This morning, fellow citizens of Twins Territory left their homes to find infant animals, such as deer and rabbits, lining up to sniff their hands in the dewy grass and pastel sunlight.

Maybe. Look, none of us really know what the 4-0 life is like. Last time it happened was 1987, an era the nearest adolescent to you will tell you is "ancient" before building another cube-pig-insult-to-nature on Minecraft.

You hate the Minecraft, don't you?

It's always nice to beat the White Sox, too. Except I read the 2017 Baseball Prospectus entry on the Sox last night and . . . that team's one serving of borscht away from being a Russian tragedy.

The White Sox would be a nifty new adversary for The Walking Dead. Piicture zombies spinning and sparking on those home run circles. That annoying brat mascot suit could be used to pad bites and keep them from breaking the skin. The Pale Hose could dress up as Baseball Furies and smack down the undead with their bats. Just, you know, some of 'em will only get in a meaningful hit at .250 or lower, right?

Hey, we've been there. But now we're here, 4-0. My fingernails are firmly latched into the doorway to the Winner's Lounge, and I'm prepared to lose a few before I relax my grip.