The UnGame Thread
Gloom, Despair, Agony on Me
So the Twins stunk up the joint… make that two joints. At least they didn’t do it on national TV. Mostly because MLB doesn’t do national TV anymore. In this case maybe MLB did us a favor.
Anyway, I was supposed to do the Game Thread intro for Game 4, the Game whose Name Shall Not Be Mentioned. So I was all primed to do a rousing, fire-up-the-fans intro, but, like the Twins, that’s not going anywhere. So instead of being fired up, Twins fans are lined up at West Virginia pharmacies (they hand out drugs like candy on Halloween) looking for anti-depressants.
But is our glass half full, or half empty? The Twins were competitive all season long. Even won the division. When’s the last time that happened? When JC was still a corporal?
So we’re starting over, but at least we’re not starting from scratch. We’ve got ourselves a couple of pitchers (Odorizzi and Berrios are a pair of 2’s), a halfways decent outfield (if we can find a suit of armor for Buxton), the makings of a decent infield (with maybe one hole) and the best catching duo in the major leagues. The bullpen… well, maybe needs a little more thinning but certainly has a couple of mostly-reliable arms. All we need to not stink up next year’s play-offs (Play-offs? You’re talking about Play-offs?) is a true, play-off pressure-proof starter that can take the mound for two games in a 5-game series and dominate, assuming the manager doesn’t pull him in the 5th inning.
So all the Front Office has to do is find The Guy, get the Pohlads to cough up the really big bucks and convince The Guy, and maybe his current contract-holder, to come to Minnesota. Just don’t let him drink the water… you know, the Minnesota water that makes all our professional sports teams choke. Buy him Irish whiskey instead. But order a couple cases right now because The Donald is about to slap a tariff on it.
Trade wars are easy to win.
Uh huh. So are play-off games.
And if we don't get that Play-off Pitcher this off-season, we can drink the Irish whiskey ourselves during next year's play-offs.
Like Sister Goretti told me when she caught me red-handed rifling through her desk, "There's a silver lining in every cloud."