It has taken some time for me to get over the loss that the Twins suffered last week. Last Tuesday night, as I was driving to the bar in Bloomington, I began thinking about the Twins season. At the beginning of the year, I thought that we would have a better team than many of the experts were saying, but I never thought that we would be in contention for a playoff spot. I thought that we would be better than the Royalty of Kansas City and better than the Sux of Chicago, but I didn't think that we could compete with the line-up of Detroit and the pitching of Cleveland. I would have never predicted that J-Ma would win another batting title, or that J-Mo would be in contention for another MVP, or Lil' Nicky would be more 2006 rather than 2007, or the pitching staff of younguns would be solid throughout the year, or that the bust known as Denard would transition to a fearsome beast known as Keiunta.
There were so many improbable things that happened throughout the year, that in the 20 minutes that it took me to get to the bar, I convinced myself that the Twins were capable of pulling off one more upset. Our little team that could was going to show the Sox that you didn't have to go yard in order to score runs. We don't need a ridiculous gimmick like a "black out" in order to win a game. We were going to show them how baseball is supposed to be played, with solid pitching, timely hitting, and mini superheroes.
I sat through nine innings, holding out hope that my pre-game pep-talk to myself would hold true. I had convinced myself that the team was just trying to build drama throughout the game before coming back to win. We were going to propel ourselves into the playoffs with a huge home run from the Canadian Mountee or a series of bloop singles from Team Scrappy. I kept telling myself this as the Twins continued to strike out and hit ground balls. We were going to win! I just knew it.......
Ugghhh. It still hurts to think about it. Looking back on it now, I recognize that I was lost amid the Kubler-Ross stages of grief in the days that followed the game. I went through a stage per day. Here is the breakdown.
Wednesday (Denial)
I spent the majority of the day trying to convince myself that it was better that the Twins were not in the playoffs and trying to convince others that I was doing okay. The following are actual quotes.
"At least now I won't have to spend so much time focusing on the team."
"I didn't cry last night. It was hot in the bar, and my cheeks were sweating."
"I'm fine. If I choose to drink myself into a stupor, it has nothing to do with how the Twins played."
Thursday (Anger)
I recognized that things were not okay on Thursday. Throughout the summer, I could always look forward to a game being played at least every other day. Thursday was the first time that it really hit me that the season was over, and I was pissed. I checked the baseball schedule in the morning and was consumed by rage. Instead of watching the Twins play that night, I was going to have to watch Chicago play in our place. Coupling the hatred of the White Sox that I already possessed with this newfound anger made my head explode into small pieces all over my parent's kitchen. I spent at least an hour of the day drawing profane pictures of AJ Pierzynski, which only caused me to become more irritated. I'm not proud of this:
Friday (Bargaining)
Watching the White Sox lose on Thursday made me feel a little better on Friday. I found myself starting to think about the offseason and coming to grips with what had happened. If the Twins, both players and front office personnel, take the season as a learning and growing experience, I will be okay with how it ended. If Go Go learns a little plate dicipline, Delmon learns how to field, and Billy the Kid doesn't throw mid-level contracts at mediocre talent, I might be able to recover from this dissappointment.
Saturday (Depression)
Utter sadness hit me on Saturday. It took the mediocre play of the Vikings, the performance of my college football team, and the prospect of another dismal Timberwolves season for me to realize what I was facing for the next 6 months. I have no hope of cheering for a team that has the possibility of success. I sucked my thumb for the majority of the day.
Sunday (Acceptance)
I arrived back in Chicago on Sunday. My fantasy football team failed to live up to my expectations yet again, but for the first time in over a week, I didn't let it affect my mood. A friend of mine told me a few weeks ago that he wasn't going to let sports dictate how he felt any longer. This was after watching our college football team lose and the Twins blow another game against Kansas City. I continued to drink myself into a blackout at the time, but I decided on Sunday to listen to his advice.
One cannot follow Minnesota sports without setting themselves up for an eventual, horrible dissappointment. We will always cheer for our teams, only to have our hearts ripped out in the end. It's like the scene from Temple of Doom. The White Sox, or the Packers, or the Spurs will always take their turn as the High Priest of Kali, holding our still beating hearts in front of our faces, while our team concludes yet another unsuccessful season.
So no longer will I live and die with the success of my teams. I will try and appreciate the wins, and let the losses slide. I will enjoy the journey, rather than the destination. I will try and recognize that there is more to life than following sports.
The Twins season is over. Onto the Vikings and T-Wolves. The Vikings take on Detroit next week. If they don't win and Purple Jesus doesn't have 850 yards rushing, I just might have to kill myself. Wait, killing myself might be a little extreme. Have I not learned anything from what I just wrote? I won't kill myself if the Vikings don't win, maybe just cut myself a little. Baby steps right?
-Sota
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