Aw, Yeah

Boof Bonser served up six runs in the first inning of yesterday’s game, and although I was sorely tempted to find something better to do with my time, My Ho and I stuck it out, and my Darling Beloveds repaid our perseverance with a come-from-behind win that put them a game and a half in first place in the A.L. Central. This may be as fleeting as springtime in Minnesota, so let’s enjoy it while it lasts, shall we?

As if that wasn’t enough baseball joy for one day, last night My Ho, Demigoddess the Younger and I made a trip to the Champps in Eden Prairie to see Michael Cuddyer host a “Twins Unplugged” event featuring Jesse Crain and Nick “Is it warm in here, or is it just me?” Blackburn. I had never attended one of these events before, but when I heard who the guest Twins would be, I decided that Mr. Blackburn is definitely worth a drive to Eden Prairie. And I was so right.

I got an autograph and thanked him for restoring my will to live after the you-know-who trade. He looked straight at me and smiled (SWOON), and said he didn't think he'd be filling those particular shoes any time soon. It took considerable effort not to climb over the table and LICK HIM.

Boof Bonser was also there and appeared to be in good spirits despite the above-mentioned first inning. He confirmed that he is still letting Livan wear the big trousers.

The Adventures of Veganman

Nick “Slow Burn” Blackburn performed nicely in his second start last night. It wasn't as pretty as his first start, but it was good enough to earn him a third this Saturday. The Twins were ahead 3-2 when he left the game, and it looked like he might just get himself a win, until Pat Neshek suddenly developed a hitch in his hip thrust, managing to smash Joe Crede's bat and give up a grand slam home run with the same pitch.

One wonders if an ill-intentioned bat boy secretly tucked a Chicago dog into our vegan reliever’s locker before the game, knowing that close proximity to animal by-products would sap his mojo, just like kryptonite to Superman.


Fortunately, a Chicago dog's potency is much shorter lived than that of kryptonite. Within a few hours, the smell of funky relish will announce to everyone in the locker room that something is rotten in U.S. Cellular Field. And today's off day will provide Mr. Neshek with the recovery time he needs to return on Wednesday and show the White Sox why it's never a good idea to piss off Veganman.

He's Baaaaaaack...

We hadn't planned on attending yesterday's game until I realized on Friday night that it wasn't going to be televised, and was lamenting that fact to My Ho. He said, "Why don't we go?" I said, "Why don't we?" So we did.

And when 1 for 17 Justin Morneau came to the plate for his second at bat of the game, with the Royals ahead 2-0 and two men on base, I turned to My Ho and said, "He is SO due. This would be a really, really good time...." And My Ho agreed.

And then Mr. Morneau shelled one right out of the park, and everybody jumped up and down and screamed, and as he rounded the bases, I though I could hear our curly-haired Canuck say, "HA HA you fools! I was only PRETENDING to be in a hitting slump to see if you were paying a-tten-tioooooonnnnnn!"

A Note to Messrs. Everett and Lamb

Hi guys--

I know I've talked some smack about your ears and unibrow, respectively. And I made that joke about watching games on the radio at your expense. But, I feel I must clarify something.

Because while a more traditionally good-looking guy who plays bad baseball will never, ever, be hot, at the same time a less, erm, aesthetically pleasing player (or two) who pulls off a perfect suicide squeeze is totally in the running for boyfriend status.

Nicely done, fellas.

(Heart),
TwinsGoddess

It's a World Gone Mad

Clearly, that series against the Angels was only a warmup for the arse-whuppin' we're in for at the hands the FIRST PLACE KANSAS CITY ROYALS.

I think I need to go lie down now.

Is It Warm In Here, Or Is It Just Me?

Apparently Nick Blackburn pitched a few innings last season, but I guess I was too consumed by another well-documented obsession to notice. Clearly, I was suffering from a nasty, nasty case of Venezuelan myopia.

Because early in tonight's game, I was astonished to find myself feeling strange stirrings in places I thought would never feel strange stirrings ever again.

So tall! So pretty! So deliciously side-burn-y! So completely free of unfortunate facial hair!

Did I mention the pretty?

Never mind that the Twins couldn't manage to win it.

KKKKKK=HotHotHotHotHotHot

Oh, dear.

Opening Day

It was a fine day for baseball:

Not really.

But the baseball happened anyway, in spite of the weather. In spite of the fact that Torii Hunter was on the field wearing an Angels uniform. And in spite of the fact that the only Santana in the Metrodome was Ervin "The Other" Santana, also in an Angels uniform and most definitely not a certain two-time Cy Young winner who was SO VERY NOT THERE.

Torii got a standing ovation before the game, and he pointed into the stands and fist-bumped his heart. It was close, but I didn't cry.

And when I heard that a certain lefty for whom I once harbored certain unreasonably passionate feelings struck out eight for the Mets earlier today, I winced, but there were no tears.

I had a hot dog, My Ho kept score, I sang along with the Hormel Row of Fame song. And these new Twins--that speedy one, the one with the unfortunate ears, that guy with the unibrow, the one with the brother, and the pitcher with the big trousers? Well, they went ahead and won the game.

Here's hoping they can do it again sometime soon. Maybe even a few times.

That would be good.