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I have read and thoroughly enjoyed Aaron Gleeman’s Minnesota Twins the Big 50 and thoroughly enjoyed the nostalgia and stories. It is an excellent book and I am sure that Aaron dislikes the one big editing error that has the big page for Jim Kaat as Jim Katt. Otherwise Aaron should be very proud of the book and the quality he maintained. There are players for every era and some choices that surprised me, but nothing that I completely disagree with. I was surprised that it was not 50 players and there were sections on world series games and teams and even our previous two managers – where is Billy Martin? This made me wonder if we did not have 50 worthy players. I tried to think of who I would add. I am sorry that Lyman Bostock was not there and as an old Twin fan I missed Vic Power. Two seasons for Vic, but gold gloves and 280 average with 26 homeruns. He was colorful, exciting to watch and a player who really connected with the fans and the other one was Mudcat Grant who also had too shore a Twins career but was so much fun to watch and cheer for and his 21 wins made him worthy of our fandom. However, since we had managers and teams and games in the Gleeman book I thought about who I would have as NUMBER 51 – and Is THE OWNERS. What can I say to summarize the owners of this franchise? Of course, there is the forever echo of fans calling Pohlad cheap, but I think the most egregious of all his actions was during that low point in major league baseball when they were considering contraction and Carl volunteered to let the Twins be eliminated. Willing to accept $250,000,000 Carl was not going to lose money, but he certainly gave up Twin City admiration. “Well, he was frustrated,” Selig told the Pioneer Press last month during an interview. “The guy tried everything. I know. I was up there. I thought we had a deal two or three times and every time it fell apart, mainly for political reasons. “Contraction had nothing to do with Minnesota. Baseball was really struggling at the time, losing a fortune as a sport. There were owners who believed that contraction might help. I wasn’t of that particular view, but the owners were searching around,” Selig said. Then a local judge stepped up – “Hennepin County Judge Harry Seymour Crump became a local folk hero when he issued a temporary restraining order that forced the Twins to honor their lease and play the 2002 season at the Dome. “The vital public interest, or trust, of the Twins substantially outweighs any private interest,” Crump wrote in his ruling.” (Brian Murphy) Then there was the original owner – Calvin Griffith. In a well written article Kevin Hennessey wrote, “Calvin reacted to the new baseball economics by futilely trying to resist changes such as salary arbitration, player agents, free agency, and the increasing importance of television revenue, which gave an advantage to teams in larger markets. As time moved on, Griffith was considered a “dinosaur” or a “vestige of yesterday” relative to the new baseball owners of the late 1970s. Then there was the Waseca Lions Club meeting where Calvin let his tongue run loose and ended up losing Rod Carew - “Griffith interrupted himself, lowered his voice and asked if there were any blacks around. After he looked around the room and assured himself that his audience was white, Griffith resumed his answer. “I’ll tell you why we came to Minnesota,” he said. “It was when I found out you only had 15,000 blacks here. Black people don’t go to ball games, but they’ll fill up a rassling ring and put up such a chant it’ll scare you to death. It’s unbelievable. We came here because you’ve got good, hardworking, white people here.” Next was the feud between Calvin and his son Clark who refused to serve an apprenticeship in the minors. And in 1983 the team considered moving the franchise to Tampa Bay. http://sabr.org/research/calvin-griffith-ups-and-downs-last-family-owned-baseball-team-0

It was a quiet Wednesday night at the downtown Cowboy Jack's. Dispersed throughout the bar were a few groups of regulars, and the low hum of country music was only occasionally disrupted by roars from the Twins game occurring down the street. In one particular dim-lit corner sat Seth Stohs and Nick Nelson. Seth plunged a straw into his vodka cranberry as Nick leaned back, nursing his frosted pint of Miller Lite. The two had now sat there for three hours, but neither had spoken a word. "Well, what are we going to do? We can't just let Patrick Reusse run roughshod over our beloved team like this." Nick stared back at his old friend and contemplated the question in silence. He was frozen both by the complexity of the situation and by the fear that a bar patron might recognize him from his ESPN-affiliated glory days. "I really don't know, Seth. Nick's Twins Daily is growing, but we don't even come close to matching the readership of the Star Tribune." "TWINS Daily, Nick. You really need to get over that. It's hubris like this that will prevent us from ever challenging Reusse's reign." Just as Nick was about to angrily retort, a blinding white light came in from the doorway, catching the two bloggers off-guard. Nick and Seth both shielded their eyes, unable to fully behold the magnificence before them. Silhouetted by the white light was a tall, broad-shouldered, bearded man riding a mechanical bull. The mysterious figure adjusted his glasses and wiped a trail of duck sauce from his chin. Rubbing their eyes in recovery from the initial flash, Nick and Seth slowly realized who stood before them. It was none other than legendary Twins blogger Aaron Gleeman. "G-Gleeman," stammered Nick. "You came!" "Yes, child. I finished brunch early today." "But you never leave Stella's!" "Drastic times call for drastic measures. Tell me, have you and Seth come up with any solutions yet?" Nick and Seth both looked at their feet in an attempt to avoid the piercing glare of the Gleeman. Three hours of meeting and they still had nothing. "No, we haven't," replied Seth, with a hint of shame. "Did you bring the Geek? We could really use his wise insights right now." Gleeman stroked his stubbly beard, relishing the odors of Chinese cuisine that it still contained. "I did not, but tell me," he inquired. "All of our problems stem from Patrick Reusse, no?" "Yeah!" exclaimed Nick. "He ignored the contributions of J.J. Hardy!" "Exactly!" shouted Seth. "He tossed the entire farm system under the bus!" "Then it's simple," uttered Gleeman, with a maniacally twisted grin on his face. "We kill the Pat-man."

The July weather in Cedar Rapids was hot and sticky, but Seth Stohs was used to it by now. Ever since the Minnesota Twins moved their low Single-A minor league affiliate to the affably named City of Five Seasons, Seth would make about three trips per year down I-35, 218, and 380 until he reached Veterans Memorial Stadium. The drive generally lasted around eight hours, but seeing the Kernels play live baseball and eating mountains of local Iowa-bred pork was always worth it. However, there was something special about this particular Saturday ballgame. The sweet corn tasted just a little bit juicier, the beer a little bit smoother, and now, star shortstop Nick Gordon was about to hit for the cycle. Seth had adopted the tantalizing prospect a couple months earlier, setting up an extra bedroom in the back of his sprawling North Dakota estate for "Nicky G Fresh," as he liked to call him. Gordon had not yet spent a night there, but Seth was confident that his adopted son would come calling soon enough. The count was 3-2, and Gordon stood poised in the batter's box. In came a twisting slider, and with the slap of his bat, Gordon sent it flying into the corner of right field. Seth leapt forward in his seat, crushing his cup of Miller Lite as his knuckles whitened. "Come on, Nicky G," muttered Seth. "Gut it out!" Sure enough, Gordon rounded second in a blaze and slid into third, safe by a mile; he had completed the cycle. "YES!" yelled Seth. "MY BOY DID IT!" As Seth leaned back into his seat and the red dissipated from his face, the iPhone in the cupholder next to him erupted. Parker Hageman, a chummy Twins aficionado, had texted him a message that would soon change his life. "Seth, have you seen the latest Reusse article? It might make you double-take, but don't worry; nothing's gonna stop us now :o" With an ounce of anxiety and hesitation, Seth pulled up the Minneapolis Star Tribune website on his phone. Patrick Reusse, a boisterous local columnist, had long written pieces that had mildly irked Seth, but nothing like what he was about to read. FEAST TO FAMINE: WHY THE TWINS' FARM SYSTEM IS DOOMED Seth furrowed his brow as a drop of anger-sweat made its way down his forehead. He made it halfway through the article before furiously closing the tab, as one line in particular had pushed him over the edge. Reusse's words stuck to him like a thistle to wool: "The Minnesota Twins do not possess a single prospect of note below AA Chattanooga." "Nobody disses my boy Nicky G Fresh like that," exclaimed Seth. "That's it... It's time to call Nelson."