The Twins won two out of three in their series against the Guardians. As luck would have it, we managed to go to the game they lost. It would’ve been much more fun if we attended the game where the Twins put up twelve and Royce hit his first home run, but we did not. We got the low scoring game, where the teams went into extra innings tied one-all.
The cliché holds true, though. A bad night at the ballpark is still a good night. I went in good company and enjoyed the conversation. The weat
I remember the first time I got the wind knocked out of me. I was climbing a tree at my grandma and grandpa's farm. I missed a step, saw foliage tumble before my eyes, and landed on my back. I couldn't breathe. Then, when the oxygen came back, I sprinted into the house. I was more afraid of the sensation than I was hurt. I didn't know know my body would do that to me.
By the time the Astros swept the Twins, I knew the feeling all too well. Life likes to suckerpunch you. My last blog post de
Three baseball games. Three consecutive one-run victories. All around Twins territory, fans’ brains are secreting happy hormones.
Last year was such a different story. I had a dry-erase board at work. I drew the Twins logo on it and then two numbers underneath that logo. One for wins, one for losses. We all remember which number grew the fastest. Every day, it seemed like I’d be adding one to the loss column. “They lost again?” the people I worked with asked. “Your team sucks,” came next.
Our bodies betray us.
Let’s say you’re a professional baseball player. You’ve been given tremendous physical gifts that allow you to play the game. Your muscles, tendons, nerves, eye sight . . . All of it coming together to create a ballplayer. A team puts a uniform on you, and suddenly you’re a sight to see. Like an ancient Greek, you represent the highest achievement in human athleticism.
(Note: I realize not every baseball player represents a Platonic ideal of human anatomy. Babe Ru
I am not a handyman. I am a jack of no trades. When it became time to prepare my snowblower for storage, I took it as a threat to the peace and harmony of my weekend. Sure enough, I managed to stretch a small chore into two days of choking back cuss words because my daughter was in earshot. It's ready now. Probably.
The nice part is I didn't suffer alone. I had Cory Provus and Dan Gladden to keep me company. I listened to the Twins play in the garage. It felt right, somehow. Baseball and sm
"I'm not superstitious. But I'm a little stitious." - Michael Scott
As fans of The Office know, Michael Scott can sometimes share deep knowledge. I think a lot of us are a little "stitious" when it comes to baseball. Prior to this Twins/Tigers series, I'd have told you I'm not a very superstitious person at all. Then, my coworker and I made Max Kepler good again.
Before the series started, we were talking about Miguel Sano. We both remembered Aaron Gleeman's mailbag
Never much cared for the White Sox, so seeing them get swept this weekend felt pretty darned good. I converted to Twins fandom in 2006, so I never knew A.J. Pierzynski as a Minnesota Twin. A Cubs fan painted a picture of him as a jerk, and I never really got convinced he wasn't. I went to the first White Sox game at Target Field just to boo him. Ozzie Guillen rubbed me the wrong way, too. If you need a team to be the bad guys, the White Sox seem tailor-made for your needs. It might not be ration
In about 24 hours, the Los Angeles Dodgers disassembled the Minnesota Twins and left them in little pieces, out in the rain. On top of that, two of the moving parts don't work anymore. Alcala and Kirilloff need repairs, and they're both key cogs in the Twins machine. They say the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, and right now those parts do not add up.
I monitored the first game on my cell phone. My ear was too clogged (allergies) to listen to the game. I'd watch the game, but I