My darlings,
The time has come to end this wonderful adventure. I had hoped to be able to keep it up with Dash, but I simply do not have time to do this blog well, and there is no point in doing it any other way.
In the three years since Goober said, "Hey, why don't you start a Twins blog?" I've had so much fun with this, even during the time of greatest suck. It's been wonderful playing with all of you. I will miss this, very much.
The BatStore will remain open for awhile more. Batgirl might pop in on Gameday every once in awhile. If you would like to keep track of publications and readings by Batgirl's close personal friend, please sign up for the mailing list at the bottom of the page here. If you enjoyed The Shadow Thieves or if you would like to help feed Baby Dash, please check out The Siren Song, out June 5. Come to a reading this summer and say hi.
BabyDash is doing wonderfully, and is our miracle. He is just about over all of his preemie issues, and is actually on the growth charts for his age. We have strapped down his right hand in hopes he will provide for us in our dotage. BatMom is teaching him everything she knows.
Thank you for reading and for sharing this with me. Remember, that it's only a game but it's the best game on earth and it's our privilege to watch it, that everything looks better in Legos, and that the word "ass" is inherently funny. And do Batgirl a favor--when your favorite player strikes out with the bases loaded or muffs a bunt or walks a guy in and the crowd around you boos, I want you to stand up and shout at the top of your lungs, heart bursting with unconditional love, THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND.
Thank you all.
In the times of greatest troubles, there emerges one Canadian, who, with his trusty boom boom stick strides in to save the day.
Goober/ Justin 6, Readers/Field 4, BatCub/Torii 3, Sooz/Cuddy 2, Batgirl/Chairman 2, BabyDash/Bart 2, Jeb/LNP 1.
From the Strib:
A decision was made during the players' meeting for everyone to get their hair cut as short as possible. It coincided with both teams honoring the armed forces Saturday.A few Twins, including Nick Punto and Jason Tyner, resisted as long as they could before going along. One unnamed Twin actually text messaged his wife over the weekend to warn her that she was going to see less of her man.
Batgirl nominates Jason Tyner for the silliest-looking guy with a crew cut--sort of like a badly shaved ferret-- but she didn't get to see the doos for herself. Who looked most like an oddly-coiffed rodent?
Sometimes life is tough. Sometimes you're a highly touted prospect but every time you come up to the bigs you suck rocks. Plus you're haunted by an overemotional talking nut cup. But sometimes you get a second chance. And a third. And a fourth. And sometimes, on your fifth chance, you're brought up over prospects even more highly touted than you once were, and you feel like a total has been even though you look like you're eight years old and should be out collecting Avatar cards. But then—something crazy happens. You pitch like a guy who's never been chewed out by his own nut cup. You remind us why you were such a highly touted prospect in the first place, you give us hope for the post-Ponson era, and you receive the Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/ Justin 5, Readers/Field 4, BatCub/Torii 3, Sooz/Cuddy 2, Batgirl/Chairman 2, BabyDash/Bart 2, Jeb/LNP 1.
Dear Terry Ryan,
Perhaps it should be a contract year for Sweetcheeks every year?
Thoughtfully,
Batgirl
p.s. BOOM!
Goober/ Justin 5, Sooz/Cuddy 2, Readers/Field 3, Batgirl/Chairman 2, BabyDash/Bart 2, BatCub/Torii 3, Jeb/LNP 1.
10) Sick of own mother shouting, "BOOTY CALL" every time she sees Morneau.
9) Avenging history of Canadian aggression against home nation of Fatassia.
8) Aim off due to finger blister from spending two hours voting for Jordin Sparks after American Idol previous night.
7) Morneau didn't invite him to tenth bday party; had to stay home and "play with his Han Solo."
6) Temporarily taken over by spirit of crazed, obese lefty.
5) Brad Radke's mom called him a pussy.
4) Up all night: Sex in the City Marathon on TBS!
3) Ass rash.
2) Enraged over Michiko Kakutani's hatchet job on latest Don DeLillo's new book; feels it's his most astute novel since White Noise.
1) He's a dick.
This entry posted by Twayn, who likes rabbits and other furry animals.
Minnesota at Cleveland. Twins 7, Indians 15.
The low evening sun silhouetted the two men, one small, one very large, both clad in dungarees and chambray shirts, casting long shadows as they walked deliberately down First Avenue then veered north, skirting the railroad tracks until they reached the wrinkled, pocked surface of a large commercial parking lot.
“Okay, I want you to take a good look around so’s you’ll remember this place.”
“It’s a parkin’ lot, George. In…uh, um…Saint Apples!”
“Dang it, Lenny, you can’t get nothin’ straight in your head! It’s Minneapolis. Minni-ap-o-lis. St. Paul’s on the other side the river. That’s where we slept last night.”
“Don’t get mad at me, George. I’ll remember. The parking lot in Minneapolis. And if I ever get in trouble, this is where I should come.”
“That’s right. Only it won’t be a parking lot for long. Next week, why, they’ll bring in the bulldozers and start rippin’ up this old blacktop. Then they’ll start building a new stadium.”
“A new stadium, George?”
“Well, not really no stadium, Lenny. Stadiums is where you watch football and monster truck rallies. This here will be a ballpark.”
“Tell me, George, tell me about the ballpark. Tell how it’s gonna be, you and me at the game.”
“Oh, it’ll be a dandy of a ballpark, awright. It’ll have a beautiful manicured field inside it with real green grass that shines like an emerald, and comfortable seats all around that point right at the field, and the city skyline in the background for ambiance. And you can sit in the summer sunshine or the cool of an evening and take in a ballgame, and it’ll be so much better that people won’t mind paying a little bit more for a ticket or to buy a sausage and beer.”
“Will there be transit, George? And inferstructure?”
“Shoot yes, Lenny! You want to talk about transit and infrastructure? Steps away from the light rail line to the entrance gates, plenty of parking garages just blocks away.”
“Tell about the revenue again, George. Tell how the revenue’s gonna be.”
“Oh, the Twins’ll be rakin’ it in. Just wallowin’ like hogs in cash. Advertising, naming rights, concessions, corporate sponsorhips, luxury suites, merchandising, you name it. Why, they’ll have to move piles of money just to get to the crapper. They’ll be able to keep Johan and Joe and the Chairman and the MVP and Cuddy and Torii 'til they all retire. Shoot, they’ll be able to get a third baseman that can hit and still keep Nicky Punto just cause he's fun to have around.”
“But the Twins are doin’ bad now, George. Tell how it will be when they don't suck no more. Tell about that again.”
“Well, you see Lenny, the Twins is fella’s just like us. They got nobody but each other to look out for ‘em. Only they got the kind of team has to play the right way. Got to have strong starting pitching and good defense and a bullpen you can count on, like I can count on you and you can count on me. They need the little guys like me to get on base and run around a lot so the big guys like you can clobber the ball and drive in runs.”
“Only they ain’t doin’ that so good, George.”
“No they ain’t, Lenny. But they will, ‘cause this is a good team. Remember that old bus we rode up here on? Had four cylinders, but they was all out of timing and she run all rough and sputtery. Get all them cylinders to fire right and you got a smooth ride. Same with the Twins. Once they got the pitching and hitting and catching and throwing all goin’ at once, then they'll stop sucking. One of these days they’ll get everything to click and keep it goin’, game after game, and it will sure be somethin’ to see.”
“An’ the Twins will kick the Indians’ butts. And the White Sox’s butts, and the Tigers’ butts, and win the division and the pennant and the World Series, an’ live off the fat o’ the land!”
“Dang right they will, Lenny. Dang right.”
Late Saturday night, Sir Sidney Ponson sat in front of his locker in the Twins clubhouse. The rest of the team was gone, except Torii Hunter, who was touching up the surgically precise edges of his goatee across the room.
Sidney pulled an undershirt off of a hanger, gazed at it for a moment, sighed deeply, and dropped it into the box at his feet. He took a glove off of a hook on the side, gazed at it for a moment, sighed deeply, and dropped it into the box at his feet. He picked a pair of shoes off the floor, gazed at them for a moment, sighed deeply, and dropped them into the box at his feet.
All this sighing was starting to get on Torii's nerves. It made it hard to concentrate, and a man needs to concentrate when he's got a diamond-edge razor in his hands. He set it down.
"Hey, Siddy, what's up? Why the long face?" he called, towelling shaving cream off of his legendary cheeks.
"I got designated for assignment," Ponson gloomed, heaving another deep sigh.
"Aw, man, that sucks. What were you supposed to do--it's obvious you're cursed. And getting uncursed, it ain't easy. I should know."
"Do you think it was my glove, Torii?"
"Might've been."
"Or maybe my cap?"
"Could be."
"Cleats?"
"Hard to say, Siddy," Torii opined. "If I could tell something was cursed just by looking at it, 2005 would've been real different."
"Hoo yeah. For me, too. And 2004. And 2006. This season, obviously. And--"
"You know," Torii interrupted hastily, because he had a feeling that list was going to go on for a while. "You gotta get this curse under control if you want to catch on with another team."
"I know, I know, but what can I do?" Sid wailed.
Torii pointed at the box, and at the locker. "Burn it. Burn it all."
"Even my lucky glove?!?"
Torii gave him The Look. "Just how lucky you think that glove is, Siddy? I gotta say, the empirical evidence just isn't there."
"You're right, Torii. You're right." He sighed a sigh so massive that locker doors fluttered in the breeze. "It all has to go. It's my only chance. Do you think they'll let me start a fire in the parking lot?"
"You, no. Me, definitely. You finish cleaning out that locker, and I'll meet you out back in half an hour, ok?"
"Okay. And thanks, Torii. You're a swell guy."
"Aw, shucks," Torii blushed. "I know that."
Half an hour later Ponson hauled his box out to the back lot to find a crackling bonfire and Torii rummaging through a grocery bag on a folding table.
"I ran to the store for some snacks," Torii said with a grin. "Curse-breaking is hungry work. We'll eat after."
"Excellent!" Sid exclaimed, instantly feeling much better about the whole enterprise.
"Well, go on," Torii urged. "Toss that stuff on there. A quick break is easiest."
And Sidney threw his cursed posessions one by one onto the inferno. As each thing caught fire, he felt a little lighter in his heart, which had been heavy indeed. Torii tossed in the new hat he'd been wearing the last couple of games, because he was starting to have a bad feeling about it.
"Sometimes we just need to let go of things. Like old undershirts, and sucking," Sidney said philosophically.
"Word," Torii agreed. "C'mon, man, let's roast us some grain dogs while the fire's high."
Ponson started to nod, then froze. "Grain dogs?"
"They're good. And low-fat. I got the Mexican Chipotle kind. Spicy!" He skewered a couple of zesty dogs and handed one to Sidney. They toasted them over the burning wreckage of Ponson's days with Minnesota and ate them on soft buns with mustard and sauerkraut. And by the time the flames guttered out and they had swept the ashes away, Ponson had learned that fire purifies and that tasty food doesn't have to go straight to your massive belly.
At the end of the night he walked Torii to his car. "Say, Torii? I was wondering something."
"Yeah?"
"How'd you get all that wood on short notice? I hope you didn't do anything silly like spend a ton of money on a rush delivery just to make me feel better."
"What, that stuff?" Torii said, climbing the ladder into the driver's seat of his massive vehicle. "Shoot, that was just a pile of assbats that were laying around the clubhouse. You take care of yourself now, Siddy."
"You, too, Torii. And thanks!"
Dear Sweetcheeks,
Pink suits you.
Love,
Batgirl
p.s. Congrats on your seven RBIs. And Boyfriend of the Day.
Goober/ Justin 5, Sooz/Cuddy 2, Readers/Field 3, Batgirl/Chairman 2, BabyDash/Bart 2, BatCub/Torii 2, Jeb/LNP 1.
Tigers 8, Twins 2
Saturday, 12 May. Weight: Unsure (Still calculating exact weight of entire world) ERA: 6.93 (Thought maybe should only have 4 earned runs, but accidentally ran over cat of official MLB scorekeeper) Alcohol Units: 0 (Cannot drink with Canadian MVP in such a state!)
Have discovered variation of Murphy's Law that will name after self: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, while am pitching. Trying to focus on positives (had 5 pitch, v.v.v. good 2nd inning, did not give up homerun... um... did not trip over mound? Ok, v. short list this week) but can't help dwelling on negatives. Am frustrated that pitched against pitcher with last name Durbin and did not win. Aren't all pitchers with last name Durbin supposed to be terrible? Scouting report seemed to imply pitcher was v. similar to self in many ways. Instead, looked like Brad Freaking Radke on his best day out there. Am v. devastated to see pretty face of MVP messed up by bizarro hop of ball on turf. However, could not have happened to tougher player, as happens in hockey all the time. Only person tougher would be C. Koskie, who would probably have shoved two wads of caribou hide up nose, beat up couch, and then returned to game. Would not have minded seeing it happen to ugly face of, say, P. Rodriguez, allowing at least one run to score while was on mound. That face has nothing to lose. Also, was not first ball that took bad bounce by MVP. First ball led (indirectly) to unearned run scoring. Don't care that run was unearned. Hate that run scored. Didn't want to give up run. Wanted to have back-to-back 1-2-3 innings. Wanted to keep team in game. Have failed again. Went home and dug out typewriter (Is electronic typewriter! Is state-of-the-art! Has auto-delete function, so do not need Generic Correction Fluid anymore!), started brushing up résumé. Have considered career in television. Am passionately committed to communication... or at least want to seem that way. Called up Sunday Night Baseball, wondered if job was available as correspondent. Said was passionately committed to communicating with public, delivering factual, interesting commentary on games, not interested in discussing "heart" or "plays game right way" or "intangibles" or "miracle that is Dave Concepcion," but was hung up on. Strange. Tried to think of ideas to "spice up" résumé. Hopefully have plenty of time to think of ideas (maybe one more start? Pretty please? Can not help having to face scary Tigers!), as could only think of titles like "Journeyman" and "Cleavage Inspector," and only honors could think of include "Given Fifth Chance At Success By Minnesota Twins" and "Associate Judge, South Padre Island Spring Break Wet T-Shirt Contest." Not exactly appropriate for most jobs, although would not rule out putting on application for Fox News. Hopefully (!!!!) will get one more start with team. Must remember to do well for fans (Still have fans!!! Yes, still plural!!!) Must look ahead at schedule to see who will pitch against... hmm... Milwaukee? They can't be that good, can they?
Batgirl kept waiting for a BOD to mention this, but since we seem to keep failing to win, she's failed. Batgirl, Jeb, and BabyDash are in Cleveland househunting for the weekend, and will be back mid next week, just before the Twins actually arrive in Cleveland. Tip: after about seven hours, babies really don't like to be in the car anymore. Any househunting tips? And what should she do if she sees CC Sabathia?
And, for your reading pleasure, The Minnesota Twins and The Hold Steady
And, some BatMail:
Dear Bat Girl, While attending the May 8 game against the White Sox (yes, that delicious outing when Morneau bookended the first and the tenth with solo home runs), I decided to listen oh-so-closely to catch the lyrics to the second verse of our anthem. Alas, even though the crowd was only in the low 20,000's, I couldn't make out the words.. Do YOU know the lyrics to the second verse of our sacred song?Oh readers, can you help your fellow man in his time of need?
And this is awesome. H/t to Frightwig:
This entry posted by Twayn, who believes that with this kind of manic episode Librium might be a more effective management tool than Prozac.
Chicago at Minnesota. White Sox 4, Twins 7.
The team was gathered in the locker room before the game, talking, joking, playing cards, lacing shoes and adjusting socks and pant legs, when Gardy strode briskly in followed closely by Richard Dreyfuss.
“Okay, listen here,” said Gardy. “We’ve tried consultants and we’ve tried pep talks and none of that’s worked. So now we’re going to try something different. This is Dr. Leo Marvin. He’s a distinguished psychiatrist and author of the book Baby Steps. He’s going to help us get out of this funk that’s been dragging everyone down lately, because it turns out you can battle your tails too off sometimes.”
“Uh, Skip?” asked Mike Redmond. “Isn’t that Richard Dreyfuss?”
“No, of course not,” said Gardy. “He just looks like Richard Dreyfuss because that’s who played him in the movie.”
“Really?” asked Justin Morneau. “He sure looks like Richard Dreyfuss. And Dr. Leo Marvin was a character in that movie that had Richard Dreyfuss and Bill Murray in it.”
“Look, smarty MVP pants,” said Gardenhire. “You’re messing around with my narrative structure here. And you haven’t been hitting so hot lately, either. So if you don’t mind… this is Dr. Leo Marvin, and he cost Smilin' Carl a pretty penny to bring in from his vacation home on Lake Wishwecouldwinone to treat the whole team. So listen up, even if this whole post does seem redundant and derivative.”
“Thank you, Mister Gardenhire,” said Richard Dreyfuss with a satisfied, slightly superior smirk. “Like a Zen riddle, the answer to ending a slump is so obvious that it becomes invisible to the senses and must be grasped by intuition; it is, in the very essence of the phrase, hiding in plain sight. The key to ending a slump, which is really just a very large amorphous amalgamation of sucking, is to think small. The key to ending a slump is to take baby steps.”
“Check me if I’m wrong, Doc,” said Jason Bartlett. “But if we take baby steps it’s really going to cut down on our range and our speed on the bases.”
“No, no,” said Richard Dreyfuss with his smuggest smile. “When I say take baby steps, I don’t mean literal baby steps, I mean figurative baby steps. It’s a metaphor, an analogy. It means you have to concentrate on the little things, the very basic elements of the game. Throwing. Catching. Hitting. Baby step to a full count. Baby step to a base hit. Baby step to a two-out RBI double.”
Jason Bartlett nodded with a knowing look on his face, wondering when Lew Ford would return to explain metaphor and analogy to him.
“BOOF!” yelled Gardy as the freshly groomed Bonser prepared to insert iPod earphones into his auditory canals for a pre-game groove. “Pay attention. You need to baby step your way to a lower ERA and a lot fewer walks.”
“Hey!” exclaimed Boof, looking up and paying attention for the first time since Gardy entered the room. “It’s Richard Dreyfuss!”
“No, it’s not!” said Gardy. “We’ve been over this. This is Dr. Leo Marvin and….
“Hey, Dr. Marvin,” interrupted Nick Punto. “ You ever hear of Tourette’s Syndrome?”
“It’s exceptionally rare,” said Richard Dreyfuss.
“Barfbag! Snotface! Bitch Sox!” Nick Punto suddenly yelled at the top of his voice. Everyone stopped and stared in his direction.
“Why exactly are you doing this?” Richard Dreyfuss asked Nicky.
“Well,” explained Punto. “If I can fake it, then I don’t have it.”
“Okay,” said Gardy, a bit flustered by the picayune third baseman’s verbal outburst. “Let’s hit the field and remember, take baby steps.”
As the team left the locker room, Justin Morneau hesitated for a moment at his locker, then approached the manager.
“Hey, Skip,” he said on his way to the door. “I think that is Richard Dreyfuss, and to prove it I’m going to hit an extra-innings walk-off upper-deck three-run home run tonight.”
“Well,” said Gardy with a little smile. “Maybe you should try hitting a solo shot first. Because that’s how baby steps work.”
“Sure thing, Gardy,” said Justin. “We’ll baby step the hell out of them tonight.”
As Jack Morris said as Justin Morneau rounded the bases while his ball still carried into the upper deck, "That's why they should have walked him."
Goober/ Justin 5, Sooz/Cuddy 2, Readers/Field 3, Batgirl/Chairman 2, BabyDash/Bart 2, BatCub/Torii 1, Jeb/LNP 1.
From the AP:
When the New York Yankees reanimated Roger Clemens' desiccated corpse during the seventh inning stretch of yesterday's game, no one expected that corpse to join the starting rotation.But that's just what happened. In front of 52,345 cheering fans, Clemens' corpse got up and announced that he would be returning to the team that got him his last championship.
"Thanks, y'all," said the corpse. "Well, they came and got me out of my grave to pitch, so here I am!"
It was a shocking announcement, considering Clemens' corpse had embarked on a highly publicized farewell tour the year before. But some people just won't stay buried.
Yankees owner George Steinbrenner, 167, "Roger Clemens has the winningest corpse in baseball," he said. "We're proud to add that corpse to our team, no matter what it smells like."
While some in baseball grumbled that there was something distasteful about Clemens' corpse continually sitting out part of the baseball season, Yankee fans were ebullient. "If he wants to come out of retirement midseason to help his old team, that's fine," said one. "Anyway, I just don't think it's fair to ask him to play the whole season. I mean, he's dead."
Others say trotting out Clemens' corpse midseason shows a hint of desperation for the Yankees, who have not won a championship since 2000. And the $754 billion salary the corpse will receive raised eyebrows around the league.
"Small market teams can't compete with something like that," said one general manager. "You reanimate a desiccated corpse and pay him $750 billion, you have to ask yourself where it will end."
"The Boss just wants to win," said a fan.
"Roger Clemens' corpse just loves baseball," the pitcher's spokesman announced in an official statement. "At least for part of the summer. Too much of it in one year gets really old, you know?"
Red Sox 4, Twins 3
Sunday, 6 May. Weight: 250 (albatross around neck weighing in at 10 lb.) ERA: 6.42 (magically went down, thankful of unearned run... though, technically earned, since committed error that led to run.) Alcohol Units: 1 (lost count and started counting again.)
Sigh. Was too excited after last start, spoke too soon, now eating humble pie. Can think of many, many different pies that enjoy more than humble pie. French Silk. Peanut Butter Silk. Apple. Peach. Cherry. Even enjoy mince pie more than humble pie, though mince pie v. disgusting. Beef fat is not dessert. Is appetizer, along with mini-gherkins. V. tasty. Suppose cannot really complain, as had to pitch against Bloody Sock, who is bloody awful to hit against, as Twins showed until had already left game. Also v. hard to pitch against Red Sox, after Queer Eye For Straight Guy makeover gave unfair advantage. Wonder if could call Kyan about hair. Possibly could bring Ted, to make tasty, tasty pies. Also could bring Skinny Puerto Rican Boy to learn napkin folding and burlesque dance, but have no need for other two. T. Hunter saved E.R.A. from growing by v.v.v. good throw home (though only other player that would have been out from play would be Prince Fielder), also got 2 hits, though wish could have had hits while was still in game. Wish had gotten runs while still in game. Wish had pitched better, B. Blyleven-type start with v.g. fastballs freezing hitters, movement fooling batters, flailing away in vain, easy pop-ups, grounders, etc. Suppose can wash scary pants now, and wear new elephant-trunk thong sent as lovely parting gift from G. Steinbrenner, along with swift kick in ass. (Wondering how J. Torre would look in such underwear if also receives swift kick in ass in coming weeks.) Must remember to think positively, imagine abundance for self, manifest wins, Cy Youngs, glory, etc. Did have 1-2-3 inning, and did not give up any homeruns, for crying out loud. Also, if not for self, Twins would have been swept by Devil Rays. Have more wins against Devil Rays this year than any other Twins pitcher. Must hang on to that thought, cling to it with all the strength can muster, to keep alive hope of staying with team. Choose not to die alone, washed-up, eaten by wild dogs. Choose vodka and Chaka Khan. Have to remember positive energy sent by Donnalove, who likes me, just as I am.
The Bartlett-aspect, that is. For scoring the winning run, you Jason Bartlett, are the Boyfriend of the Day.
Joe Mauer: Americans Most Eligible Bachelors
Once you're done helping Twins Geek with player haikus (see below post) while away the day with TWINS ANAGRAMS. Go to Wordsmith and type in a player's name and let the wild times ensue.
For instance:
A CLICHED RED YUM
IODIZE RUG SLUR
ACE JERK HOPS TRIM UP
CATERER OH SKIP JUMP
And....?
even if nobody knows it.
At GameDay, we're working on something a little extra this week which you may find in the programs starting next week. It's an insert with the players pictures, vitals, and....
well, that was the problem. What else?
After kicking around ideas for about three-and-a-half minutes, we settled on a haiku about each player and I'd like to enlist the bat nation's help.
Over at TwinsGeek.blogspot.com you'll find an entry with about 20 of them, but it's not like we're married to them, right? So take a stab either below or see what others have done at the other site. Sometime this weekend we'll grab the best about each player and put it in the insert.
Just imagine the joy and awe on your friends' faces as you show them your published poetry! (Or in the case of my friends, the mocking and disdain. And the hateful, jealousy-laden words about my childish intellect and lack of social skills. But maybe that's just me.)
Thanks,
John
From: Dashiell J. BatBaby
To: Joe Nathan
Twins at Tampa Bay. Devil Rays 4, Twins 3.
Dear Mr. Vice President,
I noticed you had a hard time last night. I understand. I have a hard time every night starting about 5pm and lasting 8 or 9 hours. My mom thinks I have gas but really it's just ennui. You have no idea the crap she reads to me. I'd say I hope the itsy bitsy bunny would put his carrots where the sun don't shine, but I think that's good for carrots.
My mom says that since Riley Grace is barely a month old, we shouldn’t hold you accountable for your actions until at least 2008, and that we're just lucky you remember to wear pants. She knows whereof she speaks, about the pants I mean. I don't really want to talk about it, but let's just say we're not allowed in Whole Foods anymore.
I'm not really sure what she means, but if Riley is keeping you awake at all, I'll be glad to take her off your hands for a night. She can scream her head off here well into the wee hours. No one will mind.
Love,
BabyDash
Twins 9, Tampa Bay 1
Tuesday, 1 May. Weight: 240 (lost 5 lb of incredible burden on shoulders) ERA: 6.67 (v.v.v.g.! and game ERA 1.29 even better!) Alcohol Units: undisclosed amount (top secret!).
Had v.g. dream last night. Visited by B. Ruth, who revealed top secret blood alcohol level most conducive to pitching (surprised to see it not 0.0!) Is secret known only to self, D. Wells, and D. Eckersley. Was excited to get to pitch today. Felt confident until realized dilemma. Have been v. concerned about ass lately, what with eminent domain issue from rapid expansion, and also v. concerned as discovered Bat-Girl v. interested in asses of Twins. Probably have spent too much time worrying about how ass looks on mound. Would pitch better if wore scary, stomach squeezing underpants preferred by grannies the world over. However, not suitable for locker room attire, as would be mocked. Normally wear much more acceptable black pearl/lace thong. Decided that, since had just discovered how to have drink and pitch too, must go with scary pants. Had slip-up in first inning, as heard J. Bartlett snicker "Granny panties!" just as was making pitch. Ended up hitting E. Dukes, he of the sexy, chiseled arms. When D. Young came up to bat in second inning, gave self knowing wink that threw off timing, gave up dinger. But, remembered, am mature adult comfortable with self (finished reading My Pitching Coach, Myself just last night) and do not need Smug DesignatedHittereds mocking choice of undergarments. Pitched scoreless innings after. Not bothered by abundance of base-runners, as does not matter if do not cross plate. Not bothered by long flyouts that could have been homeruns if hitter had just gotten bit more of pitch, as were still in park and still outs. Knew was looking great, pitching great, beyond reproach, Hall-of-Fame performance. Received chest thumps from L. Castillo (who asked self if had lost weight), warm hug from J. Cirillo (he of dreamy eyes, so glad had love handles under control), handshake from R. Anderson (Why not butt pat? Butt so entirely pattable, could bounce quarter off butt. Could bounce Quarter Pounder with Cheese off butt!). Went home, peeled self out of underpants (could not fit even one drink in stomach with stomach compressed so), poured drink (not starting tomorrow! B.A.L. nonissue!), and started diary for Bat-Girl. When refreshed page, realized had made right decision about scary pants. Was rewarded for ass-wrangling underpants-related humiliation by first Boyfriend of Day. Elated. May never wash scary pants again.
Oh, hell. Is this really going to happen? Really? Is it? I've been over the numbers, crunching them through my BODomatic again and again, which must be broken because I was expecting Mauer or Castillo or Tyner or Cuddy for the sommersault--but no. Because everyone, including the BODomatic knows the BODSHC likes a good story--like, say, washed-up, bloated, boozy, beached journeyman pitcher with maybe one last shot to stick with the team before Matt Garza comes up and makes the AL hitters sorry they were ever born tokes up to the plate and pitches a seven-inning, one run game, earning himself a couple more starts and--believe you me, these are not words I ever thought I'd type--you, Sir Sidney Ponson, have your very first Boyfriend of the Day.
Don't look at me like that.
Goober/ Justin 5, Sooz/Cuddy 2, Readers/Field 3, Batgirl/Chairman 2, BabyDash/Bart 1, BatCub/Torii 1, Jeb/LNP 1.