The Party’s Over

Well, so much for that, then. Nice that my Darling Beloveds could go out with a win (at Fenway no less) but they end the season under .500, and that makes me very, very sad.

Nobody seems to be able to explain exactly what happened. The bats died, Liriano was out recovering from Tommy John surgery, and the “Piranhas” were laugably un-piranha-like. There was the hand-licking greasiness of Sidney Ponson and the futility of Ramon Ortiz. Catchers dropped right and left, the bullpen faltered, and Mi Corazón was used and abused by Cleveland again and again and again. That hurt.

Justin Morneau broke his nose and bruised a lung, Joe Mauer had a hernia, and Michael Cuddyer tried to kill himself with his own batting helmet. Mike Redmond took Jim Thome’s bat upside his head and lived to tell the tale… until a smashed-up hand finally took him out in September. I waited and hoped, hoped and waited, for a 2006-style turnaround that never materialized, and toward the end of the season, about the only thing worth talking about any more was whether or not Torii Hunter will be back. And as I’ve said, I don’t have a whole lot of patience for speculation. Terry Ryan’s announcement a couple of weeks ago was like the crappy cherry on top of a seriously crappy cake.

Which is too bad, because this year My Ho had season tickets, and we had a lot of fun getting to know the ladies in the seats next to his in the front row of section 220. We were in those very seats when My Ho and I were pictured on the Kiss Cam.

I brought DemiGoddess the Elder and a couple of her friends, including Ms. H., who has been passionately in love with Joe Mauer for a large percentage of her young life, to the game during which he was awarded his American League batting title:


And I watched Demi the Younger’s friend A. wrestle a foul ball from some twentysomething asshat who tried to take it from her (I was halfway out of my seat to intervene when the formidable Ms. A. prevailed).

I spent a glorious Fourth of July sitting in the sunshine, gazing out over the lake and listening to my Darling Beloveds win at Yankee Stadium, thanks to the miracle that is My Ho’s XM satellite radio. Even though we had to listen to the Yankees announcers call the game, their repeated mispronouncing of “Kubel” and “Guerrier” soon turned into an awesome drinking game.


There was Bat Baby’s complete game, as well as a visit from Dr. Dave, during which we caught a Royals game, just like old times. And then there was the 20th reunion party for the 1987 World Series team, where, thanks to MyHo (who knows people), I very much enjoyed some face time with Tom Brunansky, Frank Viola, Greg Gagne, Jeff Reardon, and other members of that celebrated Minnesota Twins team.

It wasn’t all bad on the field, either. Jason Tyner finally got his major league home run:


Torii Hunter, Justin Morneau and Johan were All-Stars, and Scott Baker very nearly pitched a perfect game:


And Mi Corazón’s 17-strikeout game will continue warming my heart well into this coming winter.

At least until Twins Fest, anyway.