This entry posted by Twayn, with help from Richard and Oscar.
With spring training wrapping up this weekend, word came down from upon high yesterday that Carlos Silva will indeed begin the season in the starting rotation. And suddenly the hills were alive with the sound of spin-doctoring. Fans were aghast, fearful that come September Silva's losses will number sixteen going on seventeen, when winning division championships and making the playoffs (and whiskers on bat-kittens, of course) are a few of our favorite things. The clamorous reaction of Twins Territory just goes to prove that even the best public relations spin can't drown out the rising chorus of indignant Twins fans...
(Sung to the tune of How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria)
They hit the ball, we watch it fall,
His sinker isn’t there.
He waltzes in from off the mound
And seems without a care.
Why can’t it just be simple?
Why must it be unfair?
His E-R-A and waistline are so flabby.
He's sorry about the sucking
And his penitence is real.
He's sorry about everything
Except for every meal.
I hate to have to say it
But I very firmly feel,
Silva's starts are going to make me crabby.
I'd like to say a word in his defense –
But Silva - makes me - tense.
How do you solve a problem like our Silva?
How do you fix a guy who’s lost his stuff?
How do you find a word that defines Silva?
A flibbertijibbet! A bit-of-a-flake! Enough!
Many a thing you know you'd like to tell him.
Many a thing he ought to understand.
But how do you make him see
The lunch he eats never is free.
How do you keep him when he should be canned?
Oh, how do you solve a problem like our Silva?
How much more of Silva can we stand?
When I watch him I'm confused
Out of focus and bemused
And I never know exactly where I am.
Unpredictable as weather
He's as flighty as a feather.
He's a creampuff! He’s a headcase! He's a sham!
He outstinks a stinking skunk
Gives up homers with his junk
He can pitch almost as well as any girl.
He is useless! He is wild!
He's a riddle! He's a child!
He's a headache! He's a trainwreck!
I could hurl!
How do you solve a problem like our Silva?
How do you fix a guy who’s lost his stuff?
How do you find a word that defines Silva?
A flibbertijibbet! A bit-of-a-flake! Enough!
Many a thing you know you'd like to tell him.
Many a thing he ought to understand.
But how do you make him see
The lunch he eats never is free.
How do you keep him when he should be canned?
Oh, how do you solve a problem like our Silva?
How much more of Silva can we stand?
Well, folks, there's yer opening day roster. JD Durbin was placed on waivers and snapped up by Arizona, and Josh Rabe has been reassigned to Rochester.
Yes, the Twins have decided to go north with a third catcher, one Mr. Heintz.
Twins roster set; Durbin, Rabe goneThe Twins finalized their roster today after pitcher J.D. Durbin was claimed on waivers by Arizona.
Outfielder Josh Rabe was notified that he'll be headed back to Class AAA Rochester (N.Y.), which clears a spot for third-string catcher Chris Heintz.
The Twins plan to start the season with the rotation of Johan Santana, Boof Bonser, Ramon Ortiz, Sidney Ponson and Carlos Silva.
Let the second-guessing begin!!!
This entry posted by Twayn, who has a hunch Baby Dash will enjoy Kevin Henkes.
"Hello. My name is Justin. I'm the American League MVP.
I like hockey and sandwiches and hitting home runs."
Justin had his own way of doing things. He always cut his Jimmy John's submarine sandwiches diagonally, for good luck. He always got out of bed on the same side, for good luck. And he never left the house without double-knotting his shoes, for good luck.
Justin always had the same thing for breakfast – toast with jam and peanut butter - for good luck. And he always carried a hockey puck in his back pocket. Just in case.
Justin’s best friend Joe was exactly the same way. That’s why they were best friends. Justin wouldn’t play baseball unless Joe played, and they never slid headfirst or swung at the first pitch, unless it was a hanging breaking ball. Joe wouldn’t call a pickoff play at first base unless Justin wanted to, and they always used hand signals in the infield. If Justin was hungry, Joe was too, but they rarely ate between meals. Justin and Joe, Joe and Justin. That’s the way it was.
They loved to play baseball. Once, when Joe accidentally swallowed a sunflower seed in the dugout and said he was afraid that a sunflower plant would grow inside him, Justin swallowed one, too.
“Don’t worry,” said Justin. “Now, if you grow a sunflower plant, I’ll grow one, too.”
For Halloween, Justin and Joe always dressed as things that went together – salt and pepper shakers, Canadian bacon and eggs, the Blues Brothers.
In spring, Justin and Joe shared the same locker room. In winter, they never threw snowballs at each other. In fall, they raked leaves and tried to get past the first round of the playoffs. And in summer, they reminded each other to wear sunscreen, so they wouldn’t burn. Justin and Joe, Joe and Justin. That’s the way it was.
And then Nicky moved into the neighborhood...
Nicky had his own way of doing things.
He wore band-aids all over his tiny body, to look brave. He talked backwards to himself in the infield, so base runners wouldn’t know what he was saying. And he never left the house without one of his nifty disguises, like a hungry piranha or a tiny superhero.
Nicky waved at all the fans that waved at him, even if he didn’t know who they were. And he always carried a loaded squirt gun in his back pocket. Just in case.
When Nicky asked Justin and Joe to play, they said they were busy. When he called them up on the phone, they disguised their voices and said they weren’t home. If Nicky was walking on one side of the street, Justin and Joe crossed to the other side and hid.
One day, while Justin and Joe were practicing baseball, some White Sox boys ran out onto the field. They ran in circles around Justin and Joe and yelled personal remarks at them. Justin and Joe didn’t know what to do. Just when they were about to give up hope, a cuddly looking bear wearing a Twins cap and jersey ran out of the dugout and frightened the White Sox boys away with a squirt gun.
“Are you who I think you are?” Justin asked the bear.
“Of course,” the bear replied.
“Thank you, Nicky,” said Justin.
“You’re welcome, Justin,” said Nicky.
“Thank you, Nicky,” said Joe.
“You’re welcome, Joe,” said Nicky.
“I’m glad you were wearing a disguise,” said Justin.
“And I’m glad you had your squirt gun,” said Joe.
“I always do,” said Nicky. “Just in case.”
Afterward, Justin invited Nicky over for lunch.
“You have a Muscle Mouse cup?” said Nicky.
“Of course,” said Justin.
“I do, too!” said Nicky.
“Same here,” said Joe.
That night, Nicky invited Justin and Joe to sleep over.
“You have a night light?” said Justin.
“Of course,” said Nicky.
“I do, too,” said Justin.
“Same here,” said Joe.
After that, when Nicky asked Justin and Joe to play they said yes. When he called them up on the phone, they had pleasant conversations. And if Nicky was walking on one side of the street, Justin and Joe waved and ran to catch up with him.
Justin and Joe wouldn’t play baseball unless Nicky played, and they never swung at the first pitch, unless it was a hanging breaking ball, of course. And they never slid headfirst, except for Nicky, who still had his own way of doing some things. Nicky taught Justin and Joe to talk backwards in the infield. And they taught him hand signals and how to double-knot his shoes. Justin and Joe and Nicky. That’s the way it was.
For Halloween, they dressed as the three blind umpires. For Christmas, Nicky gave Justin and Joe nifty disguises. And they gave him a box of multi-colored shoelaces – extra long for double knotting.
They loved to play baseball. When Justin and Joe told Nicky about how they had each swallowed a sunflower seed, Nicky swallowed three of them. “I’ll grow a sunflower plant for each of us,” he said.
In spring, Justin and Joe and Nicky shared a locker room together. In winter, they never threw snowballs at each other. In fall, they raked leaves and tried to get past the first round of the playoffs. And in summer, they reminded each other to wear sunscreen, so they wouldn’t burn. Justin and Joe and Nicky, Nicky and Joe and Justin. That’s the way it was.
And then Jason moved into the neighborhood...
The BatTrain is leaving the station once again--Jeb has been given a job at Case Western in Cleveland, OH, and we'll be going there this summer. Of course, we'd love to be in Minnesota and if anyone could arrange a job at Macalester for Jeb we'd be extremely grateful. Nonethless, we're excited about Cleveland, where we will get to see the Twins 10 times a year. But, we have one great concern:
How do we keep BabyDash from getting eaten by CC Sabathia?
Any thoughts/strategies you have would be most appreciated. One thing we're never going to do is dress him like a cheeseburger.
On another note, if anyone has read any books nominated for Minnesota Book Awards this year, you can vote for your favorite on the PiPress's crappy new website here.
This entry posted by Twayn’s Flying Circus.
Many fans are disappointed with the news that the Twins and Justin Morneau were unable to reach an agreement on a long-term contract and have broken off further discussions. For those interested in just how these types of deals are negotiated, we have managed to obtain (through confidential sources familiar with the dumpster behind Lee County Sports complex) a transcript of the final bargaining session between Terry Ryan and Justin Morneau's agent, Mark Pieper.
[Terry Ryan hurries into the conference room at Hammond Stadium and takes a seat at the table opposite Pieper and his assistant, Bert.]
RYAN: Okay, how much does he want? Quickly.
PIEPER: What?
RYAN: It’s for Carl’s peace of mind. How much?
PIEPER: Oh. Uh, 40 million shekels for four years.
RYAN: Right. Done.
PIEPER: What?
RYAN: There you go. 40 million shekels.
PIEPER: Wait a minute.
RYAN: What?
PIEPER: Well, we're supposed to haggle.
RYAN: No, no, no. I've got to get Santana and Nathan to sign extensions, and see if…
PIEPER: What do you mean, 'no, no, no'?
RYAN: I haven't the time. I've got to trade some hot young arms for a backup shortstop and…
PIEPER: Well, take it back, then.
RYAN: No, no, no. I just paid you. We have a deal…
PIEPER: Bert!
BERT: Yeah?
PIEPER: This bloke won't haggle.
BERT [menacingly]: Won't haggle?! What’s your *&%#ing problem, mate?
RYAN: All right, all right. Do we have to?
PIEPER: Now, look. We want 40 million for four years.
RYAN: I just gave you 40 million for four years.
PIEPER: Now, are you telling me the league MVP’s not worth 40 million shekels?
RYAN: No.
PIEPER: Look at him. Look at that quality. That's hero stuff, not any of your goat.
RYAN: All right. I'll give you 39 million then.
PIEPER: No, no, no. Come on. Do it properly.
RYAN: What?
PIEPER: Haggle properly. He’s not really worth 39 million.
RYAN: Well, you just said he was worth 40 million.
PIEPER: Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Come on. Haggle.
RYAN: All right. I'll give you 20 million.
PIEPER: That's more like it. 20 million?! Are you trying to insult me?! Me, with a poor dying grandmother?! 20 million?!
RYAN: All right. I'll give you 22 million.
PIEPER: Now you're getting it. 22 million?! Did I hear you right?! 22 million?! And 10 percent for me? That doesn’t even cover my expenses. You want to ruin me?!
RYAN: 35 million?
PIEPER: No, no, no, no. 35 million, dear me.
RYAN: 36 million then?
PIEPER: No, no. You go to 24 million now.
RYAN: All right. I'll give you 24 million shekels for four years.
PIEPER: 24 million?! Are you joking?!
RYAN: That's what you told me to say.
PIEPER: Oh, dear.
RYAN: Oh, tell me what to say. Please!
PIEPER: Offer me 26 million.
RYAN: I'll give you 26 million.
PIEPER: He's offering me 26 million! For the American League MVP!
RYAN: 27 million!
PIEPER: 33 million shekels. My last word. I won't take a penny less, or strike me dead.
RYAN: 33 million then. Deal.
PIEPER: Done. Nice to do business with you. Tell you what. I'll throw you in a washed up starting pitcher as well.
RYAN: I don't want him, I’ve got plenty of them, thanks.
PIEPER: Bert!
BERT: What? He still not haggling? You really do have a *&%#ing problem, don’t you, mate?
RYAN: All right! All right! All right! I’ll take your washed up pitcher.
PIEPER: Now, where's the 33 million you owe me?
RYAN: I just gave you 40 million.
PIEPER: Oh, yeah. That's right. That's 7 million I owe you, then.
RYAN: Well, that's all right. Just keep it. That's fine. I’m in a bit of a rush.
PIEPER: No, no. Hang on. I've got it here somewhere.
RYAN: That's all right. We’ll just call it 7 million for the pitcher.
PIEPER: 7 million? For this pitcher? 7 million?! Look at him. He’s worth 10 million if he’s worth a shekel.
RYAN: But you just gave him to me for nothing.
PIEPER: Yes, but he’s worth 10 million!
RYAN: All right. All right.
PIEPER: No, no, no. He’s not worth 10 million. You're supposed to argue, '10 millon for that? You must be mad!'
RYAN: Look, just forget the whole thing. We’ll try again next year.
[Terry Ryan takes back his 40 million shekels and makes a hasty exit.]
PIEPER: Oh, well. One born every minute.
To: Mr. Ron Gardenhire
From: Dashiell J. Batbaby
So, Mr. Gardenhire, look, I was reading LaVelle E. Neal III's web log the other day and I came across
this entry.
Seriously. I almost spit up. You've got Garza, who my mom calls Macho Matt for reasons I can't completely parse and I don't think she can either, and Glen "I'd Sure Like to Stop at" Perkins is pitching like, well, Macho Matt Garza, and you go with option C, Attitudy McFatHead? Both these guys will be in the rotation anyway once you release Ponson and trade the Jackal to Cincinnati.
My mom says that your preference for veterans has been noted in the blogosphere. And I understand. Veterans are great. My parents, for instance, are not veterans and they have no idea what the #@$@#$@ they're doing. At the same time, rookies are not necessarily total #@$#@-ups. I'm a rookie, and I can pitch better than Ponson.
You know how sometimes you relive patterns in your life? Like in the hospital nursery some girl breaks your heart and then all the babes after that are just like her, every time you find someone different, really it's the same girl, but that girl was a mistake, all burbles and coos and come hither looks, and you'd come hither and then she'd just crap all over you, and I'm like, why don't you just put on some damned Pampers anyway? They're free. So it's the same girl, the same mistake, again and again and again, and what I'm saying is maybe the whole T-Fat thing should have been enough to make you recognize that there was an issue here.
Look. Everybody's a rookie some time. And sometimes, I know it might sound crazy-ass nuts, but sometimes rookie pitchers are better than veteran pitchers, like--oh, say, Liriano being better than Kyle Lohse. I don't know who Kyle Lohse is, but he sounds very, very scary.
Everyone's got their little things, M. Gardenhire. My mom thinks I like to be dressed in cute little outfits with bear ears on them. I don't. I mean, would you? So sometimes we have to recognize our little things so we can move past them and help lead our ballclub onto victory, and not just late season victory, but consistent season-long, totally-devoid-of-sucking time victory. Come on, Mr. Gardenhire. For the Twins! For the country! For adorable preemies everywhere!
(Lew) Ford will fly to the Twin Cities this week, where arthroscopic surgery will be preformed by team physician Dr. John Steubs.
What I wouldn’t pay to hear that conversation...
Dr. Steubs {comfortingly}: We’ll be inserting a tiny camera into your knee...
Lew Skywalker {eagerly}: Where?
Dr. Steubs {precisely}: We’ll insert it into the joint of...
Lew{a little put off}: No, I mean where will I be? Polis Massa or just some medical frigate?
Dr. Steubs {slightly startled}: I’m sorry - what?
Lew{using his Luke-whining-about-the-blast-shield-being-down voice}: Will the 2-1B droid that is doing the surgery be on a medical frigate, or are you taking me to the medical center on Polis Massa that Queen Amidala went to?
Long Pause
Dr. Steubs {rubbing temples}: This is a Star Wars thing again, isn’t it?
Lew{patronizingly}: I just want to make sure that it has a properly functioning bacta tank so I can get back to the team as soon as possible.
Dr. Stuebs{wearily}: For the last time Lew, I don’t have a bacta tank, and you’re not getting a new mechanical knee. We’re just repai...
Lew{confidentially}: Hey, that’s OK, because I’ve decided what I really want is a magical knee. Maybe something like a +2 Knee of Flame?
Longer Pause
Dr. Steubs {Beaten down. So very beaten down.}: No, the flaming thing is on the list of banned substances. But I think I can get Terry to spring for a vorpal knee. It will lob off the head of the closest opposing player.
Lew: Righteous!
Dr. Steub {giving up his will to live}: But only if you roll a 20.
Lew: Well, duh.
Twins Geek is ashamed to admit he needed to do almost no research for this story. He's also publishing daily at TwinsGeek.com.
Seriously. Batgirl's been very negligent in her duties and has barely had time to peruse the internets to keep track of her beloved team. There's still a team, right? With players? Of baseball? And there's that one guy, the catcher with brace mouth, and the other one, the Mountie, and, oh, the dude with the cheeks, and the other dude with the other kind of cheeks, and JOHAN EL PRESIDENTE SANTANA.
But, seriously, what the hell's going on with the Twins? What has Batgirl missed? Please help her. And it would, naturally, be very cruel of someone to make up silly stories to amuse others and trick poor sleep-deprived, Pampers*-smelling Batgirl
*They really are better than Huggies.
It's a very special(birth)day in Twins Territory. Click here for details.
In the BatMail:
Dear Batgirl:I am afraid that I have to break some tough news to you. I have dealt young Dash to the Yankee's front office in exchange for Carl Pavano and a blogger to be named later. I fully expect that your reaction to this will be highly emotional, but try to bear in mind that the youngster wll be developed within the Steinbrenner inner circle. This should comfort you.
Yours truly,
Eric
Yankee Agent Without Portfolio
What can Batgirl do? Are there any options? And is this a good trade? Batgirl knew the Yankees were thinking of a youth movement, but this is ridiculous.
My darlings,
Please forgive Batgirl's silence. It turns out taking care of a baby is a lot of work. Dash is doing wonderfully, and very much enjoying listening to the Twins on XM, though he remains slightly concerned about, you know, the pitching and the hitting, though he thinks everything else sounds a-okay. He is also disappointed to learn that thanks to MLB's new, exclusive, screw-the-customer deal with DirectTV, he won't be able to watch the games this year, and is slightly confused about why MLB would want to deny customers the chance to view the product, but he's just a preemie.
Speaking of, Batgirl has become rather aware of issues of preemies lately and will be walking in the March of Dimes WalkAmerica. If anyone would like to sponsor her and make a donation to March of Dimes, Batgirl would be endlessly grateful. You can sponsor Batgirl online here. For BabyDash! For preemies! For America!
Twins 4, Dodgers 7
From the Associated Press:
FORT MYERS, Fla. – One year after the death of Kirby Puckett, the Minnesota Twins paused to remember the Hall of Fame outfielder and his lasting impact on the organization.
Center fielder Torii Hunter, a close friend and the only current Twins player who was a teammate of Puckett's during past spring trainings, has found it difficult to talk about the subject since Puckett died of a stroke at age 45 on March 6 last year.
"I got up this morning, and I prayed for him and his family. I know it must be a tough day for them,'' said Hunter, who first met his mentor in 1994 when he was a minor leaguer. They were placed next to each other in the clubhouse that spring.
Puckett was the catalyst on both Minnesota's World Series championship teams in 1987 and 1991, which were managed by Tom Kelly.
"You miss him. It's a wonderful thing to think about him. He has given us so many memories,'' said Kelly, now a special assistant to the general manager and a guest coach during spring training.
The Twins held a moment of silence in Puckett's honor before their exhibition game Tuesday against the Los Angeles Dodgers.
"It weighs on your heart,'' said fellow Hall of Famer Paul Molitor, who also serves as an assistant coach during spring training. "In some ways, it's hard to imagine that it's been a year already. There are certain times of the year when his presence is really missed. There was a big void out there last summer.''
Post Scriptum: RD penned a very nice tribute to Kirby today on A Fan's View, his Star Tribune Twins blog.
This entry posted by Twayn, on assignment for Bat-girl.com.
Twins 4, Tampa Bay 2
Well, that’s more like it. I was starting to get just a teensy weensy bit worried there. About the winning thing, of course, and how we weren't doing any of it yet. But first I got all giddy and happy like a puppy getting its tummy rubbed and I was all caught up in the excitement and exuberance of spring training and finally having the boys playing games again. Then Garza started things off on a roll and went all one-two-three, one-two-three on the Red Sox, just like that, and life was good again. For a couple of brief innings, life was good again. But it couldn’t last. And then Baker took the ball and struggled. And Silva took the ball and struggled. And Boof took the ball and struggled. And Ortiz took the ball and, well, he wasn’t horrible. Yet. And Sidney couldn’t even get permission from his government to struggle or be horrible yet, at least in games with paid attendance. And we couldn’t hit very well and we especially couldn’t hit very well with runners on base and especially with runners in scoring position and somehow it was déjà vu all over again. I was flashing back to last April and May and that is a very, very bad place for a Twins fan to go. Don’t go there. It’s depressing and creepy, like cleaning out a dead relative’s closets.
I mean, after that initial adrenalin rush of the first couple innings of the first exhibition game it seemed like a bit of a bobsled run, steadily downhill with shaved ice flying around and everything kind of blurry. Or maybe that was the snowstorms. Anyway, if it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Ortiz was late reporting because he couldn’t get his visa, and then Sidney couldn’t pitch in games because he couldn’t get the right kind of visa, and Matt LeCroy just hopes he can somehow make enough money playing baseball to keep his VISA®. And Lew’s knee was hurting real bad and might need surgery but might not, we’ll let you know, and Garza’s neck was hurting and then it was his head and then his neck again, and Lyle Lohse once again displayed his outstanding command of the strike zone by hitting Torii in the back of the cabeza (Souhan: "How do you know he wasn't trying to hit you in the head?" Torii: "Because he hit me in the head, man." Rimshot). And, honestly, it was starting to look like the 2007 rotation would consist of Cy Young and the four horse turds of the apocalypse, and that the short but painfully acute sucking from last year’s playoffs might possibly come out of remission and degrade into the long chronic tuberculin kind of sucking that nearly killed us off last year before the banishment of Lyle and the Dictators and the now storied and miraculous resurgence and adventure-filled Algeresque achievement of the division crown.
But spring training is like that. One day you’re up, the next day you’re down. The swing that felt perfect yesterday feels a bit off today, and could fall completely apart tomorrow, unless it’s genetically programmed like Joe Mauer’s. Timing still needs to be worked out. You never know for sure what might happen. Lightning could strike. Sidney Ponson could make the rotation and be the comeback player of the year and win 18 games. Don’t bet the mortgage money on it, but at this point of the year it is technically possible, even if it’s not very probable. So today Silva goes out on the hill and pitches three good innings and the sinker is sinking and he’s getting strikeouts and ground outs and all kinds of outs and finally in the top of the ninth the boys score three runs and the Twins have their first spring training victory of the year. And all is right with the world. Except I didn’t get to see it or hear it because it wasn’t on TV or radio. But sometimes serendipity happens, and you get something else good instead.
Tonight, because I’ve been good, I guess, and the baseball gods took pity on me, I got to watch the Twins beat Oakland again. It was the September 12th game from last summer. Intense pennant race time. We were a game and a half out of first place. Liriano’s season was over, Radke’s arm was falling off, Mike Smith was no longer an option, and Matt Guerrier was getting a rare start. Shaggy went four, giving up three runs. Willie Eyre gave up another in the fifth. With bases loaded and just one away, Sideshow Pat and his long socks came on in relief, got the Big Hurt to line out to Punto, and struck out Chavez on a wicked breaking pitch. Crain and Reyes kept it close, and in the bottom of the eighth, the offense got it done -- back to back doubles by Cuddy and the MVP, and a two-out, run-scoring wild pitch on which Jason Tyner struck out but reached first base safely. It was one of those piranha plays. Nathan with the save. Twins 7, Athletics 5. Good times.
Yeah, I guess it's a little too early to start worrying after all.