Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Puppy Love

What up world,

I was unreasonably excited about the Timberwolves yesterday. Sure they had lost the last six games by an average of 30 points per games, half of the team is out with injuries, and they've already been mathematically eliminated from the playoffs, but they were coming to Southern California. They played the Lakers last night and there is a station in San Diego that is 100% dedicated to Laker basketball. I was going to be able to watch my Wuffies live!

I scheduled my evening in order to watch the game. I was going to do a little cleaning, make some dinner, and settle down for a night of mediocre basketball.

And then, sometime during my drive home, these plans were wiped from my memory. I ran some errands, talked with the gf, and headed to play some pick up soccer. It was only when I was leaving the soccer field that I was reminded of my original intentions. I flipped on sports talk radio, heard the waning moments of the game, and nearly punched myself in the face. Not only had I missed the opportunity to watch the team, but the game was actually close. I almost got into an accident when Corey Brewer nearly broke his skeletal frame with a dunk, bringing the Wolves within four. I couldn't believe that I was missing the excitement.

Of course the Wolves lost. The thought of them winning never crossed my mind. I was happy that they had actually made it competitive. I would have been content if they kept the winning differential less than 50 points. I finished listening to the game in the car, and immediately checked the game recap when I got home.

The first thing that jumped out at me was Kevin Love's night. I couldn't believe it, convinced that it was a typo. 24 rebounds? Was that possible for a slow white guy, with a chin strap beard, that runs like an agitated duck? No, it couldn't be correct.

I checked again. 24 rebounds and 23 points? He outrebounded his points? I was amazed. I was immediately launched into a Kevin Love frenzy. The Sota Love research team was put into action. Here are a couple of interesting things that the research team found:

- Love has played 227 minutes so far this season.
- He has 42 offensive rebounds
- He has 64 defensive rebounds
- This means that every 2.14 minutes that he's on the court, our somewhat-tubby hero is gathering a board.

He is also scoring 17.6 points per game, killing it with the ladies, and writing his own blog. All extensively researched and factually accurate. I will post a link to the inappropriately titled, "Love Will Tear Us Apart" in the sidebar. I would have encouraged him to title it "Love Will Keep Us Together", but I'll bite my tongue until we are best friends and hanging out on a nightly basis. Seriously, Kevin, let's hang out. I'm good at ping pong and making up drinking games. It will be super fun.

There is some slight tension between my boy and my coach, but I'm guessing that will simmer down a bit as the season goes on. With nights like last night, Kevin is stating his case for increased playing time. Even if his defense is grosser than a burrito that's been left out for several hours, I have faith that it will improve.

Keep getting better Kevin. Keep getting better T-Wolves. Let's leave behind those 40 point blowouts and make those small glimmers of hope more prevalent.

Countdown to 15 wins: 1


Wednesday, October 27, 2010


What up world,

Tonight is a big night. A BIG night. Tonight marks the beginning of something special in the state of Minnesota. No longer will Minnesotans flounder in despair. Not in the least. For hope is beginning to shine through the darkness of our impending winter. Minnesotans, let your heart be full with the promise of something better....

...because tonight marks the start of the Timberwolves season!

That's right! No longer will you have to dwell on the playoff exit of those miserable Twins, or the wilting expectations of your football Vikings. Forget about Joe Mauer and Brett Favre. In the Timberwolves you have a team that won a staggering 15 games last season. 15 games!!! Imagine if they were an NFL team. 15 wins would be a dominant season.

What's that? 67 losses? Of course you had to mention the losses. So what? We got rid of the problems from last year. Namely Al Jefferson. So what if he scored 17 point and grabbed 10 rebounds per game? We don't need them. Or his low post moves. Or favorable contract. Or good attitude in the locker room. Good riddance, you troublemaker.

Plus, Al was holding back the development of our savior. No, I'm not talking about Kevin Love. I'm talking about the Super Serb. The Darkness. A Millie. This guy.

Former Number 2 overall pick, Darko Milicic. He might not have worked for the previous four NBA teams, but he is definitely going to work for us. So much so that we offered him $20 million over the next four years. This can't fail!

Oh, and let's not forget about Demarcus Beasley, or Martell Webster, or Luke Ridnour, or even Nikola Pekovic. No other teams wanted them. Who cares? Collectively they will be something special. Guaranteed. A group of castoffs put together to form the most dominant team in NBA history. It's the basketball version of Goonies. With Kevin McHale playing the part of One Eyed Willy.

The good news is that it will be difficult for the team to be worse than last year. 15 wins isn't exactly setting the bar high. They already had 6 wins in the preseason. Plus, I have an entire roster to get to know. It's a blogging gold mine.

So, Minnesotans, let's get behind this team. Let's cheer them on in a half empty Target Center. Let's applaud the work of David Khan. Let's hold onto the glimmer of hope that we have at the onset. Because that's most likely the last glimmer that we're going to have for a long time.


Thursday, October 21, 2010

A Leaky Ship

What up world,

Over the last couple of years, as I've blogged intermittently, I've noticed that I don't write much about the Vikings. I've written inane articles on Timberwolves players, discussed the inner workings of Lil Nicky Punto's mind, and even wrote a piece on classifying gymnasts as a different species, but I don't find that I have much to say on the Vikes.

I don't know why this is. I love the Purple. I've fiercely defended the actions of the team against my heathenish Green Bay parents. I've mirrored Chris Carter's touchdown celebration during numerous beer pong games. I even called into a sports talk radio show to discuss the team (the lowest point of my life).

Disappointment. It's the only thing that I can think of. I haven't cheered for any other team that has had a consistent shot at being great. The Timberwolves had one season of greatness (single tear. I miss you KG). The Twins have made the playoffs on a regular basis, but I've never thought of them as a legitimate contender. We never even think about a national championship for the Badgers. We set our sights on the Rose Bowl, but are really just happy to have a moment of greatness every once in a while. Like beating #1 last weekend. What! Suck it Ohio State.

Every season, however, I look to the Vikings to do something extraordinary. I get my hopes and expectations up, and am usually bitterly disappointed by season's end. The beginning of the 2010 season was no different. After getting to the brink of the Super Bowl last year, I thought that we had a legitimate chance at being dominant from the start. Bring back Favre. Bring back Purple Jesus. Hell, even Chili can come along for the ride. Breeze through the regular season and bring on that championship banner.

The last time that I felt this confident about the team was the beginning of the 2005 season. My boy, Duante Culpepper, was coming off of an amazing season. The majority of the team was back, our defense was getting better, and I was convinced that the departure of Randy Moss would allow the team to gel. I was ready for Duante to take the team in his tiny hands and lead us to glory.

The team started 2-5, Duante's knee was dismantled, and the Vikings ended up not going to the playoffs. In addition, a little incident called "The Love Boat" occurred, leaving me not only disappointed but also ashamed. Ugh, Bryant McKinnie, you are a dirty dude.

Which brings us to 2010. The Vikings are 2-3, and look as coordinated as a newborn deer. Watching our offense makes me want to punch children and kittens. My thoughts of domination have dissolved into hopes of getting to .500.

And scandal has reared its ugly head once again (no pun intended). Brett's penis made its Internet debut last week and discussions of his harassment have run rampant. Our QB is already battered and out of sync with our receivers. Let's add some embarrassment and marital troubles. Sounds like a plan!

It has gotten to the point that I don't want to think about the team throughout the week. I'm trying to guard myself against the pain. I don't want to get my hopes up any longer, only to have them crushed. It's not a great way to go into Packer week.

Pull it together Vikes. I want to love you and dream of a purple championship ring. By the way, I'll be in Dallas for the Super Bowl. It would be fantastic if you could show up as well.



Monday, October 11, 2010

Damn Yankees

What up world,

I haven't seen the play "Damn Yankees". However, I have watched the Twins lose nine playoffs games in a row to the "F-ing Yankees", and I've read the wikipedia page regarding the play. As such, I feel that I have the authority to dive into a comparison between "Damn Yankees" and the poop-fest that I watched over the last week.

The story takes place in Washington D.C., where the main character, Joe, is a fan of the local baseball team, the Washington Senators. Note that those Senators eventually moved to the Twin Cities in 1960 to become the most adorably frustrating baseball team in history.

Joe hates the Yankees and thinks that the Senators could beat them if only they had a long ball hitter. A salesman arrives at his doorstep while he's having these thoughts, offering him a chance to be the savior of the franchise. The only catch is that Joe must provide his soul. He can opt out of the contract, but it has to be before his last at-bat at the conclusion of the baseball season.

If I were Joe, I would probably be skeptical of the salesman that arrives at my door requesting my soul as compensation. I would think that he was either the devil or nuts-crazy. Either way I probably would avoid his offer...and direct eye contact. I'm not saying that I wouldn't consider it. It is the Yankees.

Joe accepts the offer, begins crushing balls, and moving the Senators up in the standings. He is loving life and Senator fans are loving him. Nothing could be better, except that Joe gets all sally-pants on us, and starts missing his wife. Come on Joe, this is the Yankees that we are taking about! The Yankees!!! Stay focused.

At his final at-bat, Joe is left with two fates. He could either crush a home run and win the pennant, losing his soul in the process, or he could reverse the deal and get his wife back. At the last moment he asks to be let go and returns to his normal self.

How selfish can you be Joe? Don't you know that there are young fans all over the country that are cheering you on? In particular, a young, handsome, charming fan living in San Diego, that wants nothing more than a single victory in the playoffs? You and your stupid wife.

But there is a twist. Even after declining his powers, Joe ends up hitting a home run anyway. He's just a normal guy swinging some big lumber. The Senators win the pennant, he gets his wife back, and the devil/travelling salesman is left with nothing.

I think that we've learned our lesson here Twins fans. Someone out there has to throw out the offer. Put your soul in escrow for the length of next season, but make sure to include the opt out clause. When the playoffs role around, simply renege on that promise. As long as it ensures a victory over that pompous, overpaid, arrogant team from the Bronx.

Thank you for the season Twins. Lets see if we can find our Souless Joe for next year.

Go Rangers


Monday, October 4, 2010

Rich Kids

What up world,

162 games in the books. No need for the 163rd. Playoffs are here and I couldn't be more excited. Target Field is polished up and ready. Twins fans are working themselves into a frenzy. October has arrived, and with it, the hopes of a championship run. Now, let me check the schedule to see who we're playing...

The Yankees? What!?!? Again??? Well, poop...

The F-ing Yankees. I couldn't hate the team more. It's a strong statement, but I don't see any way that I could hold a greater level of resentment. Unless, they hailed from Northern Wisconsin and wore hats that looked like cheese. That would be my nightmare.

I think of the Yankees as the preppy kids from 80's movies. You see them pop on screen, displaying smarminess and feathered hair, and the desire to punch them in the face rises exponentially.

But the problem for our hero (the Twins in this case) is that they are stuck mowing lawns in order to pay for the cool car or sweet sunglasses. They don't have the luxury of daddy's trust fund. The preppy kids have all of the cool parties...

get all the hot girls (Hello, Minka Kelly)

and constantly hold the regular guys down.

It's the worst. It's not a level playing field. Our hero starts the movie with the odds stacked against him. There's no way the pretty girl next door is going to go to prom with him. Unless...

Maybe our hero wins the big ski race. Maybe he gets her to give him a makeover and they pretend to be in a relationship, but they end of falling in love anyway. Maybe they get stuck in detention together, and realize that this whole popularity thing is dumb anyway. Maybe, when all else fails, the Twins hold a boom box over their heads outside the World Series' house. How could she say no to that?

So bring it on Biff, or Miles, or the Yankees. We're ready for you...


Thursday, September 30, 2010

I Heart Target

Target is fantastic. It’s like a candyland for adults. Ooo, look over here! It’s a packet of boxer briefs! Oh, and do you see those? Digital cameras! Did you hear that they have groceries now? Why would we ever leave? What else could Target possibly do?

What’s that? What did you say? Target has a field? I know that there is some sort of Target Center, but there’s nothing there but a nuclear waste zone. Talk to me about this Target Field.

It’s a baseball stadium? You don’t say. Who plays there? The Twins? But I thought they played in a giant marshmallow. No? They moved? When? This year? How did they do?

They won the AL Central with giant bats, good defensive play, and what…

No, I don’t believe it. He was so awful after the trade. I cried for a full 162+ plus games whenever I saw the Rays play. You’re telling me that the Delmonic had a good season? He can actually hit? He still runs like someone surgically replaced his lower half with chunks of wood and duct tape, right? Okay, that makes me feel slightly better.

What else happened?

Thome? Jim Thome? He’s back again? I thought he retired in 2003 and was being fed grapes by supermodels and ruling small countries with his massive forearms and pull power. How did he do? 25 home runs?!?! How many at bats? Only 271? Dear Lord! I say that we make him honorary governor or at least put his face on the state flag. It’s the least that we can do.

Tell me more…

Pavano…I know that I know that name, but I’m not sure where I’ve heard it before. Carl Pavano… Wasn’t he a Yankee? Yeah! Wait, you’re telling me that a player went from the Yankees to the Twins? That’s not how it’s supposed to happen. Yankees – Indians – Twins. Oh, okay. That makes a little more sense. He has a 3.60 ERA and he’s our number 2 starter? Awesome. Obviously our savior Saint Francisco is our number 1, right?

There’s more? You’re telling me that Carl Pavano has a mustache, which earned him a nomination for the ”Robert Goulet Memorial Mustached American of the Year” award, and prompted Little Nicky Punto to grow a mustache of his own? I love the Pavstache idea, but I’m not so sure about the Punto sized stache. How can something so manly be associated with something so cute and cuddly? That would be like a bunny shooting a handgun, while chewing, and riding a motorcycle. It doesn’t seem right.

So the Twins, who are now playing outdoor baseball, have won the AL Central and are heading to the playoffs with an awesome lineup, a halfway decent rotation, and homefield advantage through the ALDS? Why the F am I still in California?

I love you Target. Your massive selection, somewhat clean stores, and amazing baseball team is enough reason for me to move back home. Now, if you could just convince my girlfriend…


Tuesday, September 28, 2010

The Return Game

What up world,

Well, dear me. There’s so much to report, I’m not sure that I even know where to begin. Do I start with the Twins and their awesomeness? Or the awful play of the Vikes? Do I discuss the NBDL team that David Khan has assembled? My overrated Badgers? Maybe I can talk about my intramural soccer team? There is too much happening at once and too much to discuss. My brain is on sports overload. I may cross over into coma-ville if I don’t slow down for a moment.

Alright, I’m going to take on one thing at a time. In that way I think that I can give every one of my loves the attention that they deserve (yes, I love my intramural soccer team. What of it?). My first object of affection is, of course, the Twins…


Did you think that I was going to write something now? Come on. It’s been months. I need to get back into the swing of this crazy thang. Give me some time…