Twins versus Mariners

No Big Deal (Game 51)

The ball game was relegated to nothing more than background noise. The goose-egg on the Twins’ side of the scoreboard did little to lure me back in.

With baseball refusing to signal the beginning of weekend joy. My conversation with my friend turned to ghost stories and hard luck tales. I even dug out the flashlight for that special campfire vibe.

And so it’s like this: Baseball is apple pie, and when people are done with their slice they return to sampling the evils of the regular world.

What I’m saying is Minnesota baseball’s piece of pie better get a lot more satisfying if it plans to be pleasantly distracting this summer.

3-0 ain’t cutting it.

Selling the Drama (Game 52)

When Doumit hit the walk-off triple and I pumped my fist inside my car, I knew it was time to stop being superstitious about jinxing him. I touched the Misfits button I have on my driver’s side visor and heard, in my mind, the opening bars of “Mother.”

Thinking of a certain relief pitcher as your closer may not make for good managing, but it does create guaranteed drama on the diamond. If you create a guy as the end-all-be-all of keeping the other team of the scoreboard, you create at least three guys who want to take him down.

Gotta love that.

Gotta love Joe Mauer, too. He’s confident, calm, and consistent. I get a mouth full of bile any time I hear someone complain about whether or not he’s clutch. They sound like someone screaming “Told you it’d be heads” after the coin didn’t come up tails for the first time in a hundred tries.

Raining Domination and Baseballs (Game 53)

This is going to sound counter-intuitive, but the best way to appreciate a home team blowout is in bits and pieces, scattered through out your day.

Don’t misunderstand me – nothing beats being at the game.

But if you can’t be at the game, it’s best to get the game in glimpses.

That way, every time you tune in the Twins smash it up and pour on some runs.

When I’m not hearing the game, I’m imagining the Twins have somehow perfected batting to the point where they CANNOT miss, and they CANNOT hit anything except a home run.

The scoreboard would read infinity.

Major league baseball would be forced to enact what would be referred to as the Twins Rules.

Joe Mauer would live on a mountain of baseballs and meditate in his own strike zone of Zen.

10-0 is pretty good, though.

But someday.