Twins/Red Sox (Games 28-31)

Twins at Red Sox

Too Old for the Gang at Cheers (Game 28)

Home early, with my wife home as well, I started getting a hankering for watching the Twins play at a sports bar. Baseball’s just a little bit better when you’re covered in buffalo sauce and ordering another beer.

Except it was Monday. And I’m old. And wings plus beer plus anything else starts to add up to be a decent chunk of change. Don’t get me started on the calories, either. Plus, then you’re surrounded by a lot of people and you have to wear pants . . .

Think it’s about time I got a rocking chair and gave in to being a cranky old guy.

The game didn’t do much to make me less cranky. The Twins went up by two quickly, but when they couldn’t do much after that you knew it was going to end badly. A Brian Dozier home run prolonged the hope just long enough for an extra-innings snuffing of hope’s candle.

.500 is attainable, Twins. But you gotta win a few in a row to get back there.

I’m really pulling for Vance Worley, because I feel like I haven’t gotten to say “Vanimal” enough, and I’d really like to say “Vanimal” quite a lot.

Friendly Monsters (Game 29)

It snowed in Minnesota on Friday. Today, I saw a bank sign telling me it was 80. It’s warm enough now you can smell people’s sweat, and somehow that’s important for enjoying baseball on the radio.

David Ortiz continued a hitting streak in this game. He’ll always be the one that got away for Twins fans, but he’s more than that. He’s got a giant smile and hits massive home runs. He’s like King Kong, Godzilla, or the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. You have to love him, no matter what team he plays for.

Tonight’s monster was Ryan Doumit, who had a double and a home run. Scott Diamond put Red Sox in a line and mowed ‘em down. Aaron Hicks committed a baseball-flipping protocol faux pas. After that, some fans and analysts had kittens at an alarming rate.

Everyone baseball lover’s heart was sick for J.A. Happ, who took a line drive to the head and went down fast. Going to a baseball game can feel like visiting a cathedral, but we all want to avoid blood sacrifices.

Ryan Doumit’s Punch-Out (Game 30)

When I got the chance to tune into the Twins game, there’d been a slaughter. The Twins were already in double digits and victory was all but assured.

My guy Ryan Doumit hit a two-run homer and was all over the basepath. I’ve taken to quoting lyrics from “Mother,” his walk-up song, in celebratory tweets lauding Doumit’s feats of strength.

I believe this is called gushing. I’m fine with that. It’s good to have a baseball buddy.

Whenever the Twins smack the hell out of the ball, I picture each hit as another magic trick. The audience claps in disbelief but somehow, the show keeps going.

If Cuddy were still here, I could really sell that metaphor.

Loose Teeth (Game 31)

By the time I tuned into the Twins game, evidence of a one-inning victory blow was all over my cell phone. I listened to the rest of the game in satisfied silence, sure the Twins would win.

It’s like pulling teeth. You work at it. You get some leverage. And then the whole thing pops and you can’t even remember the struggle.

On a related note, I picked up bits of the Minnesota House of Representatives approving a gay marriage bill. I instantly remembered high school attitudes about such things and can’t believe how quickly times change.

But some things get the privilege of staying the same. Cheering when your team records the final out and giddily telling your partner about the victory is the same today as yesterday, and as it has been for decades. That’s a good thing to stay the same.

Somehow, the Twins over-achieved on breaking even and pulled out a winning record in May. I’ll allow it.