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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."

Nick Nelson brooded in his cold, windowless basement as he stared at a picture framed high on the concrete wall. The picture embodied a far happier era in Nick's life, and three figures adorned the cheerful image. On one side stood former Fox Sports North reporter Robby Incmikoski. In the middle, postured majestically with his hands in his pockets, was renowned Minnesota Twins blogger Aaron Gleeman. And there on the left sat Nick himself, calm and collected, with a fresh Miller Lite nestled in his right hand. "I peaked too early, god dammit," muttered Nick. "How can I ever make another public appearance when people expect me to look like that?" Ever since his brief glimpse of fame, Nick opted for the seclusion of his basement. Down here, he was still number 1. He was still the top dog. He was still that charming, baseball savant with the smooth shades and the Miller Lite. Nick fell backwards onto his Lovesac and gazed upwards at the ceiling, dreaming of the brighter past. Once upon a time, he ran his own show. A few years prior, Nick was ESPN's go-to Twins expert, running a blog that was creatively titled, "Nick's Twins Blog." Nick chuckled as he pondered his own ingenuity. "I think I deserve a cool Miller Lite for that one." Nick paced over to the fridge and popped open a bottle of Wisconsin's finest. But the joy he felt from the pale lager evaporated as he recalled the beginning of his downward spiral. Back in the days of Nick's Twins Blog, Nick used to pen season projections for every Twins starter. For years, his predictions had hit the mark with textbook accuracy. Then came Tsuyoshi Nishioka. Nishioka was a Japanese import, and Nick saw All-Star caliber talent in his hitting and fielding. He was wrong, and Nishioka was out of the majors within a year. That was the first mistake. The second came when Nick gave up his personal blog to join a collective titled Twins Daily. Nick had implored the other founders to name the site, "Nick's Twins Daily," but to no avail. Nick had lost his identity, his freedom, and his voice. All of a sudden, Nick heard a creak from above and the cascading of footsteps down the stairs. He slowly sat down on the Lovesac in nervous anticipation; maybe Robby Incmikoski had finally come to interview him! Alas, that was not to be. At the foot of the stairs stood a solemn Seth Stohs. Seth stammered, "Nick... There's something I think you should read." Nick grabbed the Star Tribune from his outstretched hand and instinctively opened up the newspaper to the sports section. Emblazoned on the front page was Reusse's latest column. A LONG STOP FOR THIS SHORTSTOP Nick gasped as he made his way through the article. Within the piece, Reusse had laid out his argument for why he believed Eduardo Escobar was the best Twins shortstop since Cristian Guzman. "CRISTIAN GUZMAN?!" yelped Nick. "No, no no! J.J. Hardy was the future of this franchise, and we gave him up for a bag of nickels. The correct answer is J.J. Hardy!" "I know, NIck. Come on, let's go to the old hangout."