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Axel Kohagen

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Blog Entries posted by Axel Kohagen

  1. Axel Kohagen
    Joe Mauer’s DEVOTION regarding walking up to T.I.’s “What You Know?” is well-known and even generates some GOOD-NATURED RIBBING from the chaps who write baseball things.
     
    Yet, has the STABLE SLUGGER hidden a message of PROFOUND SUPERNATURAL LORE within these words? Consider the following lyrics:
     
    What you know about that?
    What you know about that?
    What you know about that?
     
    Simple, upon first view. But simplicity can hide behind its cloaks GREAT COMPLEXITY, like the bounteous spread of dishes at your local PIZZA RANCH!
     
    If you look closely, you will see each line of this selection contains both FIVE WORDS and SIX SYLLABLES! The odds of this happening by chance are ASTRONOMICAL! The odds off this happening for just two lines is rare enough we scream the magical word “JINX!” to ease our sense of interdimensional HORROR! THE DARK GODS THEN DEMAND A COKE!
     
    The word “know,” the middle word of five, hints at a world we may imagine but will likely never visit. Is this the QUIET PLACE where the Mighty Mauer’s patience at the plate was born? Is he teasing us because we can never reach this zen ballpark?
     
    WE MUST GO DEEPER!
     
    Six of the fifteen words end with “at.” Is “that” where it’s “at?” The remaining two words, “you” and “about,” cannot be ignored. “About” has two syllabouts, whereas “you” only has what.
     
    That adds up you what hell about a know take on this old song. You know what? About that. What, that? You know about! That about know you what.
     
    You know about,
     
    What That
  2. Axel Kohagen
    Once, many of us still believed in a magical NORTH POLE where SANTA CLAUS makes everything all better (perhaps more of you would still believe if it wasn't for a terrible lie your parents told you to benefit BIG ELFING). Sadly, childhood may be the last time the lot of us all believed in a magical place ON EARTH! We Iowans once tried to pull some flim-flammary to convince you Iowa was heaven, FOOLED YOU, MINNESOTA!
     
    Some people still find it in themselves to believe in heaven on the planet. Every day they go to work - JUST LIKE YOU - but inside they harbor daydreams about SHANGRI-LA or EL DORADO or SCOOTER THOMPSON'S ELEPHANT EAR HUT. Lots of people believe in the lost city of Atlantis, but remain much LESS ENTHUSIASTIC about the MISPLACED TOWNSHIP OF WOOOO-PACKERS, WISCONSIN.
     
    However, on this day while the Twins have actually won a game, does anyone still believe in the MAGICAL LAND OF THE MINNESOTA TWINS WORLD CHAMPIONS? If so, how have you held on through the DARK NIGHTS OF SUFFERING? I write "nights" quite purposefully, for it seems this band of baseball brothers really enjoys clenching it all up so they can POO the BED in the later innings.
     
    Does your loss of faith come tied to a blown lead or another damn strike-out? Do you remember the name "DAVID HALE" and wonder who he was, or where he went to, or whether or not any of this matters because we are all dust in the wind?
     
    Or are you a little OUT THERE like me? Is your heart dialed in to that RAINBOW CONNECTION that has Minnie and Paul shaking hands over the WORLD SERIES TROPHY, being held by a giant JOE MAUER bobblehead? Do you cheer for the Twins when it ain't over, it's just HIGHLY MATHEMATICALLY IMPROBABLE?
     
    It's a bit DARING to share UNBRIDLED HOPE when your team's playing like TEN TONS OF BUTT in a 5 POUND BAG that was not EXPLICITLY CREATED FOR THE TRANSPORT OF BUTT AND BUTT RELATED PRODUCTS. But summer's always better when you can believe.
     
    And Atlantis? Great location for catching walleye.
     
    -- Get me a banjo and lillypad,
     
    Axel Kohagen
     
    (For more wisdom, check out my podcast at http://www.supertruestories.com/)
  3. Axel Kohagen
    Why can't Target Field have a yeti?
     
    Even a dedicated master of the art of SUPERNATURAL BASEBALL has trouble cobbling together enough words to delve into the spirit of this wonderful sport. It's difficult enough to put on a face to open your door in these days of late, late winter. No baseball cap upon your head but instead a STOCKING CAP where the pom pom is made of the SHREDDED PLANS OF YOUR SNOWBOUND LIFE!
     
    Twins fans spent a whole weekend indoors without a BIT of baseball to ease the pain. Many of us had to spend time speaking to our ACTUAL FAMILIES!
     
    It would be a nice gesture if the Twins released a LIVE YETI onto the unshoveled parts of America's National Winter Wasteland. This is not as difficult as you might initially think. After all, a Twins advertiser regularly brings a live Bigfoot to baseball games. I have it on good authority this is a SUBURBAN SASQUATCH who can't be bothered to menace a camper if that camper had their missing S'mores ingredients.
     
    A yeti, though. That's a different thing than a sasquatch. Yeti's tend to have white fur and they think it's stupid to say "Duck, Duck, Grey Duck." They might not enjoy life in the Cities, but they make WONDERFUL snow forts and get REAL cross when, say, TC Bear smashes into them with a snowmobile.
     
    You notice TC Bear doesn't snowmobile around as much anymore? Do you think he misses it? I mean, if he did, who would he tell? Ron Gardenhire's with Detroit now.
     
    Anyway, tuning in to see a yeti frolic in Target Field might seem bizarre, but it would be A GREAT DEAL BETTER than spending a weekend with a BUTTLOAD of snow and an earful of people complaining about it. You don't have to be an expert in SUPERNATURAL BASEBALL to know baseball IS magic. Give us the magic, then take it away, and there's going to be sadness.
     
    So is a baseball yeti so much to ask?
     
    Aspiring Skunk Ape,
     
    Axel Kohagen
  4. Axel Kohagen
    Imagine the Universe, swirling mysteriously across untold aeons and dimensions. Within this maelstrom, how can one isolate the force that is Mauer Power? How far does it extend? Is it more polite than other Universal forces, like Hulkamania?
     
    My goals may be lofty in this Universe, and yet I am COMPELLED to write yet another column about Mauer and the home runs. This Question of the Ages is a perennial classic for the local sports media. For most of them, it seems Mauer Power did not increase the size of their hearts three sizes in all.
     
    So I stand at the precipice that is beginning this column, armed with the knowledge that only a FULL and MEASURED knowledge of THE UNSEEN WORLD can solve this riddle. And it’s all done with numbers.
     
    In 2009, Joe Mauer hit the most home runs for season he'd ever hit in his career. He has yet to meet or exceed that number again - the number 28. Mauer's number is 7. 7 is widely considered to be a lucky and powerful number.
     
    28 divided by 7 is 4. 28 also ends in 8, whereas 2009 ends in 9. These are not the same numbers. However, 7 did eat 9, which is highly symbolic of Mauer's power in the year 2009. This year is 2018. 18 is equal to 9 times 2. Skid Row taught us that 18 equals Life, which is also promising.
     
    This mathematics teaches me that Joe Mauer will hit 56 home runs in 2018, because of the maths mentioned above. And yet, this SIMPLICITY of the UNIVERSE seems complicated or even ridiculous to those not attuned to the POWERS OF MYSTERIOUS POWERS.
     
    And if he could just line drive those suckers into the left field stands like a screaming banshee. the Universe would crap itself in delight.
     
    Magically Delicious,
     
    Axel
  5. Axel Kohagen
    Miguel Sano is the AL Player of the Week. Baseballs scream at night for their baseball parents to make sure Miguel Sano isn't under their bed. As I write this, the Twins have a winning schedule.
     
    Good. Because let's face it, none of us are happy about anyone else.
     
    The dam of Internet puppies and kitties finally busted. Log on to social media and drown in smarm and misery. Tyler Durden once wondered how far clever would get a person, and I think we found out. I don't know about you, but the amount of time I spend on social media is less about having fun and more about my gag reflex being able to keep the bile down.
     
    Truthfully, God bless baseball. It's been the calm smile in a crazy world for over a century. It survived wars and miseries. They may fancy it up, but you can still get a hot dog and beer (grudgingly acknowledging this beer will probably be a triple-hop aged horseradish-infused microbrew aged in a vat made of sentient wood). Baseball has the nicknames and the dingers.
     
    When the Twilight of the Gods comes, I'd like to think there will be one last pitcher taking the mound against the uncoming tide of endless darkness. Question is, has that pitcher been born yet?
     
    It's all so damned depressing I'd almost do the stupid-ass wave for a distraction.
  6. Axel Kohagen
    As I write this, the Twins have dropped three of the last four. Pride and hope take their lumps. Whatever bunkers Twins fans have built to survive 90 loss seasons are restocking their apocalyptic buffets.
     
    The Twins will go back into the mines tonight to try to find baseball gold, and it seems increasingly like Byron Buxton is the canary early-warning system for disaster. Thus far, he's looking a little rough. If he drops back to the minors, or stops seeing playing time, things look rougher for the rest of the Twins as they slug it out.
     
    Hard to imagine a more likeable player than Byron Buxton, and l made the mistake of getting too attached to him. His Instagram feed is charming, with lots of pictures of his family. When he makes a diving catch, I text or message someone proclaiming he's finally ready. I dream of taking a picture with him where we pose like the titular Bad Dudes of video game fame.
     
    But it's looking like he's already had 23 strike outs, and even my boyish belief in baseball magic can't find a way to sweep this under the rug.
     
    Like Samuel Deduno, Joe Crede, Brendan "A Squirrel Tried to Eat Me" Harris, and the second coming of Jason Kubel, I have loved Twins players more from my heart than from my common sense and ability to read baseball statistics. I was at an extra innings game where Joe Crede sent us home with a walk off grand slam, and I hugged a strange and questionably-smelling stranger next to me with unironic joy. But the game goes on, and youf imaginary pals go away.
     
    I dream of Byron Buxton interviews where his charm and smile win over the whole of Twins Territory. I can see him hitting his twentieth homer a dozen or so games before he steals his twentieth base. But right now, what I reallly see is a great guy with amazing baseball potential who's about to be pining for the fjords on a plane trip to Rochester.
     
    And then one of you will have to tell me sometimes friends move away and it's okay while I cry and pull out all of the drawers in my bedroom.
  7. Axel Kohagen
    It's Monday. The Twins aren't playing at the moment, but they're going to unload the war wagons and take on Detroit on their turf. The Twins have taken two series from divisional foes, and winning a third series would feel like a nice little start to somethin' somethin'.
     
    Five to one. That makes me pause for a second to remind people to appreciate The Doors like they ought to appreciate them. If you're going to roll down your car windows and drive down a rural highway this summer, you'd better play at least one song by The Doors while doing so. Personally, I recommend "Peace Frog."
     
    These Minnesota Twins, though. They've got that Cyberdyne-systems machine kind of feel. The bats spin the the diamond around, and then the tumblers align for a big blast from a terminating machine like Migueal Sano. This summer, that man is going to hit home runs Skynet won't be able to track.
     
    Of course, the pitching cog of the Twins Machine does raise an eyebrow or two. I think, if we're very lucky, the thing holds together just well enough that we hire a rent-an-ace in the playoff stretch. I'm sure, if we have any playoff success, this ace will then be offered way too much money to collapse and retire.
     
    Long drives with the window down, good music, and a team clicking and clacking their way to something to be proud of. This sounds like a summer worth having.
  8. Axel Kohagen
    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.
  9. Axel Kohagen
    I planned to write four columns for four Twins games attended in eight days, but I got stuck after running Fifteen's 5K before the last game and ended up skipping the game and staying home. The Twins lost, but my experience running into Target Field and getting closer Glen Perkins to sign my medal thrilled me enough to make me forget my favorite team's woes.
     
    Still, I felt like I owed y'all that last blog entry, to justify my shameless and unabashed promotion of my novel Orphans (in paperback and on Kindle!). Then the Twins kept losing, and if you don't have anything nice to say . . .
     
    Alisha Perkins already wrote something about people who don't say nice things. My friend Cindy and I discussed it on the 5K, and then we high-fived Alisha herself as we crossed the finish line. Cindy looked much tougher closing out that race than my winded, sweat-covered self did. I stood on Target Field and smiled, very content, and found myself in desperate need of large amounts of breakfast foods.
     
    Alisha wrote about the on-line crap her husband was taking for suffering a string of bad luck games. Her calm explanation of working through adversity is clear and worth reading. I'm always surprised when I see articles listing the attack tweets people have had to endure. When they start looking like plastic-sealed evidence from a crime show about serial killers, I start to wonder about my fellow Americans.
     
    Part of one line stuck with me, though: Alisha writes, "The cyber-bullying fad in America needs to stop . . ."
     
    For the most part, I believe I've been more of a cyber-smartass than a cyber-bully, but I'd have to let others be the judge of the effects of my actions instead of just the intentions. That said, I've tossed out a few mean tweets in the process of being funny.
     
    I used to assume the rich, famous, or Internet-famous read these pop culture quips and digs as if they were just lines in a movie where they already knew they would save the day. I started to let go of this attitude when I saw how quickly and viciously Internet users are willing to cross a line of social comfort for a quick bit of approval or attention - myself most definitely included. Once I saw how many death threats were tossed about, wrapped in a "just kidding" envelope," I worked to keep my online interactions sensible enough I would communicate them to the person in question in their own living room. Go through my Twitter feed and I have no doubt you'll find some times I've violated this rule, but I do try.
     
    So after this grown-up rant, I have to confess I understand the desire to rip some stranger from the top of the hill all the way down to the bottom. When you see a ballplayer as superhuman, you feel like you can tear them up, bit by bit, and it doesn't matter. Work might suck, your family might hate your guts, and your lumpy tummy might be pouring over your belt buckle (and here you see one of the reasons for running that 5K), but everybody can pick on the guy on the mound when the baseballs go straight from his hand to a lucky fan's bookshelf. We all know that guy, and we figure he can take it.
     
    If you think this sounds like the kind of bullcrap children are capable of flinging, I'm right there with you. After all, I honed my meanness on a steady diet of jealousy for others talents, fear of taking chances, and frustration about all of my own mistakes. Do any of us ever really grow out of that?
     
    Alisha, I read your column a couple of times (and I'd offer to call you and personally read you Orphans as you run, for your new book on tape), I think you do your best work against it when you write about things like anxiety, pain, and frustration in a way that shows bravery and empathy. As a running trainee, reading your stuff makes me feel more normal about my frustrations.
     
    I especially like it when you stand at the end of 5Ks and cheer yourself senseless for a (slightly less) chubby guy running slowly but not quitting. After all, there's no need to attack someone else online when you're proud of what you accomplished and someone showed kindness and paid attention when you met your goal.
     
    -- Axel Kohagen
  10. Axel Kohagen
    For the most part, Target Field is like a spacecraft from a hopeful, utopian science-fiction universe. There, fans saluting any pennant can wear clothing honoring their sporting allegiance without harassment. Your experience might be different, but I've always enjoyed sharing the game with other fans and enjoying nothing worse than mild ribbing.
     
    There are cracks in the facade, of course. The worst cracks open a gateway to hell, from which sprouts an unholy creature born to create utter misery in our baseball utopia.
     
    I speak, of course, of the Insufferable Out-of-Town Fan.
     
    Unlike his or her counterparts, the Insufferable One did not come to the stadium to enjoy the game. The Insufferable One came to perform a one-person act of performance art, designed to create discomfort that spreads across the stadium in waves of pure annoyance.
     
    After any action beneficial to the visiting team, the Insufferable One leaps to his/her feet to flail wildly. If this creature notices a normal fan cheering enthusiastically, he/she must make wilder gestures and louder noises until his/her awfulness greatly exceeds anyone in the area. If children are present, the Insufferable One rejoices in utilizing the more emphatic swear words.
     
    The Insufferable One utilizes her/his environment for maximum awfulness. For example, a simple baseball cap can be turned and rotated and placed upon her/his head in an annoying manner. Always concerned with achieving the proper affect, The Insufferable One will look around to insure everyone notices the ridiculous way they've altered their appearance (perhaps a ballpark giveaway can make an annoying noise or otherwise pester a decent fan). Should all of these methods fail, any cup of liquid can make for a spilly surprise.
     
    The mere presence of The Insufferable One brings out the worst in the fans around her/him. If one of those other fans dares to speak a word -- or even make a noise -- The Insufferable One believes is directed to her/him, a bellowing bullfrog type of communication ensues. During this grunting display, The Insufferable One can create a second pocket of despair around the hapless fan he/she lured into the fray. If all goes as planned, the game will end with a Twins loss and a gloating, puffed-up Insufferable One clapping loudly as several pockets of taunted and disgruntled fans kick their empty beer cups.
     
    Encounters with this creature, in its various forms, must simply be tolerated. Still, this writer dreams of utopia. Perhaps security can begin screening for fans who refuse to blink and cheer directly into the faces of Twins fans. Ushers could respond to early signs of Insufferability with a simple test. If the fan cannot maintain a simple conversation without screaming catchphrases and player last names, he/she could be transported to a room filled with mannequins and speakers repeatedly announcing "We are paying attention to you."
     
    We can all be citizens of utopia, if we work together.
     
    -- Axel Kohagen
    www.axelkohagen.com
  11. Axel Kohagen
    Bummed Darin Mastroianni got sent to minor league camp. My unpleasant mood has nothing to do with strategy or intellect. I am bummed because my friends who got autographs from him said he was a great guy. Mostly, I am bummed because I liked to pretend he was secretly a stubbly private investigator in a lesser known horror film directed by Dario Argento.
     
    Baseball, appreciated from the keen and reasoned eye of a scientific scholar, moves like a beautiful piece of clockwork machinery. I admire this viewpoint, though I suspect I will never quite master it.
     
    For my 2014 Twins season, I cannot be bothered to try to to see the baseball machine's cogs and gears selected and put into play with a jeweler's precision. In 2014, I say "8th Grade Mentality or Bust!"
     
    From this point forward, I am willing to believe pitchers are just magical instead of streaking or benefiting from good defense. Sam Deduno, you magical UFO son of a gun, make something happen.
     
    I will continue to enjoy the imaginary backstories and theme songs for players my wife, friends, and I invent. After all, just because no one has laughed at my Kubel/Guerrilas in Da Mist mash-up does not mean I should stop rapping it every time his name is mentioned. Every. Single. Time.
     
    I will relish nicknames. I shall delight in each Gardyism. I shall not jinx no-hitters by talking about them, and I can find it inside my heart to believe in rally hats again.
     
    I draw the line at doing the wave.
     
    My brain loves the brilliance of baseball, but my heart needs to be healthy, too. Bring on the dingers, and load me up on nasty hot dogs and nachos that follow the point under the "Twins" script on my shirt straight to my shorts and sneakers. May I sing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" each and every time I hear it.
  13. Axel Kohagen
    Swarzak Attack (Twins 4 As 3 - Game 143)
     
    You'd have a tough time coming up with a cooler success story for the Twins than the tale of Anthony Swarzak. Dude got injured rough-housing at Twins Fest and put himself out of commission for while. It seemed like one more reason to end up in Gardy's dog house, and an embarrassing way to escort yourself off of a major league roster.
     
    Now it's September, and he's a success story. Maybe we should all start believing in the existence of the Sasquatch, huh?
     
    Living on If and If I Tried (Twins 3 As 18 - Game 144)
     
    What kind of a fan am I, anyway?
     
    The Twins lost this game like a boxing match where the ref just wouldn't call the fight and skulls were caving in, and all I could muster was a shrug. I did show the score to my wife. She shrugged, too.
     
    I believe, in my heart, that Good Fans exist. Good Fans watch every game with nothing but team pride in their hearts. When they see a blowout like this one, they just find a way to nod toward their golden retriever and sigh, "We'll get 'em next time, Duke."
     
    Their dogs are always golden retrievers named Duke. They are also mostly retirees.
     
    I, myself, am not such a Good Fan.
     
    I Ain't No Good (Twins 2 As 8 - Game 145)
     
    Not just another loss, but another stomping. I didn't have enough "I care" left in me for a real sigh this time.
     
    I would feel a lot better if the Twins stopped blabbering about their new food truck.
     
    If I were a Good Fan, I'd be excited at the green growth of new Twins who will be future stars - and believe me, it exists. But I'm not a Good Fan. I'm a Pissy Fan.
     
    Every time the Twins social media mentions that new food truck, it feels like it's Christmas and Daddy Twins are playing with their new toys while the rest of us are opening up boxes of coal.
     
    I love the Twins, but I won't love them forever just because they are the Twins. The world already has one Chicago Cubs. Why build another?
  14. Axel Kohagen
    A Grand Slam is Always Something (Twins 7 White Sox 5 -- Game 112)
     
    Even in a losing a season, a grand slam is something special. The Twins won the game, but even if they hadn’t, Morneau’s grand slam would have been something special. On the second to last pitch of a formerly 20-0 game, a grand slam is still special.
     
    Morneau hit two home runs in this game. I guess when you have to strain to see where you’ll be next year, you’re focused well past the skyline. And then you send the baseballs out of the ballpark in that direction.
     
    Spinning a Little Fiction (Twins 3 White Sox 2 – Game 113)
     
    Every run of this game was scored from a solo shot home run. It gave the Twins Twitter update folks a lot to crow about.
     
    I’ve invented my own version of the game. I’m positive it’s completely false, and I’m sure even a cursory look at the box score would disprove the tale I’m about to tell. Thing is, some stories are too important for me to worry about the truth.
     
    I like to think the Twins and White Sox talked during the first game, on the basepaths and between innings. I like to think they were sick of the grind of losing seasons and playing two games in a day.
     
    I like to think they made a pact.
     
    Every player would swing like mad, putting every bit of body mass from toe to head into it. Pitchers gave it everything they had, too. The only goal was swatting all those red stitches out of the ballpark.
     
    Five solo home runs.
     
    I like to pretend this would happen because this is how little boys would solve the problem. Sometimes, it’s nice to remember the spirit of sandlot boys lives in major league baseball.
     
    Music Is My Life (Twins 4 White Sox 5 – Game 114)
     
    I took advantage of a quiet night to listen to some albums I’d put onto my iPod but never really given the time of day to. In between revelations and disappointments, I took the time monitor a Twins game that was pretty much what a person would expect.
     
    Note: I still mentally categorize music by album, not on a song by song basis. The mp3 age may have made album guys like me dinosaurs, but I’ll always take my songs in themed bunches. Comparatively speaking, this makes me the equivalent of a baseball fan who hates fantasy baseball.
     
    Twins won the battle for my attention but lost the war. There was a wisp of hope in the ninth, but it didn’t amount to anything. I have to say the phrase “Addison Read replaces Donnie Veal” inspires pure baseball delight, doesn’t it? It just sounds basebally.
     
    Morneau and Arcia shared home run glories again, their careers in sync until school lets out for the winter. I hope the fall fireworks keep coming.
     
     
    Wake Up Cheering (Twins 5 White Sox 2 – Game 115)
     
    I’ve reached a point in my life where I require a Sunday nap. If this nap doesn’t happen, someone will pay for it later. I sometimes pretend I might skip this nap, but my wife and I both know I’m lying.
     
    This nap ended with a nice, soft breeze and a quick check of the cell phone. No score. I busied myself with getting awake and ready.
     
    When I came back to the phone, the Twins woke up as well. Two home runs, five runs, and I was wide awake. Three out of four is better than “ain’t bad,” so take that, Meatloaf. The Twins will leave U.S. Cellular behind to a team that’s doing far, far worse.
     
    Considering how rough it is for the South Siders, I can’t be mad they got two solo homers at the end of the ninth. You can’t over-salt scorched earth.
  15. Axel Kohagen
    Crumb-Faced (Twins 0 Royals 13 – Game 109)
     
    I abandoned this game at 6-0, and all I missed was Jamey Carroll pitching a clean ninth inning. And a whole bunch of suffering.
     
    Checking the box score to see who stunk on the mound is like lining up elementary kids to see who has chocolate on their face after the cookie jar was emptied. This time, Correia and Pressly are crumb-bearded and cookie-handed.
     
    I’ve never been a pitcher at any level. Is there a point in a brutal shelling where you lose your grip on time and place and just let the baseballs shoot past you? Do you remember each time a guy crossed the plate, or is it just all cold flop sweat and blank memories at some point?
     
    After a sweep of the Astros, this game was a pantsing passport back to the reality of the 2013 baseball season.
     
    Don’t Can the Cheese (Twins 7 Royals 0 – Game 110)
     
    Twins smash the Royals at the plate and newcomer Andrew Albers couldn’t have made a finer major league entrance if he showed up in a tuxedo and ordered a martini. This would have been a nice game to catch, but I was out at The National that night instead of enjoying the national night out.
    I go to see a band singing the beauty of losing and the Twins win. There’s something in that.
     
    The real story here is a scandal, and it’s not the one with A-Rod. The New Britain Twins affiliate admitted to faking a failed marriage-cam proposal to create a viral video. This is an outrage, and it could shake the foundations of baseball as we know it.
     
    This not a drill. This is the real apocalypse.
     
    I get that baseball has to sweeten up the show to keep the homespun joy consistent for 162 games. I just don’t want them to get caught doing it. I mean, when a clown puts on facepaint it shouldn’t take phone calls about its retirement plan.
     
    Every stadium, for every game, needs to be a village gathered peacefully to share in the festivities. You can fake a mascot race, but don’t turn Americana into professional wrestling. Or at least don’t get caught doing it.
     
    Hold the Gap (Twins 5 Royals 2 – Game 111)
     
    The hits kept coming, but somehow Deduno kept this game reasonable. Only three strikeouts, too. No walks, and it looks like everything is improving from last year. Maybe slow growth is better, or maybe he’ll just join Diamond in Rochester next year.
     
    Still. I Want To Believe in the Deduno story.
     
    Most of the Twins batting averages are street addresses for the early part of the 200 block. I fear the day the new blood on the Twins team finally gives out and the losses pour through the collapse like flood water.
  16. Axel Kohagen
    Road Goes On Forever (Twins 4 Astros 3– Game 105)
     
    Left a great time at Diversicon, a science fiction and fantasy convention, to find the Twins were still playing. The game was tug of war, and the rag tied onto the rope was still in the middle of the mudpit in the center.
     
    I’d spent the day with my mind wrapped around the business of writing the unreal and then bringing it to life (for more on my life out from under the baseball cap, click here). Listening to good old fashioned baseball soothed me.
     
    Baseball wasn’t far away at Diversicon, mind you. There was a TV playing the game in a meeting area, and I stopped by to check scores and comment on the wondrous world of Deduno.
     
    I left Bandana Square and drove past Midway Stadium, one baseball game on my stereo and another on my right. I kept driving as the game teetered and tottered but didn’t end. The game was still going on when I drove past Target Field, and it was going on when I collapsed into a comfy chair and found out the Twins won via Twitter.
     
    At a certain point, it seems fair to say baseball is its own magical world. It’s an altered reality with hot dogs and a seventh inning stretch.
     
    Pom Poms are Blooming (Twins 6 Astros 4 – Game 106)
     
    The short walk to my car tonight confirmed it. Get your sweatshirts ready, because football season is coming. Cheerleaders are at the ready, and right now some drunk dude is buying the groceries he’ll later eat and barf all over you.
     
    When football arrives at the party, baseball seems even more gentlemanly by comparison.
     
    There are a few stories left to finish in major league baseball, but lots of teams wrote out their final chapter before August began. Two of them played in Minneapolis tonight, and one of them won.
     
    Twin Hitters (Twins 3 Astros 2 – Game 107)
     
    Whenever the Twins sweep a series, it means the bedtime story ends with me imagining Ron Gardenhire saying “And they lived happily ever after.” It means there were ups and downs, but the Twins won every game they could. No shame in that game.
     
    Morneau and Arcia each hit home runs today. In fact, those home runs knocked in the only runs the Twins scored in the game. Luckily, three runs were all the team needed.
     
    Morneau hit his home run first. The slugger still has something in the tank, and the question on everyone’s mind how much, and how clean is that fuel going to burn? He might slip out of town on waivers or stay with the team till he retires, but we are measuring his time from the end of his career, not the beginning.
     
    Arcia hit a solo shot later. The lumps he’s taken as a rookie are probably still smarting, but he keeps making his way into the lineup. He’s just a few steps away from the start of his career, and the view from his path seems to have a few mountains worth noting.
     
    Today, they met for high fives. When you look at their progress on a bigger map, the distance between them is too far to reach across.
  17. Axel Kohagen
    The Way the Ball Bounces (Twins 2 Royals 7 – Game 102)
     
    With the trade talk making the Minnesota Twins look like the garage sale everybody drives past, baseball kept being baseball. The game sounded great in my car, with the window down, and a few hints of fall in the breeze.
     
    Provus described a routine foul ball and it reminded me how elegant but complicated the game is. The ball goes in the air, affected by the way it was thrown, the way it was hit, and the atmospheric conditions with which it’s forced to contend. Universal truths, but so many ways for a ball to bounce.
     
    The nostalgia lasted about as long as Pelfrey did. I stopped seeing the forest and started seeing the trees (trees always being a sore subject for lovers of Target Field). I quit listening. When baseball has no chance at a postseason, you really just have to be there.
     
    Who Traded Catcher Robin? (Twins 3 Royals 4– Game 103)
     
    Butera is no longer a Minnesota Twin, but Justin Morneau is safe for now. Waiver wire wildness is on its way, and the Twins might still shed a player or two from their roster now that BreakEvening is totally unrealistic.
     
    Drew Butera was Robin on a team without a Batman. The boy wonder had his moments, and definitely handled his business behind the plate, but sidekicks need a different class of hero than the Twins have.
     
    Twins lose another one to the Royals, too. In the pop music world, there’s a song called “Royals” by Lorde. The ditty praises low-brow living, but this time it’s the Kansas City boys are showing more upward mobility.
     
    (Twins 2 Royals 7 – Game 104)
     
    Didn’t the Twins already lose 7-2 to the Royals this series? Is this like when college students just copy and paste old homework assignments and pass it off as brand new?
    While the door was still slamming shut from Butera’s departure, Scott Diamond and Aaron Hicks found out there is more than one way to exit a major league ballpark. The Aaron Hicks story is filled with false starts and painful slumps. I still think he gets it, and at least this means we get to see Oswaldo Arcia again.
     
    Diamond, though. A year of broken dreams is rough, and it scrubs away at a magical year of exceeding expectations until that story’s completely scraped away. Whatever comes back from Rochester will be a different man. Harder, perhaps, but maybe wiser and better as well.
  18. Axel Kohagen
    Daydream Disbeliever (Twins 2 Mariners 8 – Game 98)
     
    The Twins got knocked out early in this game, but everybody played nine innings anyway.
     
    During my little league tour of duty, I spent most of time at whichever part of the outfield they felt saved me from embarrassing attempts at fielding fly balls. If I was lucky and the ball stayed far away from my glove, I had nothing to do but daydream away until I was forced to humiliate myself at the plate.
     
    Getting blown out of the water early, one thousand miles from your fan base and further away from a shot at post-season baseball . . . I wonder if the Twins outfielders daydream as much as I did. Kinda warms my heart to think they’re out there, in a big league uniform with families and drunkards screaming all around them, and all they’re thinking about is what TV series they’re going to power through next on Netflix.
     
    If they’re hoping the softball players they have a crush on don’t see them strike out with three off-kilter swings, then I know exactly how they feel.
     
    Felix is a Real Cool Cat (Twins 3 Mariners 2 – Game 99)
     
    I never hate it when King Felix bests the Twins. I might lose home-team zealotry points for saying it, but it’s true. Seems like no matter who steps into the batter’s box, he’s got a fistful of answers to whatever questions they raise.
     
    I have warm feelings for the Mariners, and always will, just because of Ken Griffey Jr. The guys who knew sports (at this time in my life, I was not one of them) adored Junior without question or reservation. No athlete, except for Michael Jordan, could top him.
     
    The King didn’t have a full game in him, so both teams kept playing so rookie Chris Colabello could give the Twins a 13th inning lead, then the game. New growth under scorched earth, maybe.
     
    Epilogues and Codas (Twins 4 Mariners 0 – Game 100)
     
    I didn’t know it was a day game, but Twins basically won the thing before I noticed they were playing ball. It difficult, as a fan, to know the team can manage a victory without me fretting over them. I like to think they need me.
     
    Morneau hit a homer. Moments like this are quick jabs to the heart. The badass brawler who came up with the team already became a husband and father, and then disaster arrived with a knee to the helmet. Morneau developed a grimness, but he didn’t quit.
     
    Now he might end up being traded, even if his trade value is nothing like it would’ve been, once. No matter how likely or unlikely a trade is, fans mark each event from a point of future nostalgia. “That was his last game as a Twin.” “That was his last home run as a Twin.” “That was his last shaving creamed towel to the face as a Twin.”
     
    I talked about Chris Colabello as new growth under the burned-out wreckage of past winning seasons. There’s growth everywhere, even if some of it’s not immediately growing straight up to the sky. Sano’s going through some attitude-related growing pains, but at his age, that’s what he’s supposed to do. Somehow, Deduno still has the capacity to fascinate. Whether or not he’s for real, he’s demonstrated a deeper root structure than I would have expected.
     
    A new team is growing, and it looks like Morneau is old growth.
     
    No Colabello Getaway (Twins 4 Mariners 6 – Game 101)
     
    Tiny sparks of life weren’t enough to turn a day game into a Twins victory, but they were there just the same. Chris Colabello slugged another home run. Maybe he won’t grow into a Twins landmark, but he might have a place in the ecosystem.
     
    Elsewhere, Miguel Sano gets back to the business of baseball, perhaps a step closer to being big-league ready.
     
    The fans tidy up their houses to prepare for jobs on Monday, and the Twins do some travelling. When the Twins set up shop in Target Field again, fans will suddenly realize there aren’t as many home games left as they thought.
  19. Axel Kohagen
    Behind the Maps (Twins 4 Angels 2 – Game 95)
     
    Putting the Twins on a West Coast road trip is like keeping something in your glove compartment. No matter how much you swear you won’t forget this time, your mind goes blank when it counts.
     
    California time victories are nice to find between smashes of the “snooze” button on my cell phone. It’s like getting a nice letter, except no one mails anything anymore. Even the junk mail people gave up the ghost years ago.
     
    Since there’s no reason to focus on postseason pipe dreams, I keep coming back to the old saying: “If there’s a jersey on your back, you still got a chance.”
     
    It’s a game, but most of life is a game. Especially the most important parts. Any game is a chance to tune in to perfection and start some kind of magical streak. Great moments get remembered after bad seasons fade away.
     
    Even if those great moments happen half a country away, against a team who reached for the crown and fell in the moat.
    MauerKinder (Twins 10 Angels 3 – Game 96)
     
    No one cared about the game tonight. The Minnesotan Royal Babies were coming, and Papa Joe Mauer left on a jet plane to meet his kids at the plate. Twitter exploded in joy, then made the comparisons to the royal birth in England and exploded all over again.
     
    Mauer is tied to this region so deep it goes past DNA into the soul of the state itself. His days as kid ballplayer were already finished. Now, he’s a new father. If you’re sipping from a half-full glass, you’ll appreciate the beauty of change. See things half empty and it’s just another sign time moves too damned fast to keep up.
     
    So the game got left behind, but it still got played because that’s the whole point of everything. This game kept going so Chris Herrmann could hit his first career grand slam in extra innings. It’s the smallest moment in a losing season, and Herrmann isn’t on track to be a superstar. But the game doesn’t stop giving out great stories and moments of heroism just because the season is already over for a team.
     
    Nothing But Bathwater (Twins 0 Angels 1 – Game 97)
     
    We have MauerBabies. Twin girls with beautiful names. It’s a perfect hometown and hugs moment from the man who looks perfectly natural posing next to dairy products.
     
    Later on, former Twin Francisco Liriano turned heads by pitching an excellent game against the Nationals. If he can’t be our hero, I’m okay with him saving the day in Pittsburgh. It’s karmic.
     
    In between these events, the Twins played and lost. They turned in a bland 0-1 scorecard and the loss hit me with all the force of a bored shrug. With hope gone, baseball’s much bigger than games and scores. The race turned into a Sunday drive through the country, and suddenly the scenery matters.
  20. Axel Kohagen
    No More All-Star Moments (Twins 3 Indians 2 – Game 92)
     
    This is the story of the 2013 Twins, and there’s really not a whole lot left to cover in these remaining games. True believers will hold out for a miracle, a string of victories, and playoff glory. I love all things TC, but I can’t believe in this campfire tale.
     
    If it happens, I’ll jump on the bandwagon and stand in the parade like I always belonged there.
     
    The Twins came out of the All-Star Break plucky, like nobody told them the odds. Mauer and Morneau made some late-inning magic. Perkins took the mound for a save opportunity with his fly down, which oughta be a story he tells in radio interviews into his gray-haired years.
     
    Still, the team is thirteen games under .500, so this tale is destined to end in tragedy.
     
    Doppelganger (Twins 3 Indians 2 – Game 93)
     
    Twins win again, almost exactly like they did the night before. Except Perkins kept his fly zipped.
     
    I kinda hope he left that zipper down on purpose. Could’ve started out as a bullpen dare and ended up with a box of steaks delivered to Perkins house. It’s a long shot – and clearly I have no inside information – but it’s a nice little daydream for me.
     
    If the Twins can’t win, they can at least bond. Share some emotional scars and find out what the guy they’re warming up with really has under the hood. Mischief and ritual can build trust.
     
    Maybe what I’m saying is this: We need another Kent Hrbek, and maybe a dash of Gary Gaetti. They may not be the straws that stir the drink, but they are the hands that shake up the can of beer.
     
    Maybe this could be the team that rises up out of that foam, like a phoenix from the ashes.
    Game of Moans (Twins 1 Indians 7 – Game 94)
     
    Around first pitch, my wife and talked about the lack of time we’d been spending with the Twins. We were taking our dog for a walk by the mighty Mississippi, and we didn’t talk much about Twins baseball. It was too beautiful a day to ruin.
     
    After getting lunch and returning home, I checked the score to find the Twins were down 6-0. I shut off the phone, shut down my give-a-damn, and continued enjoying time with my wife.
     
    I miss baseball, but I can’t submit to this reign of bad pitches and low energy. No one needs another blog post lamenting the slow death of this team. Writing dozens of posts about what’s wrong with the Twins will kill joy inside my heart.
     
    My game needs to change. There’s really no need to watch baseball games to see the Twins’ season progress. It’s time to watch the Twins’ season progress to appreciate baseball.
     
    The game remains the game. Four bases, 90 feet apart, and three strikes to get a chance to dance. Even without a World Series in a team’s sights, a two-out home run still brings glory. Every home run crosses a very real border into immortality. Real life is rarely so satisfying.
     
    It’s dismal, everyone, but there’s still baseball out there.
  21. Axel Kohagen
    The Twins Were Sharknados First (Twins 0 Yankees 2 - Game 89)
     
    A SyFy televion movie called Sharknado took over the world of Twitter, and I’ll bet most Twins fans didn’t put up too much of a struggle.
     
    Sharknado is a movie whose title tells you exactly what you’re going to see on your TV. The Internet Movie Database estimates it cost about a million to make. I’ll bet no one over the age of eight expected any quality from it, and yet it stole the world’s heart for a moment in time.
     
    The Twins are supposed to be Sharknados. They’re supposed to clap together the right pieces at the right time for the right price to steal the country’s attention. Exploiting opportunities and taking chances are two patron saints for both trashy movies and small-ball baseball teams.
     
    People watch Sharknado-type movies hoping they’ll be so bad they’re good. Right now, the Twins are just plain bad. Unlike drive-in classics, straight-to-video masterpieces, and basic cable must-watch TV, the Twins don’t seem to have any tricks up their sleeves.
     
    Around Twins territory, channels are changing.
     
    Three Deep in the Waste Lands (Twins 4 Yankees 1 - Game 90)
     
    I monitored this game from the time-warped world of social media and smart phones. Information isn’t updated simultaneously in this world, so sometimes my phone said the Twins were down when Twitter had something different to say. Who knows how the radio and TV feeds fit into this temporal rift.
     
    This game involved three home runs, including one from one Mr. Ryan Doumit, and a Twins victory in the Big Apple. And yet, I feel little joy. It’s like someone put together all the ingredients for a nice cheesecake and I found myself in the mood for dry crackers. Or sour grapes.
     
    It feels pretty good to write that, even if I know it’s partially a lie. The Yankees got spank-eed by the Twins in NYC. I want to stay bitter enough to be cool and detached, but I can’t help but smile a little bit.
     
    A Pleasant Sunday Thumpin’ (Twins 10 Yankees 4 – Game 91)
     
    On a pleasant Sunday, right before the All-Star break, the Minnesota Twins put a double-digit thumping on the New York Yankees. Sounds like pitching missteps and horror-show fielding played a part in the Yankees demise, but all I need to know is that the Twins won a series in New York City.
     
    For the Twins, the midseason cliffhanger isn’t “Will they or won’t they?” It’s closer to being like the tagline for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre – “Who will survive and what will be left of them?” Players will be cut from the team. Players will be shipped to other teams. Players will get injured.
     
    What it all means is this: there is less of the 2013 season to play than has already been played. Baseball is going away again. Like any good scary movie, it’ll end with the promise of a new chapter. I just hope there’s enough left of the team to cast next year’s heroes.
     
    As I finish typing this, I hear that Parmelee, Arcia, and Escobar are going to Rochester. More ballplayers down in the dust and the heat of summer.
  22. Axel Kohagen
    Lots of Hits, No Crossovers (Twins 4 Rays 7 - Game 85)
     
    Crossed through the radio broadcast of the game like going over the same creek, again and again, driving down a country highway. Things were peaceful enough until I crossed paths with the game one more time to find the Twins down three runs. As I listened, a fourth Rays run crossed the plate.
     
    There was still hope when I got home. Aaron Hicks got his fourth hit of the game and then scored a run. I got home and hurried through a few chores, but I knew it didn’t matter. The text announcing the loss arrived on my phone before my body hit my favorite spot on the couch.
     
    It does ease the pain to see Hicks getting it right. He and Arcia show promise from the future. Still, I’d like for the Twins coaching staff to sit Hicks and Arcia down for the “Don’t be Danny Valencia after the 2010 season” talk. This whole team has a long way to go.
     
    What’s Blogger for “The Wave” (Twins 1 Rays 4 - Game 86)
     
    The Twins losses keep mounting, and I decided to let the team spend a day without me caring about them as punishment. I’m a rational man, but somehow I really do believe the team can feel apathy and spite through the airwaves. Just a normal, everyday craziness, I guess.
     
    A dip into the Twitter pool led me to believe lots of bloggers gave up along with me. If there was a way to bounce a beach ball from one tweet of suffering to the ext, I think lots of people would’ve kept things bouncing.
     
    All of these losses share the same lack of energy. It’s like the Twins identified some perfect exemplar of loss and have set themselves about replicating it in every game.
     
    I’ll be back tomorrow. Pouting is great, but it doesn’t make up for a world without baseball. Guess I do need this team more than they need me, even when they’re losing.
     
    Then Miss Jackson It Is (Twins 3 Rays 4 - Game 87)
     
    Didn’t realize I was lying in yesterday’s recap when I said I’d care about the Twins game tonight, but I was. Forgot it was even happening until the Internet told me. It scares me how much I wait for the Internet to keep me posted these days.
     
    Internet brought me good news with a two run Florimon homer that gave the Twins the lead. I felt no thrill. Past history has taught me a one run Twins lead had the same chances of survival as the last jelly donut at a boring meeting.
     
    So the boys in the out of town jerseys made it a two-run lead, and I thought that was something. But the Twins continued to do the same thing they’ve done for me lately and found a way to lose the game.
     
    This time, they managed to stretch the game’s death throes into extra innings. When they finally lost the game as my head hit the pillow, I don’t know if it was more or less sad.
     
    Passengers (Twins 3 Rays 4 - Game 88)
     
    There was under an inning to celebrate the Twins avoiding a no-hitter before the home runs came screaming through the air. Two of them, back to back, like an execution to end the series.
     
    What happens to all of Gardy’s commercials after the Twins let him go?
     
    I don’t know if Gardy’s going to get fired or not, but all of the fingers tapping on keypads has turned into the loud clanging of a bell tolling for the end of his tenure as Twins coach. Hard to have any feelings about that potential loss when every Twins’ loss numbs me like Novocain.
     
    Now it’s off to New York, What beatings await the team there?
  23. Axel Kohagen
    Centre of Horrors, With an “R-E” (Twins 0 Blue Jays 4 - Game 82)
     
    After an early first pitch and late jog, my trusty phone informed me the Twins were down four to zip. Last week I might’ve had enough “never say die” to keep an eye on the game, but the Yankees took that with them back to New York.
     
    Catching the pre-game show on my drive home didn’t exactly fill me with rainbows, hopes, and dreams. The crew kept referring to Rogers Centre as a “House of Horrors” for the Twins. They always lose there, but they aren’t exactly rampaging barbarians in Seattle or New York. Or anywhere else these last few years. Kind of a League of Horrors, really.
     
    By the way, it took me a while to really understand “House of Horrors” meant something bad. Come on, what’s cooler than a house of horrors? Skulls and ghouls everywhere, with scares around every corner and a delightful mix of strobe lights and black lights?
     
    Can this be a theme night for the Twins? It’d be something to look forward to after the All-Star break.
     
    Pelfrey’s Patches Hold (Twins 6 Blue Jays 0 - Game 83)
     
    Two three run innings, adding up to a 6-0 Twins victory, made a nice Saturday afternoon even nicer.
     
    I caught part of the game on a fast food run, being careful to give the carload of teens next to me plenty of extra room. It’s only fair; with school being out, and most of them aren’t working full time. It’s their world, and if one of them has a car and a license, the rest pile in and cruise around. The destination is anywhere outside of the house.
     
    Pelfrey’s no young pup. I’m glad to see him weather his first outing for a scoreless victory. He’s a big dude trying for a comeback. Long as he can take the mound every five outings, he gets to walk onto the diamond. Diamond dust is the fountain of youth; you can get younger just listening to people playing on the radio.
     
    On the way home, I got stuck behind older drivers, but I just let it happen. According to my wife, I already drive like an old dude anyway. After all, I’ve got no reason to be out cruising with my buddies when I could be home napping on my couch after the game.
     
    The game. It’s the only thing that stays the same long enough to tie all of these generations together. There’s something holy in that.
     
    Game Over, Man (Twins 5 Blue Jays 11 - Game 84)
     
    Sticking with last game’s “I’m an old dude” theme, I’ve mostly quit with video games. They make me feel trapped, like I’m inside the console and not sitting on the couch with a controller in my hands. The computers are too good and get too mad. Also, I’m too cheap to replace busted controllers and smashed drywall.
     
    The Blue Jays’ score in today’s baseball game popped up like the score of a video game. Despite yesterday’s victory, another lopsided loss makes me wonder if the Twins ought to just swallow their pride and look for baseball’s instruction manual, or at least spend some time playing the tutorials.
     
    Games are fun as long as there’s some chance for victory within them. Winning one game out of seven suggests this game is leaving the Twins behind.
     
    There will be broken pieces to clean up, too. Every loss and scream of frustration puts the team and the fans one step closer to trades and roster moves. Each game may be a player’s last. Until they’re in the opposite dugout, spitting sunflower seeds and knocking the ball around for the bad guys.
  25. Axel Kohagen
    All Summers are Royal Blue (Twins 3 Royals 1 - Game 74)
     
    When, in the course of baseball events, the Twins are clearly not going to make the playoffs, the Royals will play against them approximately one million times. Neither team will be playing meaningful baseball, and yet they will continue playing.
     
    I shouldn’t complain. The Twins won.
     
    Deduno wins again, too. Aaron Gleeman calls him a UFO, because people believe in his pitching prowess even though all the evidence points toward a more rational explanation. I, for one, think there’s no reason to hate on UFOS.
     
    Deduno will probably crash to earth, but until then he’s mystifying everyone and putting on Ws on the board. Legends are best when they come outta nowhere, even if they don’t last long at all.
     
    Wooden Bleachers (Twins 3 Royals 9 - Game 75)
    Caught this game in punchlines. There was a rain delay, then an embarrassment of Royals runs and a loss.
     
    The joke wasn’t on me, however, because I got my baseball joy from watching my 5 year-old-niece play T-ball. It’s easy to keep track of four bases when you’re grown up. When you’re a kid, the diamond has more twists and turns. At least you have extra time to navigate a path home when the other team is using all of their motor skills to get the ball from their glove to first base.
     
    I cheered loud and took pictures, and my niece was clearly the best one out there (also, my other niece was the cutest kid playing in the playground during the game). All the parents and relatives were cheering, brought together by a kid’s game to blink away infield dust and watch a ball game amid trees and Iowan plains.
     
    Reinforced (Twins 6 Royals 2 - Game 76)
     
    My 11 year wedding anniversary involved a fancy meal of buffet pizza with my nieces and our family. I was too busy to catch the score until my dad spotted it on a TV. Twins win.
     
    Kyle Gibson wins.
     
    The reinforcements are coming, Twins Territory. I can hear the bugles all the way down here in Iowa. Hicks and Arcia arrived as scouts, but Gibson’s arrival is something else. He survived injury and pitched a debut game worth bragging about. If any battlefront needed reinforcement, it was the pitching mound.
     
    If the bleeding stops on that pitching mound, we could be Break-Evening by at least next year. Maybe it’ll knock some of the Cubs shirts off of Iowans. After all, the Kernels are giving them a taste of what’s coming to Target Field.
     
    Ain’t Nothin’ Like the Real Thing (Twins 8 Royals 9 - Game 77)
     
    If you step toward a wall and travel halfway there with each step, you’ll never make it to the wall. Similarly, no matter how close communication advances get you to the game of baseball, they never quite take you all the way to the ballpark.
     
    We finished the trek home from Iowa and I took a break to look at my phone. The Twitter updates sent directly to me informed me Clete Thomas hit a home run, and then in the next sentence let me know the Twins were still losing. Then another RBI and the Twins were closing in on tying the game.
     
    At least until I checked the score again and found the Twins were losing by three.
     
    Emotions went up and down from there. Morneau and Plouffe found home runs to keep the game hopping, and then the whole shooting match ended on three strikes outs and this Royals series is done.
     
    The real loss is my streak of consecutive days without attending a Twins game. New players are coming. Old players are going to leave. I’m feeling the urge look both categories in the eyes again, even if it’s from the top of the bleachers.
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