Cuddles is gracing the cover of Today's Groom.
I don't know about this, baseball players or no. Today's Groom sounds like something purchased exclusively by today's bride and thrust upon today's unwitting groom, where it will end up in the pile of magazines by the toilet unread, until today's bride finds it there under some old Newsweeks, short of some water damage as pristine as the day it came off the rack, and sighs heavily, because for a while there she allowed herself to believe she was marrying someone who might read Today's Groom, who might really get into analyzing all the different tuxedo options and read reviews of caterers and look for the best manscaper in town--not the second best, mind you, because when you're getting manscaped you really don't want to skimp--and of course she hasn't, she's marrying you, and of course while intellectually she knows you were never going to crack that glossy cover, and she knows that that, in fact, is part of your charm, and she has many people she can talk to about tuxedoes and caterers and manscaping, there's really no one who makes her laugh quite like you do, and she'll remember that eventually, she really will, though it will be sometime long after she holds the copy of Today's Groom in her hand and gives you that look, you know the look, and there's nothing Michael Cuddyer's dimples can do for you then.
Oh, and Vote Joe.
The Strib is running a series of pieces on Kirby after his retirement from baseball. It is truly sad, both for what it reveals and what it elides.
Meanwhile, rest in peace Joe Niekro. Niekro died of an aneurysm at 61 last week. His stint with the Twins was brief, but memorable--who can forget his insouciant "who me?" attempt to flip the emory board out of his back pocket. That there, thought a young Batgirl, is some serious balls. Rest in peace, Joe Niekro.
The cool thing about this postseason is, with the exception of the first Mets series, the team that was expected to win in just about every series lost. Unless you're a fan of one of those teams in which case "cool" is "bone-crushingly painful." But the Cards run, from essentially backing into the playoffs to World Series champs, was mighty impressive, and it showed, once again, you can predict nothing in the postseason (except maybe rainouts.) As for the Tigers, Batgirl is genuinely sorry it wasn't they celebrating--they had a terrific run, and Placido Polanco is so cute in his little hat. She can't shake the feeling that the Twins suck jumped hosts once again, and for that she is incredibly sorry. I don't know what the contagious period of this thing is, but let's have a nice long postseason, and let's scrub all those clubhouses real good, okay?
You know, it was rough going sass-blogging on the Twins for a little while. There was no Corey, no Dougie, no AJ, and if it hadn't been for Lew Ford, this blog would have had to go totally dark. Batgirl tried to beg TR at the trade deadline last year to acquire a player with a little personality.
But all is well now. The players haver come into their own. We have LNP and his tiny antics, Luis Castillo's fly dancing, and sometimes Justin Morneau even smiles. And we have Sideshow Pat Neshek, blogger and sidearmer, who is currently
auctioning off his rookie hazing costume on eBay.
Your phallic symbol does not threaten me, Mr. Reporter Man.
What's cuter, that's he's auctioning it off or that he wants to keep the doggie costume?
That's Neshek's dog Juicy, by the way.
It's also fun to read Neshek's eBay ratings--he's got 100% positive feedback, including one from someone known as "hardcore Jesus" that says, in something that looks like Dr. Seuss translated back from the Japanese, "HORRAY HORRAY YOU MAKE MY DAY. EXCELLENT SMOOTH TRANSACTION." And yes, Batgirl knows how to spell "hooray." Hardcore Jesus, not so much.
Current bid, $134. I'm sure people can do better, I mean, that thing has baseball player sweat!
Thanks to all who emailed BG with this. These are the sort of developments of which she must be kept apprised.
As Aaron says, this isn't exactly a surprise. It seems to Batgirl that the Kid should just get this thing taken care of, once and for all, because wishing ain't going to make it go away. (Though wouldn't it be cool if it did?)
Please note, image basically to scale.
Who is more little? LNP or David Eckstein?
Zit cream? Kryptonite? A Booger? Hair gel? Flubber? Fish glue? Kitty poo? Soylent Green?*
*What's that stuff made out of, anyway?
BatDad grew up in Detroit, somewhere around 8 Mile Road, and it was a lot like the movie but without the rapping contests. Like any good Detroit boy, BatDad loved the Tigers, growing up cheering Hank Greenberg (who, he will point out, hit 58 homers without any steroids), Hal Newhouser, George Kell, and Vic Wertz. The Tigers won it all when he was a wee pup, then didn't get to the series again until 1968, against the St. Louis Cardinals. He was living in Kentucky at the time but lived and died with the team all the same—watching them overcome a 1-3 deficit in the World Series to come back and win it all for the first time since he was 6.
Goober and Batgirl grew up in Minneapolis, and BatDad raised us to be baseball fans, and while our first love was the Twins we always rooted for the Tigers, too. Then, in 1984—just as Batgirl was coming into her own as a baseball fan—avuncular manager Sparky Anderson led the boys from Detroit to the division championships, and the BatFamily watched the whole thing. It was Batgirl's first chance to root for a team in the postseason, and that group of players--Jack Morris, Kirk Gibson, Chet Lemon, Alan Trammel, Lance Parrish, and Lou Whitaker were all her first baseball boyfriends. That postseason hooked Batgirl on baseball and the Tigers have been her second favorite team ever since. It was so painful to watch the franchise suffer these past few years, and a joy to watch them find themselves again, playing the game in a way that echoes those boys of '84.
So, even though Batgirl dearly hopes they get this whole winning thing out of their system come 2007, for now--with all due respect to the Cards and their awesome fans and this whole awesome midwestern series-- she and BatDad join together to say—Go Tigers.
Your Baseball America Player of the Year.
Aaron Gleeman once said the MVP is the first guy you pick when you're starting a baseball team. Is there anyone you'd pick over this guy?
To: Scott Baker
From: Your Loyal and True Bestest Friend Nutty.
Fresh off the news that Major League Baseball had just signed a licensing agreement with a company that makes caskets and urns, (and please, do Batgirl a favor and go read the entire article), came another very exciting announcement.
This evening, Major League Baseball inked a contract with the National Postmortem Body Art Association to allow any baseball fan who has passed on to get the logo of his or her favorite team tattooed on his ass.
"We're getting a lot of requests for sports team logo tattoos," said Dracul L. Gluteus, president of the NPBAA. "When people die, their families really want to commemorate them in a way that speaks to the dignity of their lives. I can’t think of a better way to do that than getting the logo of your favorite baseball team tattooed on your corpse's heinie for all eternity."
Gluteus continued, "We've also approached the NHL and NFL but MLB was incredibly eager to provide their fans this magnificent opportunity. We were also hoping to approach NASCAR, but most of the postmortem real estate on their fans' buttocks is already spoken for by advertisers."
Major League Baseball was equally enthusiastic. "We like to think of it as a service to the fans," said MLB spokesperson Brandi Tuckus. "Before, when anyone who got a team logo tattooed on their cold dead buttcheeks, we would have to call our lawyers to extract our pound of flesh, as it were. But now, all baseball fans can die happily knowing that for a really modest fee, they can get their favorite team's logo tattooed on their behind without fear of legal reprisal."
Not all baseball fans were ecstatic at the news, though. For young Jimmy Popo, the announcement came too late. "I just wish they'd done this earlier," said Popo, wiping away a tear. "My dad would have been so happy to go to his grave knowing we were donating his hard earned money to a truly worthy cause--Major League Baseball's licensing department."
Congratulations to Frightwig and his lovely bride on the new addition to their family.
Go over to Sundappled Wood and tell him congrats! Looks like Baby Boof has a friend....
Batgirl recently had the immense pleasure of flying on a US Air commuter jet--she forgets the company name and that's probably for the best--and when she lowered her tray table she found it was covered in a giant commercial for some stupid A&E show about auto racing, or chick mechanics, or chick auto racers, or something...Batgirl doesn't remember, which goes to show you how stupid the whole thing is because any advertisement where somebody doesn't remember what you're advertising afterwards is pretty much a giant failure.
The point is, we know advertising is everywhere, we know we can't escape it, we know baseball sold its soul ages and ages ago, but somehow it doesn't make this any less asinine.
Yes, it was announced last week that all games at US Cellular Field will now start at 7:11, so that every time you look at your ticket stub, you are reminded of that glorious company and all the wonders it brings to America. Baseball, apple pie, and totally disgusting corporate sell outs. Now, I'm not actually blaming Soxia for this because really it could have been any team, the only real shock is that all of MLB didn't adopt the new start time, change "homers" to "Big Gulps," and make the players microwave Dinty Moore buckets every time they get to a base.
But, really. Just because someone offers you a great opportunity to look like an ass doesn't mean you have to take it. This whole thing is absolutely ridiculous. $500,000 a year for this embarrassment?That's what your corporate soul is worth? $500K? Isn't that like only a week of Jim Thome? What do you really get these days for $500K, baseball-wise--like a Punto and a fourth? That doesn't even add up to one full size baseball player.
This is, of course, the Slurpee wave of the future; 7-Eleven is going to try to spread its nonsense across the game, and soon when we look at our tickets we will remember how utterly for sale every aspect of our baseball experience is and think, "Goodness, I need an antacid. Anyone know where there's a convenience store around here?"
It was quiet in the visitor's clubhouse in Tiger Stadium, as the Oakland A's packed up their things and prepared for the long elephant march home.
"Man," muttered Marco Scuturo.
"Man," agreed Nick Swisher.
"We were so good," said Jason Kendall.
"So good," said Scuturo.
"And then—" said Eric Chavez.
"And then," agreed Swisher.
There was nothing left to do, then, nothing but shake their heads and continue to pack while Milton Bradley sat in a corner playing a quiet, meditative game of Yahtzee. No one really noticed Darth Thomas sitting in the showers scrubbing obsessively at his arms, until Barry Zito finally finished his exfoliating and walked by the burly DH.
"Hey, Darth, you okay?"
"I've got this stuff on me," said Thomas. "It's like a fungus. I keep scrubbing and scrubbing, but…Will these arms never be clean?"
"Oh," said Zito, backing away slowly. When he stepped into the clubhouse he took Chavez aside. "I think something's wrong with Darth," he whispered.
When he explained, Chavez's eyes grew wide and he ran into the showers. "Look," he proclaimed to Thomas, ripping off his left sleeve. "I have it too!"
"IT BURNS!" shouted Thomas.
It didn't take too long to discover that the fungus was all over the A's players. And when Bobby Kielty walked in after his regular postshower sticking his finger in a light socket, he found the clubhouse mood had gone from gloom to confusion and fear. And when the players showed him the cause, he grew pale.
"I know what that is," he whispered, eyes like moons. "I've seen it before."
Slowly, the A's gathered 'round Kielty as he shook his head like a man with a terrible tale to tell. "It's the Suck from the Twins!" he proclaimed in a deathly voice. "It will make you hit into double plays, field like blind monkeys, turn any good bat into an ass bat..."
"Oh, my god," said Scuturo.
"Oh, my god," agreed Swisher.
"IT BURNS," repeated Thomas.
"How did it get on us?" breathed Jason Kendall.
"I don't know," said Kielty. "It must have infested the stadium when they were there. I mean, that was a lot of suck."
"Yeah," said Kendall. "There's no way all that suck could be contained in the visitor's clubhouse."
As one, the players let out a tremendous sigh that shook the whole clubhouse, thinking about what might have been.
"At least…" said Chavez, "…at least we didn't suck as badly as they did…."
Silence for a moment, and then a slow grin spread across Kielty's face. Quietly, he began to chuckle. The other players looked at him, and then slowly they began to smile too, and soon they were all rolling around in laughter, all the pain of the past few days forgotten for one glorious moment.
"You got that right," agreed Swisher, wiping a happy tear away from his eye. "You got that right."
It's pretty much my favorite animal.
I am out of town, and yesterday afternoon BatDad and I had lunch in a restaurant that had the news on. All we knew was a small plane had crashed into a high rise. I shuddered--I hate those small planes. I know a young writer who died along with her whole family when her father's plane crashed on her first book tour. BatDad and I were out all day and when I got back into the hotel room I saw Larry King interviewing Cory Lidle's twin brother. My first thought: They're interviewing Yankee siblings now? It took a moment to realize what had really happened. The death of those two people--Lidle and his thus far nameless flight instructor--is terrible. We hear lots of platitudes on CNN over "what's really important"--above A-Rod and Joe Torre and the Yankees collapse, as if any of us ever believed that those things were more important than the implicit promise that our loved ones make each time when they walk out of the door--I'll come back. Baseball is not life and death, it is a beautiful, maddening fantasy--one that allows us to escape life and death in order to live and die with every pitch, every swing of the bat. This accident brutually shattered the illusion, put a face on a meaningless tragedy, but mostly it deprived two families of seeing their loved ones come home at night. My thoughts are with all of them. Everyone take care of yourselves, and be safe.
Please see Alex Belth's excellent post at Bronx Banter.
The Strib reports that the Twins are picking up the one year, $12 mil. option on Torii's contract.
Right now, all the broadcasters and research assistants at Fox and ESPN are up late studying the line-up vards and trying to actually learn something about the two teams playing in the ALCS. ("Hey, did you know there was a Carlos Guillen?") Except, of course, for Joe Buck, who is sitting in a corner holding his framed photograph of Derek Jeter and whispering, "Why? Why?"
Meanwhile, BabyBoof is a Boof (not a Boofina!) The ultrasound did not show which hand he favored, nor his preferred fielding position. So much for modern medicine.
Batgirl will be out of town and away from her computer this week. Team Batgirl and friends may pop in. Please enjoy the ALCS.
BatNote: The BatStore is temporarily down, but shall be up again soon.
Congratulations to the Tigers and A's for making it to the ALCS. This is going to be an utterly fantastic series with two very exciting teams. And to John Kruk, who spent some time on Baseball Tonight saying the Yankees line-up was going to be to be a real challenge to the A's just a few hours after the Ligers went up 2-1, thhhhpt.
Let's do this, small market style. And ESPN, if your ratings depend on the Yankees, perhaps it's because they are the only team you ever show or talk about? Also, every time one of the broadcasters mention Jeter, take a drink.
Well, there's really not too much to say here, except that was rather disappointing. We had two wonderful starting pitching performances, but sometimes the ass bats come, sometimes when you are least expecting it, sometimes when you least want it, and when they come they get hold of you with their ass bat teeth and do not let go. Everything else went wrong--bullpen, fielding, baserunning, but none of that would have mattered if we'd managed to execute a little better. But that is the way of baseball, my dears.
As bad as the Twins were, the A's were great, exorcising all their first round bad mojo in fine form. Whomever they face, the Tigers or Yanks, Batgirl wishes them the best, and she wishes the Tigers the best on their current epic battle. Both are classy teams, worth rooting for.
This has been sad, of course, but it is just one series, and the real tragedy would be if it took away from the season. The Twins were nothing less than miraculous this year, and I don't want you to ever forget that. Our season ended Sunday in one of the most beautiful fashions possible--and a World Series hogpile would have been the only thing better than that. It was not to be for us, but the season itself cannot be taken away and Batgirl will simply not allow it to be taken away. Never forget this season, never forget what we saw this year, never forget MVP candidate Morneau, Torii's 30 homers, the Chairman's batting championship, the F-Bomb, Sideshow Pat, Cuddy's 100 RBIs, Santana's second Cy, Joe Nathan, the piranhas, and most of all, never forget Brad Radke. Do not let this fiasco tinge the beauty of the improbable words: Minnesota Twins, 2006 Division Champions.
Okay. Well, this is it. It is, as they say, now or never. There is probably nobody Batgirl would rather have taking the mound today than Mr. Brad Radke--that may sound absurd on a team with El Presidente, and certainly starting pitching isn't exactly the issue here, but if anyone can inspire this team, it's Captain Fish Glue. If this is his last appearance on the mound, let's let the players do everything they can to make sure it's a good one. The best testament they can give to him, of course, is to do what he fought for all season--live to play another day. Let's go, boys.
Dear Batgirl,
I’ve been a Twins fan all my life. I was there in ‘87 and again in ‘91. Due to a miracle almost equal to the one we witnessed, my dad and I sat two rows behind home plate when Kirby went deep in Game 6. I was there again in game 7, about 100 rows further back in the upper deck, to watch Jack Morris bring it home. But that game 6 was special. A postseason ball game, shared with the two heroes in my life, Kirby Puckett and my dad. I never thought the Twins would be capable of moments like that ever again. I mean, how could they? That is, of course, until this year….
I moved out to the Bay Area back in 2001. Every spring since then, I’ve happily signed that $160 check to DirecTV for my MLB Extra Innings package. I joked with a friend of mine that DirecTV could raise the price of the package to $5000 and I would (happily) still pay. I would say something like, “Jeez, I guess it’s a little steep this year but….” Twins baseball isn’t a luxury for me, it’s a necessity. A close second to oxygen.
Much to the chagrin of my girlfriend, I watch about 130+ games a year. I am a TIVO surgeon. When I’m not there to catch the games live, I turn off all forms of communication until I can get back to my TIVO to watch them blissfully unaware of the outcome. When traveling, I follow the games and scores on the internet. When there is no internet, I call 1-800-TELL-ME to get in-game scores. When I can get no updates, my head spins wildly thinking about what I might be missing. But, when my beloved ball club annually visits its west-coast counterpart in Oakland, I never go.
It didn’t always used to be like that. When I moved out here in ’01, my college roommate, a Red Sox fan by birth, was working for the Oakland A’s. As a job perk, he had two season tickets and access to more when necessary. For the first season or two, my Minnesota friends and I used him frequently to get tickets whenever the Twins were in town. And, without fail, every time that I drove over to the Net (now McAfee Coliseum) to watch the Twins, they lost. So when the postseason rolled around in 2002, I made a declaration that I would not go to any of the games. My friend, of course offered his tickets to me, which I gave to two other friends of mine. The Star & Tribune actually ran an article in which Everyday Eddie Guardado mentioned some crazy Twins fans waving their home hankies from their seats right by the Twins dugout. These were my friends, Charlie and Tom, sitting in my seats. When game 5 rolled around, my friend Paul, who worked for the A’s, pulled off another minor miracle; 8 seats together on the third-base line. Would I like to go to the game? Hell yes. But I would never do that to my team. Instead, I called every Minnesota fan I knew in the Bay Area and filled those seats. And I watched the game alone in my girlfriend’s apartment, my 2002 “Proud and Loud” homer hanky waving wildly.
It was a game for the ages. AJ’s homer off of Koch was one of the most electrifying moments in Twins’ history. And I, of course, was not there to see it. If these 2006 Twins manage to climb out of the 0-2 hole that they’ve dug, it will be an achievement greater than AJ’s insurance blast. Maybe even equal to Kirby’s game 6 heroics. And no matter what happens, I will not be there to see it.
A few hours ago, shortly after the Twins fell to the A’s for the second time in as many days, I received a message from my friend Paul who no longer works for the A’s. It said simply, “Keep the faith” This from a man who knows the fallibility of the A’s as well as anyone; who repeatedly had his hopes for a World Series ring dashed when the A’s couldn’t get past the first round. So, per his instruction, when I watch Radke take the bump on Friday, waving my homer hanky like a wild man, I will keep the faith.
Keep the faith Twins Nation,
Al Sullivan
ALDS Game 1. Darth Thomas 3, Twins 2.
Ah, no, you didn't expect this to be easy, did you? You didn't expect it to go according to plan. For if you did, then I'm sorry, but you have been watching some other team this season, and for that I am both sorry for you and a wee bit jealous, because sometimes having a plan has real benefits, like keeping your fans from chewing off their own arms. For instance.
But the point is, this does not go according to plan. Over in A's Nation, the belief is that if they could just get to Santana, the series was theirs. And of course, it's a completely reasonable thing to believe, every rational and irrational person on the eight planets and four dwarf planets would think such a thing, because of course we don't have Liriano and Bradke's been hurt and when those guys went down nobody thought the Twins could do anything with just Santana and a bunch of guys picked up from the Jimmy's Pizza Rec League. Except, weirdly enough, they did. And as September pushed on and the games grew more and more crucial, we went through a whole 10 game road trip where Santana did not win and we went 7 and 3. The secret that no one understands but those of us who have watched this team is the Twins also won games Johan did not start, they won a great deal of them in fact in the best division in baseball, and they can win more.
I am going to make two humble requests of the Twins for the remainder of the series. The first is that we treat the outer edges of Frank Thomas's strike zone like asking your ex-wife to come to your wedding with your leggy receptionist, meaning you do not want to go there, and secondly that the batters spend some time studying what’s going on with the opposing pitcher instead of getting up there and wildly swinging like, well, like a bunch of guys picked up from the Jimmy's Pizza Rec League.
Fortunately, we have ESPN to cover these games, and they are doing so with all the skill and knowledge we've come to expect from them. Now, we owe all of our success to Joe Morgan, so Batgirl shouldn't make fun too much, but listening to these guys is like listening to the two drunk guys who sit behind you who've seen two games all season and are trying to impress each other with how much they know. I don't know why someone at ESPN didn't gently whisper into Jon Miller's earpiece that it's actually Jason Bartlett, not Josh, one can only assume that no one else knew either. And while I recognize that the Twins blew some opportunities in the first inning, I might humbly suggest that the tenth or so time you mention it, it's enough. And I know I should get used to it, but this interviewing the managers while the game is going on is disgraceful. If you're borrowing techniques from Fox's coverage of the All-Star Game, it's probably a bad idea.
The trouble with the playoffs is, as exhilarating as it is to get there, once there you actually have to watch the games. And when you lose, it feels you will never win again, and when you win you are only relieved you did not lose. If you ask Batgirl for the moments she remembers most from the playoffs in years past, they're all excruciating, and they're from games we won. The first is the opening inning of Game 1 of the ALDS in 2002 when the Twins looked as if they were the fifth grade choir from Miss Primm's School for Bashful Young Lasses forced to perform at the All-County Jubilee Jamboree. There was this pop-up that landed in between Brad Radke and the rest of the infield with them all staring at each other like, "Oh, I thought you were going to get that," which as regular readers know is far too close to Batgirl's JV volleyball career for comfort.
The second is, of course, Game 5 of that series, and when future generations ask Batgirl why she twitches like that, she'll merely show them the tape. Batgirl was knitting a pair of socks that series and to say her tension is evident on the final product would be like saying Picasso seemed a little blue when he painted Guernica. The fact that Batgirl didn't blind herself with the knitting needles is testament to her husband, for whom keeping her from blinding herself proved at least some distraction from the game.
Oh, if Batgirl digs deeper into her mind, there will be other memories, something about Adam Kennedy and some $@!%^&& monkeys, something about Johan leaving a game early, and something else about Ruben Sierra and Juan Rincon's pants. But the point is, you win some, you lose some, and sometimes winning is like losing because you have to go on heart medication afterwards, but we are still here and tomorrow morning we shall wake up ready to fight again, and as the Twins take the field amongst the cheering throngs, we shall join together, all we Twins fans across the globe, we shall join together as one and the very heavens will shake as we cry in one voice:
BOOF.
Come on, boys, let's get this thing tied up.
BatNotes: Twins fans in Oakland? The Startribune.com wants to hear from you. E-mail stribbb at gmail dot com.
Batgirl kept getting updates from Goober on Sunday. She could only hear about 1/4th of them given the whole Thunderdome thing, but just hearing the crowd noise was enough. One of the things she did hear was the families came on the field to celebrate with the team after the division was clinched, including a sighting of the adorable Cole Nathan. Here's Silva celebrating after his terrific, division-winning performance with his sister.
Let's hope they have a lot more to celebrate.
(p.s. Anyone who get the reference in the header will have Batgirl's eternal admiration.)
9:00am: read Pat Neshek's blog about Sunday. It's the best thing ever.
9:15 am: The Strib has a massive section that will keep you occupied for some time. As does the PiPress. And yes, Batgirl originally typed "The Strib has a massive package."
10:00am: The postseason roster is announced! I'm sure it will be posted, you know, somewhere. Whoever shall it be? Meanwhile, here's the Game 1 roster.
10:15am: Read some previews. The Geek previews the A's. Aaron looks at the Twins for Deadspin, (EDIT: and at the series on AG.com, as does Thank You Brian Sabean.) On Athletics Nation, F.O.B. Blez does a position by position analysis and BaseballGirl notes some inequity in the playoff schedule and calls the commissioner's office.
10:45am: Look at some September awards, particularly AL Pitcher of the Month and AL Rookie of the Month.
11am: Listen to MPR's playoff preview show.
12pm: THE THIRD PHASE OF RAGNAROK BEGINS!
Do you hear me? DIVISON CHAMPIONS.
I—
I—
I am supposed to say something here, something profound, something revelatory, but I have no words for what I've seen.
Friday and Saturday it seemed we'd lost our groove. For several games, the Twins forgot you could actually score before the eighth inning, and when Punxsutawny Phil struck out with the tying run at third on Friday night it seemed like the magic had run out. And then Garza flailed and the Twins did nothing against the Sox pitchers, and we were left wondering what was going to happen in the postseason.
But we had hope, thanks to an improbable band of misfit Little Leaguers with hearts of gold, and no, for once I do not mean the Minnesota Twins, for the Minnesota Twins have the probable Cy Young Award Winner, the batting champion, and someone who should finish in the top 3 of MVP voting, and that, my friends, pretty much means you're not Little Leaguers anymore. I am referring to the Kansas City Royals who this weekend became the second best story in baseball merely by avoiding, by one win, being the worst team in the game. The Royals played a fairly decent second half and it seemed for awhile they might avoid another 100-loss season. But then Buddy Bell left the team with cancer and the wheels fell off. They lost their 100th game on Thursday against the Twins and Brad Radke, and faced the Tigers at home who had beaten them 15 out of 16 times that year.
It would be the last game they would lose. For three games at Tigers stadium, they played like a team with so much more to fight for than pride. They fought and clawed and every time it seemed they were out of it, they got back in it, and you know from his recovery bed their manager watched and is so proud of his boys.
The Twins went into today with a bit of hope, but such a very small bit. It looked like it could be so dark—Jeter just one point behind Mauer in the batting race, the Twins counting on not just a victory but the Royals to catch lightning in a bottle one more time. The Twins had looked so dead and suddenly all our hopes were riding on Carlos Silva, who cost the Twins a chance for the division lead in both of his last two starts. And before you could blink, Silva had runners on first and third with no outs and it seemed it was going to be another one of those days.
That would be his last jam of the game. I don't know what Silva did differently—perhaps instead of praying all night the night before the game he decided to sleep instead, but for 6 innings it was all Silva who seemed to want to show his team so desperately that he would pitch his arm off, too.
But was it even going to matter? The Tigers were leading the Royals 6-0, and the Twins looked as if they were going to continue their no-scoring ways. Suddenly, we were fighting to keep our tie—did we want to get this far just to lose a game in the standing at the end?
And then something wonderful happened. Yes, my friends, the bats woke up. It began, appropriately enough, with Chairman Mauer, who led off the 4th inning with a double, virtually assuring his batting title.
Cuddy, who had accounted for the only real offense the two prior games, struck out, but then the Doctor stepped up and, amidst the cries of MVP, MVP, hit a double, tying the game. Then it was Sweetcheeks' turn, and the freeswinger worked through seven pitches before launching the ball over the left field seats.
3-1, Twins. And thanks to Silva, they did not look back. The Jackal kept the Sox down, and after all that has happened this season, he was there when the Twins needed him most.
For a time, it seemed the victory would be more symbolic—an opportunity for the 40,000 fans to see the team off to New York in style. And it didn't seem to really matter, for suddenly the team was playing like themselves again, and that was enough, really enough. Plus there was this:
Except it wasn't enough. The Royals were showing they had some fight left in them—they went to 6-3, but then the Tigers got another run. 7-4 in the eighth inning. The Royals couldn't come back on the Tigers again, could they?
Yes, they could. Proving we have a friend in DeJesus, the Royals scored 4 runs in the eighth just as the Twins were coming back from the 7th-inning stretch and its Kirby Puckett tribute, and for a moment it all seemed possible. We couldn't get everything—winning the game, Mauer's batting championship, and the division, could we?
Maybe not. With one swing of the bat, Matt Stairs said the Tigers wouldn't be going down so easily. The ninth inning came and went and they were in extra innings again.
It didn't seem like the division would be there for the Twins this year at that point. For, let's face it, the only way this was going to happen would be if it were the perfect story. And for a little while it seemed it was all going to fall into place—the loss of those games combined with the Ligers' loss on Friday and Saturday suddenly seemed preordained, because it would, it should come down to the last game; it would, it should, follow some discouraging days. But of course the most perfect way to end the game would be the Tigers losing at the beginning of the ninth just as Joe Nathan took the mound, Joe Nathan striking out the side and the cheers rising in the Dome, and the giant hogpile on the mound.
It turns out it wasn't. No, my dears, that wasn't perfect enough for this team. What was perfect enough for this team was every single person in the Metrodome staying to watch the Royals and the Tigers on the Jumbtron, and the Twins—who could have watched in the clubhouse—popping back into the dugout to watch with the fans, everyone in the whole place watching the Tigers load the bases in the 11th with one out, watching Brandon Inge nearly end the Twins' season twice on long fouls, watching Joe Nelson strike him out and then giving Jimmy "Gobble" Gobble, who would not know anything of it, the biggest standing ovation of his life as he strode onto the mound and struck out Curtis Granderson. What was perfect was the whole Metrodome cheering the Royals' rally in the twelfth, Gobble striding back onto the mound, and somehow, magically, keeping the Tigers from coming back. And then:
Ah, well, and then. And then the Twins got to celebrate with their fans and every single moment of the game, of the series, of the whole damned miserable, wonderful, miraculous season was leading up to this:
Yes, my friends, the only way the Twins were going to win the division is if it had been perfect, and it was. On the very last game of the season, a season in which they were 9 games below .500, in which they were 10 games back of the division in August, the Minnesota Twins took their division crown back.
Now, let's get this straight: I do not care about match-ups—it was time for the Twins to get the Yankee monkey off their backs, and Oakland is going to be very tough. I don't even care about homefield—home games haven't made much a difference to the Twins the last couple of years. I care about this for what it is—after everything that happened this season, we won the best division in baseball.
I'm sorry for the Tigers and their fans—what they accomplished this year was truly extraordinary, as exciting as it was for us, this must have been excruciating to watch. But, of course, it could have been worse—they're still going to the postseason after all, so, my friends in Detroit, let's show them what the AL Central is made of.
I know we have a postseason to play now, I know it all starts again, I know Johan is tired and Boof is slightly less on fire and Radke may have to pitch with his left arm and you never know which Silva you're going to get, I know all of that, and no matter what happens, I don't want anyone to forget this moment. We could win the World Series, we could be knocked out in three games, but nothing can take this away.
BatNote:Almost as exciting as the game and the outcome: The Batfamily—Goober, BatMom, and BatDad were Wiener Winners. Yes, that's right, they were in the Hormel Row of Fame. Truly, it was a day scripted by the baseball gods.
Twins Rally, Peavy Plaza, 5:00. Donnalove wants to know who's going.
Your 2006 AL Batting Champion, and MLB batting leader, the first catcher in the history of the game to lead the MLB.
Suck it, Jeter.
(Also, awarded co-BODs, especially Jimmy "Gobble" Gobble.)
You know what? You all get it. Every damned one of you, Minnesota Twins, from the history-making MLB's best hitter to the once worst DH in history who became clutch again when the team needed it , from the chubby cheeked clean-up hitter to the sweetcheeked outfielder who lost his form and then found it again, from the Cy Young award winner to sinker-ball pitcher who showed up today to deal to the one-armed man, from the twitchiest reliever to the freakiest, from the biggest Canadian to the littlest Punto, you're all the hell the boyfriends of the day.