What up world,
I can't believe that it has come to this. I feel like a 13-year-old girl at a Jonas Brothers concert. I'm excited, I feel the need to pee myself, and there is a good chance that I'll pass out. After reading through several blogs and the Strib, it doesn't seem like anyone is giving us a chance to win. It seems like we are making up excuses before the first pitch is even thrown. I would like to say that I have multiple reasons for optimism and that we can go out there and dominate the Sox, but I'm going to have to side with every writer out there. I'm scared of the south side of Chicago, and the people that call themselves White Sox fans. I think they could rip Lil Nicky Punto limb from limb, and then they'd probably feast on his delicious lil remains. All we can do is hope that Blackburn channels his best Joe Mauer, that the ass-bats are burned prior to the game, and that we leave Chicago on a plane to Florida rather than back to Minny. Stay away Twins. We don't want you back here unless it's a playoff performance.
The game is going to start in a few minutes. My plans are to craddle myself and slowly rock back and forth while quietly humming, "We're going to win Twins, we're going to score" over and over again. And try not to throw up.
-Sota
Showing posts with label White Sox. Show all posts
Showing posts with label White Sox. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Dolla Bills
What up world,
Holy balls y'alls. An entire season comes to a close and the Twins are not in the playoffs, yet their season is not over. I will be thinking loving thoughts about the entire Tigers lineup today, hoping that their hatred of the White Sox is as strong as mine. I'll even be cheering for Magglio, who I have wanted to punch in the nose for 10+ years. The last thing that I want to do is head to Chicago for a tie-breaking game. My nerves can't take it. I will be peeing my pants a little with each pitch if it happens, culminating in my head exploding if the Sox win.
I went to the game last Wednesday night for game 2 of the Sox series and barely made it out alive. Through a mixture of dome dogs, alcohol, and Joe Nathan's ninth inning, my heart shut down for at least a 20 minute period. I attended the game with the one and only Justin Lorang, sitting in the cheap seats behind the baggie in right field. He and I discussed catching foul balls and home runs, and I informed him that it was one of my life goals to make a catch one of my own. I don't want the ball to bobble around among the fans and eventually end up in my hands either. I want to reach out my bare hand and nab the ball, and then just pose with it, like the statue of liberty. I have dreams about it.
In the fourth inning of Wednesday night's game I was watching Ken Griffey Jr at bat. All of a sudden, with one sweet swing, the ball was headed directly to my section. It was a monster shot that was arcing beautifully toward me. I stood up, reaching out my hand in anticipation of my statuesque pose. My dreams were coming true, and I chose to ignore the fact the score was now going to be 3-2, as I stretched for the ball.
My dreams came crashing down as the ball suddenly dropped off a ledge and landed four rows in front of me. There was a middle aged guy that performed the exact catch that I had been hoping for. He simply reached out and snagged the ball bare handed, while still maintaining a phone conversation with his other hand. I was amazed. I stood there with my mouth open for a couple of seconds. On one hand, I was very impressed with his performance, but on the other hand, my jealousy of what had happened was causing me to want to murder him.
I eventually settled down, drowning my sorrow in multiple dollar dogs and beer. With that night's win, and the following nights amazing comeback, the Twins were in first place. Even with the weekend's terrible games against the Royals, the team enters today a half game up. Less than a week ago, I was writing the season off, and now we are in the drivers seat. All of the pressure is on the Ozzie and his team of assiness.
So let's go Tigers. Take all of your frustration of your horrible season out on this team. Magglio, you're my boy. Sheff, you scare the shit out of me. Cabrera, you are big boned, not fat. Bring it home for your favorite little scrappy team. Redmond told me that he would buy you a round of beers and several prostitutes if you can pull this out.
-Sota
Holy balls y'alls. An entire season comes to a close and the Twins are not in the playoffs, yet their season is not over. I will be thinking loving thoughts about the entire Tigers lineup today, hoping that their hatred of the White Sox is as strong as mine. I'll even be cheering for Magglio, who I have wanted to punch in the nose for 10+ years. The last thing that I want to do is head to Chicago for a tie-breaking game. My nerves can't take it. I will be peeing my pants a little with each pitch if it happens, culminating in my head exploding if the Sox win.
I went to the game last Wednesday night for game 2 of the Sox series and barely made it out alive. Through a mixture of dome dogs, alcohol, and Joe Nathan's ninth inning, my heart shut down for at least a 20 minute period. I attended the game with the one and only Justin Lorang, sitting in the cheap seats behind the baggie in right field. He and I discussed catching foul balls and home runs, and I informed him that it was one of my life goals to make a catch one of my own. I don't want the ball to bobble around among the fans and eventually end up in my hands either. I want to reach out my bare hand and nab the ball, and then just pose with it, like the statue of liberty. I have dreams about it.
In the fourth inning of Wednesday night's game I was watching Ken Griffey Jr at bat. All of a sudden, with one sweet swing, the ball was headed directly to my section. It was a monster shot that was arcing beautifully toward me. I stood up, reaching out my hand in anticipation of my statuesque pose. My dreams were coming true, and I chose to ignore the fact the score was now going to be 3-2, as I stretched for the ball.
My dreams came crashing down as the ball suddenly dropped off a ledge and landed four rows in front of me. There was a middle aged guy that performed the exact catch that I had been hoping for. He simply reached out and snagged the ball bare handed, while still maintaining a phone conversation with his other hand. I was amazed. I stood there with my mouth open for a couple of seconds. On one hand, I was very impressed with his performance, but on the other hand, my jealousy of what had happened was causing me to want to murder him.
I eventually settled down, drowning my sorrow in multiple dollar dogs and beer. With that night's win, and the following nights amazing comeback, the Twins were in first place. Even with the weekend's terrible games against the Royals, the team enters today a half game up. Less than a week ago, I was writing the season off, and now we are in the drivers seat. All of the pressure is on the Ozzie and his team of assiness.
So let's go Tigers. Take all of your frustration of your horrible season out on this team. Magglio, you're my boy. Sheff, you scare the shit out of me. Cabrera, you are big boned, not fat. Bring it home for your favorite little scrappy team. Redmond told me that he would buy you a round of beers and several prostitutes if you can pull this out.
-Sota
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Kubel says Grrrrr
What up world,
What a start to the series. The first part of my three part fantasy dream sequence came true last night. Scottie Baker, our 12 year old ace, drank an extra big glass of milk before taking the mound last night. The White Sox had been taking his lunch money for most of the season, and he decided that last night's game was his moment of revenge. He told me that he even saw a couple of whiskers on his chin after the game. You are becoming a man Scottie!
The question was, with Scottie pitching well, would the lineup pull through with some run support? The answer came in the bottom of the second, when an angry grizzly bear approached the plate. Javy Vazquez, the White Sox pitcher, had stolen meals from the grizzly for years. This was his chance to maul him, take a couple of nibbles of his arm, maybe even throw some bear scat on his face. The Ku-bear let out a mighty roar and went deep on Javy, driving in the Canadian and taking a lead that the Twin would not give back for the rest of the game.
Ku-bear was still angry however and decided that the only way to get back at the White Sox would be to go deep again and throw in a triple for good measure. Throw in a couple of other timely hits, a homer by a Young-un, even a squeeze play and a dive into first by the littlest of superheroes, and the Twins come out as winners.
I'm headed to the game tonight, and a little nervous about the matchup between Joe Mauer lookalike Nick Blackburn and the evil lefty Mark Buehrle. I think that it's going to make the win that much more amazing. Don't dissappoint boys.
-Sota
What a start to the series. The first part of my three part fantasy dream sequence came true last night. Scottie Baker, our 12 year old ace, drank an extra big glass of milk before taking the mound last night. The White Sox had been taking his lunch money for most of the season, and he decided that last night's game was his moment of revenge. He told me that he even saw a couple of whiskers on his chin after the game. You are becoming a man Scottie!
The question was, with Scottie pitching well, would the lineup pull through with some run support? The answer came in the bottom of the second, when an angry grizzly bear approached the plate. Javy Vazquez, the White Sox pitcher, had stolen meals from the grizzly for years. This was his chance to maul him, take a couple of nibbles of his arm, maybe even throw some bear scat on his face. The Ku-bear let out a mighty roar and went deep on Javy, driving in the Canadian and taking a lead that the Twin would not give back for the rest of the game.
Ku-bear was still angry however and decided that the only way to get back at the White Sox would be to go deep again and throw in a triple for good measure. Throw in a couple of other timely hits, a homer by a Young-un, even a squeeze play and a dive into first by the littlest of superheroes, and the Twins come out as winners.
I'm headed to the game tonight, and a little nervous about the matchup between Joe Mauer lookalike Nick Blackburn and the evil lefty Mark Buehrle. I think that it's going to make the win that much more amazing. Don't dissappoint boys.
-Sota
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Canadian Invasion
What up world,
History lesson. In the 1920's the United States developed a plan to invade Canada in response to a treaty between Japan and Great Britain. It was called "War Plan Red". It involved the capture of several Canadian cities through coordinated air and sea attacks. The goal of the plan was to preemptively strike so that Britain couldn't use Canada as a staging area for attacks of their own on the US.
At the same time, Canadians were preparing their defenses if there was war. The
ir plan was appropriately called "Defensive Scheme Number One", and was developed by James "Buster" Brown. Buster's plan called for a Canadian invasion of several smaller cities in the US, including Minneapolis. The surprise attacks would catch the Americans off-guard, giving the British enough time to send reinforcements. Once the reinforcements arrived, the Canadians would pull back to the border.
Eventually both plans were scrapped and we started embracing our northern neighbors. We welcomed hockey players, comedians, and tourists into the US. In return, the Canadians have allowed us to make fun of them, pillage their fishing stocks, and have sexy times with their tourists. The relationship has flourished.
However, recently I was informed that Canada has a secret invasion plan, appropriately named "Defensive Scheme Number Two". In this plan, they are focusing all of their efforts on taking over one city at a time, with Chicago being the first city of choice. To do this, they are breaking the cities spirit through their major sports teams.
Steve Nash unleashed his Canadian fury on the Bulls twice this season. Edmonton and Vancouver were designated as Blackhawk killers, going 7-1 against them last season. The Cub's Canadians have been doing well this season, but Ryan Dempster has volunteered to break his wrist during his wind-up and Rich Harden's has promised that his arm will eventually fly off during one of his pitches. They are waiting until September to do this in order to make the Cubs collapse that much more monumental.
While the Canadians are proud of these accomplishments, their true hero is none other than the Minnesota Twin's Justin Morneau. A descendant of Paul Bunyan's illicit affair with a Canadian Mountee, Justin has become a mythical creature in his destruction of Chicago's spirit. His legend grew last night as he approached the plate in the fifth inning against the White Sox. He left the dugout holding his Home Run derby trophy in one hand and his special bat "Elizabeth II" in the other. "Elizabeth II" is made of a special blend of moose antler and beaver pelt, which Justin thought would be appropriate for the occasion. He allowed Clayton Richard of the Sox to gain a little confidence before breaking his will, and the will of Chicago, with a shot off the baggie (directly hitting the red Dodge Ram located there). Canada had scored another victory as Monreau drove in three.
The people of Minnesota cheered, Canada celebrated by tipping back another mug of Molson Ice, and Chicago slowly wept. Somewhere in the great white north, Buster Brown was smiling.
-Sota
History lesson. In the 1920's the United States developed a plan to invade Canada in response to a treaty between Japan and Great Britain. It was called "War Plan Red". It involved the capture of several Canadian cities through coordinated air and sea attacks. The goal of the plan was to preemptively strike so that Britain couldn't use Canada as a staging area for attacks of their own on the US.
At the same time, Canadians were preparing their defenses if there was war. The
ir plan was appropriately called "Defensive Scheme Number One", and was developed by James "Buster" Brown. Buster's plan called for a Canadian invasion of several smaller cities in the US, including Minneapolis. The surprise attacks would catch the Americans off-guard, giving the British enough time to send reinforcements. Once the reinforcements arrived, the Canadians would pull back to the border.Eventually both plans were scrapped and we started embracing our northern neighbors. We welcomed hockey players, comedians, and tourists into the US. In return, the Canadians have allowed us to make fun of them, pillage their fishing stocks, and have sexy times with their tourists. The relationship has flourished.
However, recently I was informed that Canada has a secret invasion plan, appropriately named "Defensive Scheme Number Two". In this plan, they are focusing all of their efforts on taking over one city at a time, with Chicago being the first city of choice. To do this, they are breaking the cities spirit through their major sports teams.
Steve Nash unleashed his Canadian fury on the Bulls twice this season. Edmonton and Vancouver were designated as Blackhawk killers, going 7-1 against them last season. The Cub's Canadians have been doing well this season, but Ryan Dempster has volunteered to break his wrist during his wind-up and Rich Harden's has promised that his arm will eventually fly off during one of his pitches. They are waiting until September to do this in order to make the Cubs collapse that much more monumental.
While the Canadians are proud of these accomplishments, their true hero is none other than the Minnesota Twin's Justin Morneau. A descendant of Paul Bunyan's illicit affair with a Canadian Mountee, Justin has become a mythical creature in his destruction of Chicago's spirit. His legend grew last night as he approached the plate in the fifth inning against the White Sox. He left the dugout holding his Home Run derby trophy in one hand and his special bat "Elizabeth II" in the other. "Elizabeth II" is made of a special blend of moose antler and beaver pelt, which Justin thought would be appropriate for the occasion. He allowed Clayton Richard of the Sox to gain a little confidence before breaking his will, and the will of Chicago, with a shot off the baggie (directly hitting the red Dodge Ram located there). Canada had scored another victory as Monreau drove in three.
The people of Minnesota cheered, Canada celebrated by tipping back another mug of Molson Ice, and Chicago slowly wept. Somewhere in the great white north, Buster Brown was smiling.
-Sota
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Span is a Man
What up world,
A couple of things that you should know about Denard Span. He was born in Tampa, Florida on February 27, 1984. He was drafted 20th overall in the 2002 draft by the Twins, after turning down a $2 million predraft deal with the Colorado Rock-tobers. He said at the time, "I have a destiny to fulfill in a great white bubble in the north."
His real name is Keiunta, which means "Destroyer of White Socks", which was later abbreviated to "Destroyer of White Sox". He is 24 years old, and officially entered into manhood in the bottom of the third inning last night.
Lil' Nicky Punto had just gotten on-base by flying from home to first with an infield single. Mark Buehrle looked at the next batter and fear struck him.
Keiunta had arrived to fulfill his destiny. Buehrle could barely function. He thought of his family and friends, and that he was too young to die at the hands of Keiunta. He had to give him something to eat. It was the only way to save himself.
Boom.
It was all over seconds later. Keiunta was rounding the bases. Buehrle promptly wet himself. Lil' Nicky was flying into home.
When Span got back into the dugout, he ate his bat and approached Gardy, "I'm not going back to the minors. I'm a man now."
The legend continues.
-Sota
A couple of things that you should know about Denard Span. He was born in Tampa, Florida on February 27, 1984. He was drafted 20th overall in the 2002 draft by the Twins, after turning down a $2 million predraft deal with the Colorado Rock-tobers. He said at the time, "I have a destiny to fulfill in a great white bubble in the north."
His real name is Keiunta, which means "Destroyer of White Socks", which was later abbreviated to "Destroyer of White Sox". He is 24 years old, and officially entered into manhood in the bottom of the third inning last night.
Lil' Nicky Punto had just gotten on-base by flying from home to first with an infield single. Mark Buehrle looked at the next batter and fear struck him.
Keiunta had arrived to fulfill his destiny. Buehrle could barely function. He thought of his family and friends, and that he was too young to die at the hands of Keiunta. He had to give him something to eat. It was the only way to save himself.
Boom.
It was all over seconds later. Keiunta was rounding the bases. Buehrle promptly wet himself. Lil' Nicky was flying into home.
When Span got back into the dugout, he ate his bat and approached Gardy, "I'm not going back to the minors. I'm a man now."
The legend continues.
-Sota
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