White Sox at Twins

Four Sacks of Groceries and Two Dingers (Game 35)

When the Twins have a three run lead, it’s safe to grocery shop without excessive worry.

When the Twins are behind, each trip down the grocery store aisles is pure agony. Every spare moment and empty space offers an opportunity to check the score on your cell phone. When the other team’s runs pile on, it’s hard to keep shopping.

The Twins rewarded my trust with a surplus of runs and a magical day for Aaron Hicks. He hit two home runs and robbed Adam Dunn of one.

It’s easy to say I never doubted Aaron Hicks, because I always wanted him to succeed. That said, it does feel like the team almost got up from the slot machine before it started paying out hits.

Did They Play? (Game 36)

I remember seeing all things Aaron Hicks over the Internet, and then I remember listening to the game. I remember they lost, despite getting a few lucky calls from the umpires.

Some baseball games find their way to the box scores as dropped spoonfuls of bland glop.

I’m having trouble hating the White Sox this year. This upsets me. Hating the White Sox made me feel good, in a special way. With Ozzie and A.J. scattered to the winds, they’re just not as odious.

Adam Dunn massacred this team in ways reserved for cheap paperbacks, but I can’t hate him. He went to the brink of baseball nothingness and came back.

I don’t even hate the Yankees all that much this year. Either I’m growing up or there’s a shortage of villains in cleats.

Loss in the Afternoon (Game 37)

I forgot the Twins started early and didn’t remember until I came downstairs to the sounds of Cory Provus calling the action on the field.

Then, things got cursed.

Every time I got away from the game, the White Sox put up run after run. I’m grown enough to know I didn’t curse the team when I wasn’t listening.

Still, I’m sorry, because I blame myself.

Today was a Jamey Carroll kind of day. Three hits at the plate for a guy who’s usually on the bench.

This is a guy who’s achieved baseball excellence above and beyond what 99.9% of mortals ever will. But you don’t see a lot of Carroll jerseys in the stands.

Jamey Carroll is proof magic exists, and yet he pales when compared to a Mauer, or a Pujols, or a Harper.

How far can any of us expect to rise, and how truly rare are the greatest of the great?

If you cannot hate the Yankees then some part of you has died.

God help you.