Friday, April 30, 2010

Return of the Saint

What up world,

Well, crap. For the first time this season, the Twins lost a series. I was okay with the lack of sweeps provided by the team, as long as we continued to win the majority of the games. I envisioned an entire year of series wins (including something I like to call the playoff series), but now that dream has died. Thanks a lot, Twins.

Although this is just one series, and the Twins are still in first place, there are more troublesome signs that are starting to emerge. The Mountie's back is starting to hurt again, Lil Nicky Punto discovered his groin and promptly strained it, and Scottie Baker is as scared of opposing hitters as he is of the monsters under his bed. After a rather exciting start, I'm starting to get a little nervous.

I need something to restore my faith. Something to help me believe that this hot start is not just an aberration. What could it be? Maybe Jo Jo Ma's beautiful bat music? The increased on-base percentage of The Delmonic? Jon Rauch's emergence as the Undertaker? While all of these things help in their own small way, they aren't enough to sustain my belief in the team. I need some sort of miracle worker...

Enter Saint Francisco.



That's right! The Saint has been brought back from the dead. He has risen! Who needs properly working ligaments in their throwing arm? Not The Saint. He has been absolutely nasty (in a holy way - of course) throughout the start of the season. After three years of fighting against his inner demons, he's back to fight against his outer demons. Namely the heathenish Tigers of Detroit.



This is the Return of the Saint theme song. Entrance music anyone?

I'm convinced that he never properly descended from heavens before this season, due to the Teflon roof preventing his reentry. All we had to do was build an open air stadium for him to make his return. If we build it (with tax payer money), he (The Saint of 2006) will come!!!



Thank the Lord for Target Field. Thank the Baseball Gods for Saint Francisco.

-Sota

Monday, April 19, 2010

Popping the Balloon

What up world,

Before the start of the series with the Royalty of Kansas City, everyone in Twins Land was feeling good. Maybe a little too good. The team had just come off of series wins against the Angels, White Sox, and Red Sox, Target Field replaced Aphrodite as the most beautiful thing in history, and the team was starting to make some bold statements.

Hot Carl Pavano described the team as "great". Kubear said that he thought the team was capable of getting to the World Series and winning it. Scottie Baker said that his mom thought the Twins were the best team in baseball, and that she's very proud of her little boy.

Gardy sat back and listened to the ovations of the fans, his player's comments, and the rumblings of his stomach. He was nervous. Gardy doesn't like to be in the spotlight. He prefers the relatively anonymity of the upper midwest and the solitude of his personal booth at TGIFridays. All this attention and overconfidence was making him uncomfortable.

He decided to meet the problem head on. He held a players only meeting prior to the start of Sunday's game against the Royalty.

Gardy: Guys, we have to lose this game.
Guys: Awww, noooo.
Gardy: I'm sorry boys. We're getting too much attention. Fans heads are going to start exploding soon if we don't do something. They're going to be sitting in Target Field, watching us win again, and then...Boom! Brains everywhere.
Scottie Baker: Gross
Justin Morneau: Awesome.
Gardy: We are going to have to let this one go. Hot Carl?
Hot Carl Pavano: Yeah skip?
Gardy: We need you to throw them some meatballs up there.
Hot Carl: Come on. Really? I'm trying to impress Mrs. Baker.
Scottie: What?
Hot Carl: I've been meaning to talk to you about this Scottie. It looks like I might be your new dad.
Gardy: Sorry, Hot Carl. You'll have to do it another day. As for the rest of you, we need you to be awful. You're going to be on base, but we can't have any clutch hitting. I repeat, no clutch hitting. If you get an RBI, you're going to have to do sprints in our new treadmill pool.
Guys: Awww, noooo
Gardy: I'm sorry guys. We're too hot right now. We need things to cool off a bit. So lets get out there and make Kansas City look way better than they actually are!

With that the Twins proceeded to give up 10 runs (thank you Hot Carl) and leave 11 runners on base (thank you Morneau and Thome). Disaster averted. No exploding brains, no inflated expectations, and no unhappy Gardy's.

The Twins are hosting Cleveland for the rest of the week. Despite Gardy's misgivings, I want a sweep. Lets show him that Twins Land can handle the success.

-Sota

Monday, April 12, 2010

A New Hope

What up world,

Target Field. At long last. I'm watching the Twins play outside in the crisp air of a Minnesota spring. It's a field that I don't recognize, but one that has brought about a extreme level of fondness for me. It's like my first born child. Right now it looks a little funny. Kind of wrinkly and purple, but I can't seem to take my eyes off of it.

In honor of the opening of the new stadium, I've decided to create a running diary of today's game. Without further ado:

1st Inning: Okay, this isn't quite live. I missed the top half of the first inning. Job interviews got in the way of my blogging, yet again. I did catch the Target dog sitting behind home plate. It was a bit ridiculous, and it only confirms my belief that Target is slowly taking over the world.



Bottom half: Hit, hit, Joe Mauer introduction. I'm guessing that the sound system in Target Field is much better than it was in the Dome. Mauer is introduced by TI. The entire stadium rises in ovation. I have chills. This is awesome.

A couple of bloop singles from Cuddles and Kubear, and the Twins are up 2-0.

2nd Inning: Bud Selig has appeared, looking as creepy as ever. In my very first blog, I compared Selig to Count Chocula.



I still think that the comparison is valid, however, I think I've found something better.



These are the creatures from The Dark Crystal (greatest movie of all time?). I'm pretty sure that Selig was the motivation for the movie's make-up artists. Now, Bud is discussing contraction and how it really wasn't his fault. I want to throw things at his face.

Bottom half: Lil Nicky Punto arrives at the plate. Nicky is making the adjustment to outdoor baseball by applying excessive amounts of eye black. It might be a regular application, but on his teeny face it looks a little bit ridiculous. Punto gets on base, and steals second a few plays later. In the process of stealing, Nicky's belt pops off. There is a little man, holding his broken belt high in the air, and I am giggling. I heart you Lil Nicky.

Just a few plays later, Nicky crosses home plate. Twins up 3-0.

3rd Inning: Hot Carl Pavano issues a walk, but is otherwise dealing. Span makes a couple of plays in the outfield, and we're out of the inning.

Bottom half: The Delmonic has taken a walk and ripped an opposite field single already. I'm not going to do it, Delmonic. I'm not going to buy into your potential! You can't fool me. Even if you have lost weight and have sweet flame tattoos on your forearm. Unless you get another hit during the game... Then I might change my mind.... What? I'm easy to please. Don't judge me.

4th Inning: Okay, I'm back to not believing in the Delmonic. Although it was a tough catch against the wall, I would have felt a lot better if he made it. Instead, it's an RBI double for Big Papi. Red Sox take one back. Twins still up 3-1.

Bottom half: I love steals. I love rolling singles up the middle. Does a Joe Mauer/Denard Span scoring play lead to true love. Yes. Yes it does. Twins up 4 -1.

5th Inning: How did that ball fit? Mike Cameron crushes it into left, and somehow it fits between the limestone and foul pole. I thought we were going to have our first interaction with that Minnesota limestone, but instead it slipped into a foot-wide gap. Side note: That limestone is scary. Someone is going to die from a ricochet. I'm convinced.

Bottom half: Kubear is angry. He is an angry buddy that is hungry for fish and high fastballs over the plate. Stay hungry you kinda gross looking bear. We'll need you.

6th Inning: Punto totally redeems himself from his previous inning antics. He scurries after a slow roller to third base, and throws a dart to first for the out. Not only was it incredibly athletic, it was incredibly adorable. His eye black is still ridiculous, however.

Bottom half: Span hit, Span steals. Oh Keiunta. Such a warrior.

Side note: The flower boxes look a little weak right now. They look like I've been taking care of them. I'm hoping that they fill out a little better.

7th Inning: Hot Carl leaves the game after six, giving the game to Brian Duensing. Pedro Gomez gives another report on Target Field from the Budweiser party deck. He says October about 8 times in two sentences. I like the way he talks. Maybe if all Twins fans in attendance say a minimum of ten "October's" per home game, we'll be in the postseason once again.

Bottom Half: Grrrr. Kubear growls and hits a bomb to right! First home run in Target Field!!! I thought that the old logo was supposed to do something, but all I saw was some flashing lights around the sign's border. Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of hand shaking?

The Delmonic tries to match Kubear's effort. I thought it was gone, but it died near the track. My affection would have returned if he had gone back to back. Alas, my lack of belief still exists.

Twins up 5-1.

8th Inning: I'm not sure why ESPN keeps having some sort of death rock playing over game highlights when coming back from commercial break. I'm happy and smiling while watching the game and then I'm suddenly scared.

New double play combo finishes the inning after the Twins give up one. Twins up 5-2.

Bottom half: It looks like Matt Guerrier finished pitching the top half, and decided that he wanted to pitch the bottom half as well. He changed into a Boston uniform, and it says Schoeneweis on the back, but I'm convinced that it's our boy Matty. Oh, he can apparently throw left-handed also. Crap, my assertion is falling to pieces.

Joe Mauer is awesome.

9th Inning: Jon Rauch is frightening. It feels weird to be in the ninth and not see Joe Nathan, but I'm happy that we have a scary looking closer instead. I like that. We don't want to have a cutesy looking pitcher up there. Everyday Eddie was alright in his time, but he was far too adorable to really fit into that role. Rauch makes me wet my pants a little bit from the comfort of my couch. Not from excitement. Because I'm scared. Okay, maybe a little bit from excitement.

Lil Nicky scampers into foul territory for out number two. I giggle whenever I see him do something. Hilarious.

A pop-up for the third out! Twins open the new field with a solid win. My happiness cannot be contained. I'm all smiles and butterflies. A great way to start something amazing.

-Sota

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Striking Out

What up world,

I had my first opportunity to watch the Twins this afternoon. While flipping through channels, contemplating watching the Tool Academy finale (again), I discovered that Time Warner San Diego was carrying the game. My excitement levels were turned up to an 11. New season, new lineup, new uniforms, all in front of me in live action. I was going to watch the Twins first sweep of the season, and I couldn't have been happier.

I started watching in the top of the sixth, with the Twins still up by one. Nick Blackburn was going strong and I had the utmost confidence in the team. A blog entry about the team last night was not going to jinx them going into today. I would have been free to write about the team as much as I wanted.

Everything was going smoothly until the bottom of the eighth even though the Sux had tied up the score. A couple of singles led to two men on base, with the corpse formerly known as Andruw Jones at the plate. In my mind, there was no way that he was going to get a hit. Not with Joe Mauer look-a-like, Nick Blackburn dealing. A single to left field later, and the White Sox were up by one.

Still, I wasn't worried. We're a powerhouse team in 2010. Chicago closer Bobby Jenks is overrated. We were going to score a run. No doubt.

After a couple of outs, JJ Hardy got on base, bringing up Mr. Incredible. After a couple of pitches, Thome launched a shot into left field. For a moment I thought it was gone. I stood up from my couch, ready to throw orange peels around the living room in celebration. At some point in its trajectory, however, the ball died dramatically and hit against the outfield wall. My excitement tempered, I sat back down, waiting for the next batter to approach the plate.

For some reason, JJ Hardy did not have the same reaction. Instead of calmly staying on third, he opted for the role as hero. He rounded the base and headed for home. I stood up again, yelling at him to stop, but he didn't seem to hear me. He was about half way down the base path when the ball arrived at home plate. JJ jumped into AJ's arms in what appeared to be some sort of victorious celebration. I was left with my mouth agape, watching the Sux celebrate the victory.

Ozzie Guillen reacted with a smirk on his face. He couldn't believe what happened either. The entire White Sox team was laughing and high fiving each other. I had seen this reaction before, but I couldn't place it at first...

And then it hit me. Last Tuesday I had been asked to fill in on a softball team for a friend. Before we take this journey together, let me say this: I am not a softball player. I play a few times throughout the year, and my performance is generally very disappointing. I regard myself as something of an athlete, but that assertion is not displayed on the softball diamond.

Throughout the game, I hadn't done anything to help the team. On the other hand, I hadn't done anything that was extremely damaging. I hadn't revealed my terrible, "I'm awful at softball" secret. I had hidden it away under the protection of playing catcher and batting last in the lineup.

Our team was trailing the entire game. The last inning arrived, and I approached the plate with two outs, two runs down, and two men on base. All I had to do was get on base for our comeback to continue. I stared down the pitcher and made up my mind that I wasn't going to swing the bat. I planned to put the responsibilities of victory on our next hitter.

I milked the count to three balls and two strikes without taking a swing. The last pitch began arcing towards me, and I was convinced that it was going to land off the plate. There was no way that it was long enough to make it anywhere close. I wasn't going to swing. I was going to take a walk and move onto first base...

I should have swung. I realize that now. I needed to protect the plate. But, in that instant, I stood frozen. I couldn't move. I watched the ball fall in the middle of the plate, heard the umpire call me out, and saw the reactions of the opposing team. They had that same bemused look on their face as the White Sox did this afternoon. You can't get the last out at home in baseball or by a backward K in softball. It's unacceptable.

I don't think that I'll ever get asked to play with the team again. I can accept that. My terrible secret was revealed. I don't think JJ will suffer the same fate. I like that he plays a good shortstop, can hit pretty well, and uses a double initial for a first name. I want him to continue playing with our team, provided that he cuts down on the overly aggressive baserunning.

-Sota

Weather Delays

What up world,

I intended to write something earlier in the week. In fact, I was hoping to reach 100 blog posts prior to the start of the Twins regular season. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to write anything due to a couple of outside factors:

1) I was dealing with an infestation of time-sucking stress-bots. These awful robots have no regard for outside events that are occurring in one's life. All they care about is making your brain hurt and ensuring that you have no time to discuss the Twins. If there was stress-bot insurance, I would definitely pay for coverage.



2) I discovered that my parents are no longer checking my blogs. This awful realization was almost too much to bear. They make up 87% of my fan base (don't worry about the math. I'm an accountant). It was difficult for me to come to grips with this truth. Like a White Sox fan that just realized the awfulness of their franchise.

3) I was tricked by Time Warner Cable. On opening day, my cable menu said that FSN would be carrying the Twins - Angels game. I scheduled my day around this event, fighting off the stress-bots and devastating news about my parents, only to find that the game wasn't being aired. There was no explanation for the illegal toying of my emotions. I finally found the game on the local sports radio station and proceeded to sit in my car for half an hour. After a few innings, I noticed several tweaks in the broadcast. Weird computer noises were coming in over the top of the announcer's commentary, and the occasional ESPN commercial would come blaring through my car's speakers in the middle of a big at-bat. The production staff was either new, drunk, or had given up on life. It got to the point that I was frustrated enough to come inside and watch periodic updates through ESPN's website.

Instead of reaching my century mark or providing excellent analysis to my remaining 13% of fans, I'm just offering excuses. I apologize. On the other hand, the Twins have been on a tear. Could it be that no blogging leads to an increase in wins? I guess we'll see. Even with a series win against the White Sox, I would still like to completely crush their dreams. Lets go for a sweep! With a loss, this whole blogging thing might just curl up and die. Like the White Sox should do for the rest of 2010. (Bam! Two burns of the White Sox in one post! Suck it!)

-Sota

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Working Into a Frenzy

What up world,

My excitement is reaching dangerous levels. My heart beat is erratic, I'm randomly breaking into episodes of sweating, and I'm constantly on the verge of a Justin-Bieber-sighting screaming attack. Here are three reasons why:

1) Jo Jo Ma loves us (and money): Mauer signed an 8 year contract to stay with the team. He will be conducting sweet symphonies from behind the plate for the majority of my 30's. He and I are going to grow old together. It's like he gave me a promise ring, with the engagement and the Hall of Fame soon to follow. Yipee!

2) The end of Spring Training: Spring Training is always a tricky time. I'm constantly looking for updates on the team, whether it's in the national media or the local electronic papers. The problem is that the national media isn't always discussing the team. There may be a mention here and there, but I wish that they could forget about the Red Sox, Yankees, and Rays and dedicate all their attention on the Twins.

To get my Twins information fix, I turn to the Strib. There's nothing wrong with that except that there can be a certain amount of inflated optimism prior to season start. There are reports of Jim Thome's springtime dominance, stories about the giant leaps of little Twinky prospects, and testimonials of Saint Francisco's 1,000 mph fastball and devastating slider. I flip from story to story with mini-explosions occurring in my brain. I'm worried about my continued brain functions.

3) Target Field: Let me say it again. Target Field! Not quite there. One more time. TARGET FIELD!!! Oh my God. Just writing it caused me to start shedding tears. Not tears of sadness. I do not miss the Metrodome in any way. These are tears of pure joy. Two winters ago, I sat with a friend outside of the partially completed stadium, staring into the field and discussing important life matters. It just seemed like the place to do such a thing.

That friend, we'll call him Nathan L, just texted me from the confines of said stadium. Here is the transcript of that text:

"Target Field is uber-orgasmic, which is even better than orgasmic."

After the first game yesterday, I spent an hour reading the Strib articles about the stadium experience. I watched video, looked at pictures, and read reader comments. The desire to get in my car and start driving north was unbearable.

Although I live in the corner of the country, have no job, and am running desperately low on money, I'm still making plans to get home for a game (if not several) this summer. The more that I see and hear about the team and the field, the stronger the magnetic pull to my homeland becomes.

For now, however, I will continue sitting in my apartment, working myself into an even greater frenzy. Bring on Opening Day!

-Sota