others looked at each other uneasily.
"And, ah, what exactly does that mean?" wondered Sweetcheeks.
"It means," said the voice of Pat Neshek, emanating from a pile of fan mail twice the size of CC Sabathia, "that you can't do it again until six other people have. Four now, since there have been two since you."
"Crap," said Sweetcheeks. "Why do we have to do this, anyway?"
Lew flipped through the leaflet. "It says here the Commissioner thinks it will add interest to the game."
LNP suggested an alternate use of the Commissioner's time which caused Lil' Rod to blush a fiery red.
"Can you breathe in there?" Dr. Morneau asked the pile.
"Yep, it's all good." Neshek affirmed.
"Hey, guys, what's up?" wondered Josh Rabe, coming upon them on his way back from extra BP.
"We're trying to figure out who's going to do it tonight," the good Doctor explained.
"I'll do it," Rabe shrugged. "I feel lucky." And off he went, bat on his shoulder, whistling a merry tune.
"Think he'll be okay?" Lil' Rod fretted.
"He said he felt lucky," Morneau said philosophically. "We'll find out soon enough."
Rabe made his way through the corridors until he reached a special room hidden beneath home plate. The umpire crew chief and Kansas City shortstop Andres Blanco were already there.
"You're representing the Twins?" the umpire asked.
"Yes, sir!" Rabe said brightly. "And I feel lucky! Shall we?"
"All right," said the umpire. "Turn around, both of you. And no peeking!"
Rabe and Blanco turned around and stared at the wall. Rabe resumed his cheerful whistling.
"Stop that!" hissed Blanco, who was very nervous.
"You may turn around," the umpire announced. They did, and he was holding two straws in his clenched fist, carefully arranged to appear the exact same length.
Rabe and Blanco looked at each other, then at the straws. Two hands shot out, both straws were plucked. They held their straws up next to each other, and saw that Rabe's was clearly longer.
"Woo-hoo!" cried Rabe, jumping up and down. "We get to play baseball!" He ran off to share the good news with his teammates.
Blanco threw down his inadequate reed. "Crap," he said glumly. "Ass-ball."
Congratulations to Andrew E., landslide winner of the JMSC contest. Andrew, you are an inspiration to us all. Through your awesome Mauerist sideburns, you have shown us what dedication and perseverance can lead to. May your pitch selection be perfect, may all your bloopers fall in for singles. Andrew, you bat .400 in our hearts.
This weekend, do not forget to check out Johan Santana's Perfect Game at the Fringe Festival.
And get your taste buds ready for BLIZZARD DAY on Aug. 10. Every Blizzard you buy benefits the Children's Miracle Network.
Good news about Liriano, who was just awarded his second straight Rookie of the Month.
Batgirl won't be online much the next week, so forgive her if she is late responding to any emails. She will be spending all her energies setting up her MLB Extra Innings package in Amherst. Except to hear quite a lot of complaining about certain announcers that Batgirl will be subjected to in the near future.
EDIT: Pulled from the comments:
Costello: Are you the manager?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: And you don't know the fellows' names?
Abbott: Well I should.
Costello: Well then who's on first?
Abbott: Neau.
Costello: I mean the fellow's name.
Abbott: Neau.
Costello: The guy on first.
Abbott: Neau.
Costello: You don’t want to tell me?
Abbott: I am telling you. Neau!
Costello: For the last time, what’s the name of the first baseman?
Abbott: Neau. What’s on second.
Costello: I don’t know.
Abbott: Third base!
Costello: I'm asking you who's on first.
Abbott: Neau’s the man's name.
Costello: That's who's name?
Abbott: No, it’s Neau’s name.
Costello: Well go ahead and tell me.
Abbott: That's it.
Costello: That's who?
Abbott: No, that’s Neau.
--Twayn
Goober/Doctor 20; Readers/The Field 17; Batbaby/Torii 9; Batgirl/Chairman 7; Sooz/(Cuddy) 6; Jeb/ (Silva) 3.
The Twins reported to the Metrodome on Wednesday in a foul mood. Things got off to a sucking start because Francisco Liriano, the scheduled starter, was sidelined with a sore elbow. A little thing, they were told. But a hella bad start to the day. Then, Gardy came in looking like he'd spent the better part of the night pukin' and poopin', which it turned out he had. So for the third straight day, he was nowhere near the ballpark when the game started,this time being poked with an IV at a local hospital because, in the name of healing, the docs told him that it would be wise to neither eat nor drink.
Then, Lew Ford came into the clubhouse, brandishing his trusty laptop and spewing invective. Alas, the target of his rage was none other than Batgirl.
"Sideburns contest!" Lew raged. "What's UP with this? Why didn't Batgirl ever invite her readers to a Doom contest. I mean, geez. I sign a 'Lew Ford is my Boyfiend' t-shirt for TwinsGoddess and Batgirl runs off and has a SIDEBURNS contest. Where's the friggin' reciprocity?"
Michael Cuddyer walked in at the end of Lew's outburst and picked up the theme. "HOW COME BATGIRL NEVER HAD A MAGIC TRICK CONTEST?" he yelled. "EVERYONE KNOWS I WOULD WIN."
Little Nicky Punto took in the scene around him and, as he often does, he turned the attention to himself, which he needs to do to avoid getting lost in the crowd: "A sliding contest. Batgirl never had a sliding contest. I mean, what better sport than watching her readers dive head-first into first base while trying to avoid the opposing pitcher's spikes?"
And Pat Neshek, the rookie who is gaining confidence, decided to test his place in the clubhouse. "A butt contest," Neshek opined. "Think any of Batgirl's readers have a better butt than you, Torii?"
Torii Hunter didn't laugh, and he wondered if Neshek knew about his little dust-up last season with Justin Morneau. "Quiet, rookie," Torii said, his face straight. "Batgirl would sooner ask her readers to imitate your twitchy act before she'd objectify me like that."
Sitting in the corner, Morneau thought he'd put an end to the grousing with a contest so simple anyone could enter.
"Uh, you know, guys. We should have, you know, one of those electrocution contests! Most 'you knows' in a minute gets, you know, to be..."
Jesse Crain cut him off. "Hey, hoser," Crain shouted. "You mean an ELOCUTION contest!"
"You know, uhhhhh, you're right," Morneau replied.
Finally, cooler heads prevailed. Mike Redmond, fresh from a round of naked batting practice, stood in the middle of the clubhouse and called the boys together. No one peeked.
"Gentlemen," he said. "The day has gotten off to such a start. Let's just have a SUCKING contest."
There was some hushed cross-talk as players debated the merit of Redmond's idea and finally, because he is the team's elder statesman, the boys all went along with the idea.
In the first inning, Joe Mauer came to the plate with two men on base and grounded into a double play. "Yes, I am on the cover of Sports Illustrated this week," he announced. "But I can still suck when needed."
In the second, Torii grounded into a double play on his own, the first half of an entry that included failing to run to first base on a strike three that eluded Texas' catcher in the fourth. "See, he said, "I can play with my head up my fine, fine sweetcheeks."
In the third, Little Nicky swung at a third strike and Jason Bartlett was thrown out at second for a different kind of double play. "See that?" LNP said. "That's called double-play diversity. And don't forget that dive into first base in the first inning, where I just missed getting my hand stepped on again."
The fourth was a team effort. Bartlett made a bad throw off a barehand grab and Punto did him one better, making such a bad throw off his barehand grab that the ball got away from Morneau and the batter went to second. Morneau muffed a grounder like he was wearing a blindfold and L-Rod, making a rare appearance at second base, made an ill-advised throw to Bartlett on a grounder. Does it surprise you that Texas scored 5 runs in that inning?
In the sixth inning, after the Twins dared score a run, Redmond grounded into the team's 4th double play of the game. The dugout chatter was divided between the fact that it was a rather ordinary double play and giving Redmond sucking props for hitting into his with the bases loaded.
Then, Jason Renyt Tyner, a/k/a The Assassin, stepped up after L-Rod and Bartlett had singled in the seventh. "I have destroyed others with my skills," he said to himself. "Now, I will shoot myself in the foot." And, yes, he grounded into a rally-killing double play.
To round out his entry, Tyner came to bat in the ninth and smacked a line drive that the Texas first baseman turned into an unassisted double play -- No. 6 of the game off the Twins' sucking bats. Game over.
The sucking jurors had rarely seen such an afternoon. Well, not since the likes of Stahoviak and Walker patrolled the infield, anyway. They took over Gardy's office for a while, donning their robes and debating secretly. So secretly that we can't even tell you what was said.
What we do know is that they emerged, swigging Gardy's half-empty Pepto bottles, and announced to all: "You all sucked so bad that choosing a winner for this contest is an exercise in futility. You must all go to Kansas City now -- and never, ever think about having a contest like this ever again."
I think the reason the Twins turned in such a lackadasical performance tonight is anticipation of the JOE MAUER SIDEBURN CONTEST. And can you blame them? I thought not. The buzz has been building for weeks, and Bravo is in talks with Batgirl over turning it into a reality show. Someday, we'll look back on these humble beginnings with nostaglia--remember when the JOE MAUER SIDEBURN CONTEST was pure and innocent and all about growing great sideburns? Before it got too commercial? Ah, those were the days.
Well, my friend, those days are now.
To help in your voting, please see this week's Sports Illustrated cover, cewarly released to coincide with the JMSC.
Batgirl is surprised to report there was only ONE entry in the CREATIVE EXPRESSION competition. But the entry itself is a clear winner, as you'll see below.
Congratulations to SON OF K-BRO for his victory! SON OF K-BRO has earned the people's ovation and fame forever! SON OF K-BRO, the people salute you!
As for ACTUAL SIDEBURNS, please see the wonderful entries below. Batgirl is very grateful to all of you for showing your support for JOE MAUER and the JOE MAUER SIDEBURN COMPETITION. You are all winners in Batgirl's book.
Please note: These are your fellow Batlings. They will be reading these comments and they have given of themselves to appear on the INTERNET for public display. Any comments about their appearances other than as pertains to sideburns, no matter how complimentary, shall be deleted poste haste.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
<