Axel Kohagen

Department of Water and Power (Twins 1 Indians 5 Game 69) It’s really easy to forget about a baseball game when you open up your blinds to see water slapping into your window like gravity made a 90 degree mistake. Weekend baseball series are like a family cookout you can take with you on the car stereo. When the Twins are out of town, the cookout covers the Twin Cities and keeps going. You can ask strangers in blue and red for a score and they’ll tell you. If your biological family is far away, Twins Territory never is. That said, the rain announced something bigger than baseball was coming, and then the power dropped out. Somewhere in between the storm and the silence, my phone informed the Twins had already lost. At least I wouldn’t have that to fret about. Sometime around 1 AM, my wife and I took to the roads to get ice, water, and batteries. I wondered what would have happened if the storm hit when the Twins were holding court in Target Field. I don’t think I even looked to see if the lights were on. Seeing that place dark just breaks my heart. Kick in the Pants (Twins 7 Indians 8 - Game 70) I expect the power to come back on within two hours of it going out. I’m not saying this is realistic, but it’s true for me. I don’t even get worried; I just know I have to wait two hours and the power will come back on. The Twins took the field 24 hours after power went out, and my house was powerless. I was powerless. The Target I went to for candles and trail mix was half-powerless, and the freezer section was a casualty of the storm. I bought a brick of batteries to put in a twelve-year-old portable radio. One trip out of the house had brought me from the Stone Age to the 1980s. I could set the radio outside, put my feet up on a lawn chair, and listen to the Twins play. Except P.J. Walters spoiled the evening I was brewing. If I had power in my house, I’d be scouring Twitter and the Internet beyond for reasons why before I really let myself cuss him out for all those walks. Rendered powerless, I was forced to give him the benefit of the doubt. There are parts about not having electricity I’ve learned to enjoy. Reading Games of Thrones by candlelight seemed rather fitting, which was a blessing. I downed 500 pages of that book while killing time. I like holding my flashlight like a cop and pretending like I’m in a late 90s suspense/thrill when I go downstairs. I even get to watch the cars driving past my window and imagine flipping off the ones I’m pretty sure have electricity. Moseying into Town (Twins 4 Indians 3 - Game 71) The Twins won, but I didn’t notice until afterwards. We’re still powerless, and I keep losing track of time without having a cell phone clock to check. I caught the postgame show in my car on the way from a trip into civilization to fill my saddlebags with power for my batteries. Then, at home, I caught Gleeman and the Geek on my portable radio as I stared at my Starin’ Tree and hoped I had enough juice to finish my game recap while it’s still fresh in mind. I’m such a cry-baby. Couple days without tech toys and I feel like Major League Baseball is sailing away from me across the seven seas. This is just a temporary loss of obsessive electronic fandom. Gone is the illusion I can harness the entire game in my head, the moment it happens. Now, when I’m gazing at my Starin’ Tree, I imagine the game in my head. These mental phantoms aren’t real, and they can’t be analyzed. Still, there’s an added heroic element to these daydreams, as if boyhood dreams came home at last.

Department of Water and Power (Twins 1 Indians 5 Game 69) It’s really easy to forget about a baseball game when you open up your blinds to see water slapping into your window like gravity made a 90 degree mistake. Weekend baseball series are like a family cookout you can take with you on the car stereo. When the Twins are out of town, the cookout covers the Twin Cities and keeps going. You can ask strangers in blue and red for a score and they’ll tell you. If your biological family is far away, Twins Territory never is. That said, the rain announced something bigger than baseball was coming, and then the power dropped out. Somewhere in between the storm and the silence, my phone informed the Twins had already lost. At least I wouldn’t have that to fret about. Sometime around 1 AM, my wife and I took to the roads to get ice, water, and batteries. I wondered what would have happened if the storm hit when the Twins were holding court in Target Field. I don’t think I even looked to see if the lights were on. Seeing that place dark just breaks my heart. Kick in the Pants (Twins 7 Indians 8 - Game 70) I expect the power to come back on within two hours of it going out. I’m not saying this is realistic, but it’s true for me. I don’t even get worried; I just know I have to wait two hours and the power will come back on. The Twins took the field 24 hours after power went out, and my house was powerless. I was powerless. The Target I went to for candles and trail mix was half-powerless, and the freezer section was a casualty of the storm. I bought a brick of batteries to put in a twelve-year-old portable radio. One trip out of the house had brought me from the Stone Age to the 1980s. I could set the radio outside, put my feet up on a lawn chair, and listen to the Twins play. Except P.J. Walters spoiled the evening I was brewing. If I had power in my house, I’d be scouring Twitter and the Internet beyond for reasons why before I really let myself cuss him out for all those walks. Rendered powerless, I was forced to give him the benefit of the doubt. There are parts about not having electricity I’ve learned to enjoy. Reading Games of Thrones by candlelight seemed rather fitting, which was a blessing. I downed 500 pages of that book while killing time. I like holding my flashlight like a cop and pretending like I’m in a late 90s suspense/thrill when I go downstairs. I even get to watch the cars driving past my window and imagine flipping off the ones I’m pretty sure have electricity. Moseying into Town (Twins 4 Indians 3 - Game 71) The Twins won, but I didn’t notice until afterwards. We’re still powerless, and I keep losing track of time without having a cell phone clock to check. I caught the postgame show in my car on the way from a trip into civilization to fill my saddlebags with power for my batteries. Then, at home, I caught Gleeman and the Geek on my portable radio as I stared at my Starin’ Tree and hoped I had enough juice to finish my game recap while it’s still fresh in mind. I’m such a cry-baby. Couple days without tech toys and I feel like Major League Baseball is sailing away from me across the seven seas. This is just a temporary loss of obsessive electronic fandom. Gone is the illusion I can harness the entire game in my head, the moment it happens. Now, when I’m gazing at my Starin’ Tree, I imagine the game in my head. These mental phantoms aren’t real, and they can’t be analyzed. Still, there’s an added heroic element to these daydreams, as if boyhood dreams came home at last.

Holding a Handful of Water (Twins 7 White Sox 5 – Game 66) As a kid, I used to fill my cupped palm with water to see how long I could hold onto it. No matter how steady I held my hand, the water always slipped away. I grew up Iowa. We made our own fun and we liked it. As an adult Twins fan, the feeling returns to me. Game after game I see the Minnesota team find a big inning – like their four run first inning – and then slowly let it slide through their fingers. The tall tale used to be that the Twins managed the infield like an enchanted bear trap. Now I’m just happy if they give up fewer than four runs a game. Doumit came up clutch again, and I’m loving that. Doumit would be a great hero for devout Twins fans to reminisce about for winter after winter. He’s scrappy and he’s 99.9% rock and roll. He might not get his own verse in the Ballad of 2013, but he deserves a mention. Late Inning Seepage (Twins 7 White Sox 4 – Game 67) Something sickening about watching runs go up in the late innings against the Twins. This game is about Justin Morneau breaking a homerless streak and giving out imaginary high-fives in the dugout. And it’s about trying to find my hatred for the White Sox. I miss really hating a baseball team. I’m too old to believe in evil super villains and demons summoned by a golden puzzle box. I don’t believe in that the rag-tag, plucky team of ballplayers beat the richer, stronger team from across town, either. Used to be different. I used to listen to games on the radio and tell my brother-in-law “Don’t worry, the Twins find a way.” And I would be RIGHT so much of the time. When those Twins from the past beat the White Sox, it was like Smaug taking a nosedive. No need to give up hope. Maybe I can work up some bile and brimstone for the Yankees. All Day on All Days (Twins 8 White Sox 4 - Game 68) Like a vampire in reverse, baseball is more powerful in the daylight. In fact, regular daylight living might be what’s sucking the life out of everyone. Everything’s so convenient we have to have hissyfits about the three seconds of life we lost when someone cut us off in traffic. You can handle your money with a human-free drive-thru. Not even the billboards stand still these days. But when the Twins play a day game, something heroic has a chance to enter into your bumper-to-bumper, quickie cell phone check kind of day. There’s the tale of Oswaldo Arcia, who came to the pros fully formed and ready. I’m quite partial to Arcia – when I heard John Bonnes praising him on Gleeman and the Geek I got mad someone else had noticed him. There’s the awkwardness of Jared Burton’s struggles (and the aforementioned Arcia dropping a ball didn’t help out here) and his redemption in closing at the game. More compelling than wondering if you’re driving past the chain restaurant in your neighborhood or the exact same restaurant two cities over, isn’t it?

Holding a Handful of Water (Twins 7 White Sox 5 – Game 66) As a kid, I used to fill my cupped palm with water to see how long I could hold onto it. No matter how steady I held my hand, the water always slipped away. I grew up Iowa. We made our own fun and we liked it. As an adult Twins fan, the feeling returns to me. Game after game I see the Minnesota team find a big inning – like their four run first inning – and then slowly let it slide through their fingers. The tall tale used to be that the Twins managed the infield like an enchanted bear trap. Now I’m just happy if they give up fewer than four runs a game. Doumit came up clutch again, and I’m loving that. Doumit would be a great hero for devout Twins fans to reminisce about for winter after winter. He’s scrappy and he’s 99.9% rock and roll. He might not get his own verse in the Ballad of 2013, but he deserves a mention. Late Inning Seepage (Twins 7 White Sox 4 – Game 67) Something sickening about watching runs go up in the late innings against the Twins. This game is about Justin Morneau breaking a homerless streak and giving out imaginary high-fives in the dugout. And it’s about trying to find my hatred for the White Sox. I miss really hating a baseball team. I’m too old to believe in evil super villains and demons summoned by a golden puzzle box. I don’t believe in that the rag-tag, plucky team of ballplayers beat the richer, stronger team from across town, either. Used to be different. I used to listen to games on the radio and tell my brother-in-law “Don’t worry, the Twins find a way.” And I would be RIGHT so much of the time. When those Twins from the past beat the White Sox, it was like Smaug taking a nosedive. No need to give up hope. Maybe I can work up some bile and brimstone for the Yankees. All Day on All Days (Twins 8 White Sox 4 - Game 68) Like a vampire in reverse, baseball is more powerful in the daylight. In fact, regular daylight living might be what’s sucking the life out of everyone. Everything’s so convenient we have to have hissyfits about the three seconds of life we lost when someone cut us off in traffic. You can handle your money with a human-free drive-thru. Not even the billboards stand still these days. But when the Twins play a day game, something heroic has a chance to enter into your bumper-to-bumper, quickie cell phone check kind of day. There’s the tale of Oswaldo Arcia, who came to the pros fully formed and ready. I’m quite partial to Arcia – when I heard John Bonnes praising him on Gleeman and the Geek I got mad someone else had noticed him. There’s the awkwardness of Jared Burton’s struggles (and the aforementioned Arcia dropping a ball didn’t help out here) and his redemption in closing at the game. More compelling than wondering if you’re driving past the chain restaurant in your neighborhood or the exact same restaurant two cities over, isn’t it?

History in the Air, Twins Hits Stay in the Yard (Twins 0 Tigers 4 Game 63) The Twins played tonight, in as much as an official game occurred and they were there. At least people at Target Field got to see Eddie Guardado and PR guy Tom Mee get inducted into the Twins Hall of Fame. I listened to the first inning in my backyard, until the mosquitoes ran up the scoreboard in a hellish game of their own. I listened deeper into the game inside my house. I listened past Eddie Guardado’s time in the radio booth. Then Scott Diamond wrote “The End” on the game in the sixth inning and I went looking for a snack. Guardado’s time on the air (and, from what I hear, his speech at the ceremony) served as a warning about the cutting power of nostalgia. No doubt the grownup fans in baseball jerseys know what he’s talking about. The boys of summer find their way to fall, as do we all. It’s already June, and the summer’s going by quick. Maybe that’s why fans hold on to the moment a little bit longer by pretending every fly ball will grow up to be a home run. Didja Hear the One . . . (Twins 6 Tigers 3 -- Game 64) When I left with my wife to wrestle around with a friend’s puppy for the evening, we drove past Target Field in the pouring rain. “Do they think they’re playing a game tonight?” my wife asked. The sun came back, and they did play. I missed out on seeing Plouffe pick up a bat and smash his way out of the doghouse – even if just for one day. Can’t believe the entire game got past me without me even checking up on my phone. But with summer finally behaving like it ought to, time speeds up. The chase for BreakEvening is important to me, but it couldn’t beat a chocolate lab puppy splashing through puddles tonight. A Game of Catch (Twins 5 Tigers 2 -- Game 65) It’s Father’s Day, and that always reminds me I was not ready for baseball when I was younger. My dad went out and tossed the ball with me, despite all of the crying and hiding from the ball. The only run I scored in Little League happened because I accidentally kicked the ball out of the third basemen’s mitt. I found this out after I crossed the plate, began celebrating, and was greeted by giggling, embarrassed teammates. Baseball is an incredibly grown-up game for little tykes, isn’t it? Their foibles between the bases are adorable when you’ve grown past T-ball and kids playing “rover.” But when you’re wearing a hat and jeans and praying the giant kid doesn’t smash a line drive through your eye socket? The fear and shame don’t have the same charm. On this Father’s Day, the Twins gave their fans the baseball equivalent of an ugly necktie. Dozier hit a home run to prove he still had a pulse, something he does like a teenager calls home to check in before curfew. The other team’s pitcher arrived on time and stayed late, and the Twins bats were unable to send him home early.

History in the Air, Twins Hits Stay in the Yard (Twins 0 Tigers 4 Game 63) The Twins played tonight, in as much as an official game occurred and they were there. At least people at Target Field got to see Eddie Guardado and PR guy Tom Mee get inducted into the Twins Hall of Fame. I listened to the first inning in my backyard, until the mosquitoes ran up the scoreboard in a hellish game of their own. I listened deeper into the game inside my house. I listened past Eddie Guardado’s time in the radio booth. Then Scott Diamond wrote “The End” on the game in the sixth inning and I went looking for a snack. Guardado’s time on the air (and, from what I hear, his speech at the ceremony) served as a warning about the cutting power of nostalgia. No doubt the grownup fans in baseball jerseys know what he’s talking about. The boys of summer find their way to fall, as do we all. It’s already June, and the summer’s going by quick. Maybe that’s why fans hold on to the moment a little bit longer by pretending every fly ball will grow up to be a home run. Didja Hear the One . . . (Twins 6 Tigers 3 -- Game 64) When I left with my wife to wrestle around with a friend’s puppy for the evening, we drove past Target Field in the pouring rain. “Do they think they’re playing a game tonight?” my wife asked. The sun came back, and they did play. I missed out on seeing Plouffe pick up a bat and smash his way out of the doghouse – even if just for one day. Can’t believe the entire game got past me without me even checking up on my phone. But with summer finally behaving like it ought to, time speeds up. The chase for BreakEvening is important to me, but it couldn’t beat a chocolate lab puppy splashing through puddles tonight. A Game of Catch (Twins 5 Tigers 2 -- Game 65) It’s Father’s Day, and that always reminds me I was not ready for baseball when I was younger. My dad went out and tossed the ball with me, despite all of the crying and hiding from the ball. The only run I scored in Little League happened because I accidentally kicked the ball out of the third basemen’s mitt. I found this out after I crossed the plate, began celebrating, and was greeted by giggling, embarrassed teammates. Baseball is an incredibly grown-up game for little tykes, isn’t it? Their foibles between the bases are adorable when you’ve grown past T-ball and kids playing “rover.” But when you’re wearing a hat and jeans and praying the giant kid doesn’t smash a line drive through your eye socket? The fear and shame don’t have the same charm. On this Father’s Day, the Twins gave their fans the baseball equivalent of an ugly necktie. Dozier hit a home run to prove he still had a pulse, something he does like a teenager calls home to check in before curfew. The other team’s pitcher arrived on time and stayed late, and the Twins bats were unable to send him home early.

Twins vs. Phillies Run(s) Scored (Twins 3 Phillies 2—Game 60) Run(s) scored. When my team is at bat, I add up all the players and figure out how many runs could’ve gone on the scoreboard. I assume the highest number possible. But when it’s the other team . . . As soon as “Run(s) scored” appears on my smartphone screen all sounds around me cease. I can hear my heart beat. I don’t even count up how bad the damage could be. I just assume infinity. Somehow, despite seemingly being on the mount for all but four minutes of the baseball game, PJ Walters got out of two of those soul-stopping” Run(s) scored” announcements with the minimum amount of damage and Justin Morneau smacked a single to take the game. By the way, we were watching a zombie movie called Warm Bodies last night. When the movie wanted to up the young-and-innocent-love factor, they showed the lovers visiting a ballpark. I think I’ve said this before. In the even of a zombie apocalypse, baseball is our only hope. The Old Man Snuggle (Twins 4 Phillies 3 – Game 61) The Twins came from behind and won. I’m not going to lie. I didn’t even give this game a chance. I went to bed early because I’m old and cranky and totally felt like it. It was great, too. Quiet and peaceful. The wife stayed up watching TV so I had the whole bed to myself. That’s a lie. I had two small cats with me who didn’t take up a small amount of room, but I didn’t mind. And then the wife came to bed and I gave her the third of bed space she’s used to. When I was in my early twenties, this would have felt like surrender. Now, it feels like Christmas. The present came when I got up in the morning, checked my text messages, and saw the good guys won. Not a bad way to start a morning. Deckstravaganzapalooza Gala (Twins 2 Phillies 3 – Game 62) The Twins came up with a lead in the downhill innings, then gave it right back and spun around in strikeout circles until the game was over and the Twins lost. Two out of 3 and all that. Rough game ending for the Twins Deckstravaganza outing, where Twins bloggers and social media types get out on the Budweiser deck to watch the game. First, I gotta say that someday I WILL get up to the Budweiser deck. Secondly, I gotta wonder if all of us who type and tweet would give it all up for a chair at the barbershop or a booth at the local restaurant where the baseball talk flows without the aid of technology. Would we still do all of this if we knew a place where everybody knows our name and they’re always glad we came? I mean, what are YOU doing with all the free time you’ve saved because you knew how to handle technology? Nothing against the Deckstravaganza – I’d love to go someday. And I love meeting minds in this great big world of blogging. I guess, after a loss and busted sweep, I just need a hug and an album by The Cure.

Twins vs. Phillies Run(s) Scored (Twins 3 Phillies 2—Game 60) Run(s) scored. When my team is at bat, I add up all the players and figure out how many runs could’ve gone on the scoreboard. I assume the highest number possible. But when it’s the other team . . . As soon as “Run(s) scored” appears on my smartphone screen all sounds around me cease. I can hear my heart beat. I don’t even count up how bad the damage could be. I just assume infinity. Somehow, despite seemingly being on the mount for all but four minutes of the baseball game, PJ Walters got out of two of those soul-stopping” Run(s) scored” announcements with the minimum amount of damage and Justin Morneau smacked a single to take the game. By the way, we were watching a zombie movie called Warm Bodies last night. When the movie wanted to up the young-and-innocent-love factor, they showed the lovers visiting a ballpark. I think I’ve said this before. In the even of a zombie apocalypse, baseball is our only hope. The Old Man Snuggle (Twins 4 Phillies 3 – Game 61) The Twins came from behind and won. I’m not going to lie. I didn’t even give this game a chance. I went to bed early because I’m old and cranky and totally felt like it. It was great, too. Quiet and peaceful. The wife stayed up watching TV so I had the whole bed to myself. That’s a lie. I had two small cats with me who didn’t take up a small amount of room, but I didn’t mind. And then the wife came to bed and I gave her the third of bed space she’s used to. When I was in my early twenties, this would have felt like surrender. Now, it feels like Christmas. The present came when I got up in the morning, checked my text messages, and saw the good guys won. Not a bad way to start a morning. Deckstravaganzapalooza Gala (Twins 2 Phillies 3 – Game 62) The Twins came up with a lead in the downhill innings, then gave it right back and spun around in strikeout circles until the game was over and the Twins lost. Two out of 3 and all that. Rough game ending for the Twins Deckstravaganza outing, where Twins bloggers and social media types get out on the Budweiser deck to watch the game. First, I gotta say that someday I WILL get up to the Budweiser deck. Secondly, I gotta wonder if all of us who type and tweet would give it all up for a chair at the barbershop or a booth at the local restaurant where the baseball talk flows without the aid of technology. Would we still do all of this if we knew a place where everybody knows our name and they’re always glad we came? I mean, what are YOU doing with all the free time you’ve saved because you knew how to handle technology? Nothing against the Deckstravaganza – I’d love to go someday. And I love meeting minds in this great big world of blogging. I guess, after a loss and busted sweep, I just need a hug and an album by The Cure.

Twins at Nationals A Small Amount of New Hope (Twins 4 Nationals 3 - Game 57) Thanks to rain that wouldn’t go away, this Nationals series will be played in a space of barely over one day. Condensing things makes this interleague series into a neat little three part trilogy. Like Star Wars or The Godfather. Well, it will be for anyone in the Land of Lakes still sporting a TC on their hat, at least. Tonight’s game had the underdog Twins playing the Nationals, a team that is actually good at playing baseball. Somehow, they won. Actually, they won in extra innings with a mighty swing of Ryan Doumit’s back – and don’t THAT warm my spooky black heart. Like Han Solo, a scruffy Glen Perkins defended Doumit’s heroism and the Twins got a win. And I almost got through this recap without mentioning how sad it was to see pics of Span talking to Twins players, wearing a uniform with not enough blue on it. The Nationals Strike Back (Twins 0 Nationals 7 - Game 58) Noon did nothing to alleviate the London bleakness and Seattle rain the Twin Cities are incapable of shaking, and an hour later the Twins became yet another thing to feel bad about. Like the middle of many trilogies, this tragedy was predicated on our heroes being disappointed and let down by one of their own. Like Lando, Fredo, and even the helicopter guy in Dawn of the Dead, Scott Diamond is breaking good guy hearts right now. 33% of the disappointers I’ve mentioned turned it around to become heroes again. Scott seems like too good a guy to not be cheering for him to turn it around. Because right now, putting him on the mound feels like putting paycheck after paycheck into a slot machine just because it paid out big the last time you went to the casino. Never been a ballplayer, but I have to imagine the time between a double-header that crushed you and the next game is excruciating. You’re basically just bench-pressing your own disgust for a few hours. Return of the Losing (Twins 4 Nationals 5 – Game 59) For a minute there, it looked like the weekend trilogy of Twins games would end victoriously for hometown nine. They were up 4-2 after three innings and it felt like the stars were aligned for the Twins to slide through the remaining six innings with that kind of lead. Trilogies tend to end in jubilation, so I set to introducing a friend to all that went down at Camp Crystal Lake and then trading red and green shells in Mario Kart. When we checked back into the Twins game, we found we’d missed a rain delay. And the Nationals tied it up. Later, my phone buzzed again and the update told me the Twins had lost. If this year of Twins baseball has a writing staff, they aren’t following conventional rules. We’re supposed to be plucky and win two out of three here, if we’re going to achieve even the modest goal of break-evening. A trilogy is about daring to disturb the Universe. Moreover, trilogies are about new life and new rules. These three games didn’t change diddily. A tweet from Aaron Gleeman shone harsh reality onto my daydreamed baseball stories – these Twins aren’t winning much more than last year’s broken, nearly 100-game losing incarnation. And still, at the end of a hard game, people like me find some reason to believe.

Twins at Nationals A Small Amount of New Hope (Twins 4 Nationals 3 - Game 57) Thanks to rain that wouldn’t go away, this Nationals series will be played in a space of barely over one day. Condensing things makes this interleague series into a neat little three part trilogy. Like Star Wars or The Godfather. Well, it will be for anyone in the Land of Lakes still sporting a TC on their hat, at least. Tonight’s game had the underdog Twins playing the Nationals, a team that is actually good at playing baseball. Somehow, they won. Actually, they won in extra innings with a mighty swing of Ryan Doumit’s back – and don’t THAT warm my spooky black heart. Like Han Solo, a scruffy Glen Perkins defended Doumit’s heroism and the Twins got a win. And I almost got through this recap without mentioning how sad it was to see pics of Span talking to Twins players, wearing a uniform with not enough blue on it. The Nationals Strike Back (Twins 0 Nationals 7 - Game 58) Noon did nothing to alleviate the London bleakness and Seattle rain the Twin Cities are incapable of shaking, and an hour later the Twins became yet another thing to feel bad about. Like the middle of many trilogies, this tragedy was predicated on our heroes being disappointed and let down by one of their own. Like Lando, Fredo, and even the helicopter guy in Dawn of the Dead, Scott Diamond is breaking good guy hearts right now. 33% of the disappointers I’ve mentioned turned it around to become heroes again. Scott seems like too good a guy to not be cheering for him to turn it around. Because right now, putting him on the mound feels like putting paycheck after paycheck into a slot machine just because it paid out big the last time you went to the casino. Never been a ballplayer, but I have to imagine the time between a double-header that crushed you and the next game is excruciating. You’re basically just bench-pressing your own disgust for a few hours. Return of the Losing (Twins 4 Nationals 5 – Game 59) For a minute there, it looked like the weekend trilogy of Twins games would end victoriously for hometown nine. They were up 4-2 after three innings and it felt like the stars were aligned for the Twins to slide through the remaining six innings with that kind of lead. Trilogies tend to end in jubilation, so I set to introducing a friend to all that went down at Camp Crystal Lake and then trading red and green shells in Mario Kart. When we checked back into the Twins game, we found we’d missed a rain delay. And the Nationals tied it up. Later, my phone buzzed again and the update told me the Twins had lost. If this year of Twins baseball has a writing staff, they aren’t following conventional rules. We’re supposed to be plucky and win two out of three here, if we’re going to achieve even the modest goal of break-evening. A trilogy is about daring to disturb the Universe. Moreover, trilogies are about new life and new rules. These three games didn’t change diddily. A tweet from Aaron Gleeman shone harsh reality onto my daydreamed baseball stories – these Twins aren’t winning much more than last year’s broken, nearly 100-game losing incarnation. And still, at the end of a hard game, people like me find some reason to believe.

Twins at Royals Salem’s Lot (Twins 3 Royals 0 - Game 54) I started my day with a run. My Michael Cuddyer shirsey kept me company. It’s funny how sturdy a fan’s heart is. After the announcement a beloved player will no longer be a Minnesota Twin, grief sets in. Then, when the season rolls around, you’re cheering for the players still in the dugout and you only pout when you hear former Twins’ names on highlight reels. Sorta like breaking up with the person you kissed at summer camp. I don’t go to summer camp anymore. I watch the Twins play the Royals, because at a certain point it seems like all the Twins do is play the Royals. Since their collapse from greatness, the Royals are the screwed-up cousin at the AL Central family picnic. Nobody wants to be them. Which is why it hurts that they’ve been spanking the Twins of late. At least last night halted the skid. The Twins collected three runs early and then closed out the dance club coasting at that number. Job done. Except. . . Whispers around the country that baseball’s gonna suspend players associated with recent steroid allegations. Great. Now all my friends who don’t like baseball will be bitching about steroids for the next decade instead of appreciating the nuances of a game crafted with great focus and strategy. I guess when you live in a country that produced the Salem Witch Trials, this is your lot in life. Funny Jokes (Twins 1 Royals 4 - Game 55) I missed the game, but my dad didn’t. He got to a Twins game at Kansas City before I could. I’m not saying I’m jealous, but his birthday is coming up and I’m giving him old socks and dirt. It’s looking like misread this whole steroid scandal, too. It’s looking to be just another round of veiled threats and official statements. I sure hope someone gets up on a high horse and talks about the kind of baseball the children of America truly deserve. Great joke, right? If you’re an adult baseball fan, you ought to know that things happen because they’re likely, not because they ought to. Baseball’s purity comes from our willingness to believe as children. But you can wish like a child all you want. It won’t guarantee the slugger on the cusp of the Hall of Fame gets one more year before his knees give out. It doesn’t make a pitcher stop getting tired in inning seven of a no-hitter. And no matter how much you pout, it doesn’t get you free tickets and airfare to Twins away games. KC and the New Royal Basement Revue (Twins 3 Royals 7 - Game 56) My beloved Twins found a way to lose in KC yet again. Royal loyalists have to be thrilled to see the Twins acting like perennial AL Central basement dwellers. At least it didn’t matter too much tonight, as the MLB draft gave us a nice distraction. As predicted, the Twins took pitcher Kohl Stewart in the first round. Like many fans, I’m behind on my research. Therefore, I must submit Kohl Stewart to the name test. Does he have a cool sounding name? Will it look good autographed on a baseball? Can I imagine the Target Field PA announcing it in familiar baseball fashion? I am proud to say that, using these well-honed criteria, the Twins picked well.

Twins at Royals Salem’s Lot (Twins 3 Royals 0 - Game 54) I started my day with a run. My Michael Cuddyer shirsey kept me company. It’s funny how sturdy a fan’s heart is. After the announcement a beloved player will no longer be a Minnesota Twin, grief sets in. Then, when the season rolls around, you’re cheering for the players still in the dugout and you only pout when you hear former Twins’ names on highlight reels. Sorta like breaking up with the person you kissed at summer camp. I don’t go to summer camp anymore. I watch the Twins play the Royals, because at a certain point it seems like all the Twins do is play the Royals. Since their collapse from greatness, the Royals are the screwed-up cousin at the AL Central family picnic. Nobody wants to be them. Which is why it hurts that they’ve been spanking the Twins of late. At least last night halted the skid. The Twins collected three runs early and then closed out the dance club coasting at that number. Job done. Except. . . Whispers around the country that baseball’s gonna suspend players associated with recent steroid allegations. Great. Now all my friends who don’t like baseball will be bitching about steroids for the next decade instead of appreciating the nuances of a game crafted with great focus and strategy. I guess when you live in a country that produced the Salem Witch Trials, this is your lot in life. Funny Jokes (Twins 1 Royals 4 - Game 55) I missed the game, but my dad didn’t. He got to a Twins game at Kansas City before I could. I’m not saying I’m jealous, but his birthday is coming up and I’m giving him old socks and dirt. It’s looking like misread this whole steroid scandal, too. It’s looking to be just another round of veiled threats and official statements. I sure hope someone gets up on a high horse and talks about the kind of baseball the children of America truly deserve. Great joke, right? If you’re an adult baseball fan, you ought to know that things happen because they’re likely, not because they ought to. Baseball’s purity comes from our willingness to believe as children. But you can wish like a child all you want. It won’t guarantee the slugger on the cusp of the Hall of Fame gets one more year before his knees give out. It doesn’t make a pitcher stop getting tired in inning seven of a no-hitter. And no matter how much you pout, it doesn’t get you free tickets and airfare to Twins away games. KC and the New Royal Basement Revue (Twins 3 Royals 7 - Game 56) My beloved Twins found a way to lose in KC yet again. Royal loyalists have to be thrilled to see the Twins acting like perennial AL Central basement dwellers. At least it didn’t matter too much tonight, as the MLB draft gave us a nice distraction. As predicted, the Twins took pitcher Kohl Stewart in the first round. Like many fans, I’m behind on my research. Therefore, I must submit Kohl Stewart to the name test. Does he have a cool sounding name? Will it look good autographed on a baseball? Can I imagine the Target Field PA announcing it in familiar baseball fashion? I am proud to say that, using these well-honed criteria, the Twins picked well.

Twins versus Mariners No Big Deal (Game 51) The ball game was relegated to nothing more than background noise. The goose-egg on the Twins’ side of the scoreboard did little to lure me back in. With baseball refusing to signal the beginning of weekend joy. My conversation with my friend turned to ghost stories and hard luck tales. I even dug out the flashlight for that special campfire vibe. And so it’s like this: Baseball is apple pie, and when people are done with their slice they return to sampling the evils of the regular world. What I’m saying is Minnesota baseball’s piece of pie better get a lot more satisfying if it plans to be pleasantly distracting this summer. 3-0 ain’t cutting it. Selling the Drama (Game 52) When Doumit hit the walk-off triple and I pumped my fist inside my car, I knew it was time to stop being superstitious about jinxing him. I touched the Misfits button I have on my driver’s side visor and heard, in my mind, the opening bars of “Mother.” Thinking of a certain relief pitcher as your closer may not make for good managing, but it does create guaranteed drama on the diamond. If you create a guy as the end-all-be-all of keeping the other team of the scoreboard, you create at least three guys who want to take him down. Gotta love that. Gotta love Joe Mauer, too. He’s confident, calm, and consistent. I get a mouth full of bile any time I hear someone complain about whether or not he’s clutch. They sound like someone screaming “Told you it’d be heads” after the coin didn’t come up tails for the first time in a hundred tries. Raining Domination and Baseballs (Game 53) This is going to sound counter-intuitive, but the best way to appreciate a home team blowout is in bits and pieces, scattered through out your day. Don’t misunderstand me – nothing beats being at the game. But if you can’t be at the game, it’s best to get the game in glimpses. That way, every time you tune in the Twins smash it up and pour on some runs. When I’m not hearing the game, I’m imagining the Twins have somehow perfected batting to the point where they CANNOT miss, and they CANNOT hit anything except a home run. The scoreboard would read infinity. Major league baseball would be forced to enact what would be referred to as the Twins Rules. Joe Mauer would live on a mountain of baseballs and meditate in his own strike zone of Zen. 10-0 is pretty good, though. But someday.

Twins versus Mariners No Big Deal (Game 51) The ball game was relegated to nothing more than background noise. The goose-egg on the Twins’ side of the scoreboard did little to lure me back in. With baseball refusing to signal the beginning of weekend joy. My conversation with my friend turned to ghost stories and hard luck tales. I even dug out the flashlight for that special campfire vibe. And so it’s like this: Baseball is apple pie, and when people are done with their slice they return to sampling the evils of the regular world. What I’m saying is Minnesota baseball’s piece of pie better get a lot more satisfying if it plans to be pleasantly distracting this summer. 3-0 ain’t cutting it. Selling the Drama (Game 52) When Doumit hit the walk-off triple and I pumped my fist inside my car, I knew it was time to stop being superstitious about jinxing him. I touched the Misfits button I have on my driver’s side visor and heard, in my mind, the opening bars of “Mother.” Thinking of a certain relief pitcher as your closer may not make for good managing, but it does create guaranteed drama on the diamond. If you create a guy as the end-all-be-all of keeping the other team of the scoreboard, you create at least three guys who want to take him down. Gotta love that. Gotta love Joe Mauer, too. He’s confident, calm, and consistent. I get a mouth full of bile any time I hear someone complain about whether or not he’s clutch. They sound like someone screaming “Told you it’d be heads” after the coin didn’t come up tails for the first time in a hundred tries. Raining Domination and Baseballs (Game 53) This is going to sound counter-intuitive, but the best way to appreciate a home team blowout is in bits and pieces, scattered through out your day. Don’t misunderstand me – nothing beats being at the game. But if you can’t be at the game, it’s best to get the game in glimpses. That way, every time you tune in the Twins smash it up and pour on some runs. When I’m not hearing the game, I’m imagining the Twins have somehow perfected batting to the point where they CANNOT miss, and they CANNOT hit anything except a home run. The scoreboard would read infinity. Major league baseball would be forced to enact what would be referred to as the Twins Rules. Joe Mauer would live on a mountain of baseballs and meditate in his own strike zone of Zen. 10-0 is pretty good, though. But someday.

Twins versus Brewers The Coliseum Cheers (Game 49) I tuned into the game just before Sam Deduno got enough outs to put himself in line for a win. He’s like dynamite: The Twins get the exact perfect ratio of balls to strikes from him or everything blows up in their face. The radio was all about the solid defensive performance from the Twins, but all the signals beaming out of Target Field amped up to 11 for a foul ball Chris Parmelee snagged, battling fate and gravity the whole way. A great moment, and it got better. Reaching for the ball was Parker “Over the Baggy” Hageman. The TV camera caught his reaction, which a combination of animal howl and sheer childhood joy. Moments later, screenshots of Parker filled my Twitter feed. And then the gifs came to play. When the Twins win, the joy of victory spreads through the coliseum of revelers. It travels on wi-fi and through televisions. Parker screamed for all of us. Three victories into recovering from life in the baseball wastelands, I’m more than happy to scream along with him. Outside the Friend Zone (Game 50) I missed most of this game while navigating a full schedule. I grabbed a few blissful moments of radio revelry as the Twins swatted home runs hither and tither with great abandon. I didn’t catch the part where they let the Brewers creep back in, and I don’t think I care for that part. Four wins in a row is pretty nice week, but my joy de baseball hasn’t returned yet. Maybe they’re just too far away from the Great Line of Break-Evening. I got to spend some good time today with friends. It made me realize I can’t even imagine befriending a baseball player, unless they were a worn down relief pitcher. I’m too old. Simply dreaming of wild baseball nights tires me out.

Twins versus Brewers The Coliseum Cheers (Game 49) I tuned into the game just before Sam Deduno got enough outs to put himself in line for a win. He’s like dynamite: The Twins get the exact perfect ratio of balls to strikes from him or everything blows up in their face. The radio was all about the solid defensive performance from the Twins, but all the signals beaming out of Target Field amped up to 11 for a foul ball Chris Parmelee snagged, battling fate and gravity the whole way. A great moment, and it got better. Reaching for the ball was Parker “Over the Baggy” Hageman. The TV camera caught his reaction, which a combination of animal howl and sheer childhood joy. Moments later, screenshots of Parker filled my Twitter feed. And then the gifs came to play. When the Twins win, the joy of victory spreads through the coliseum of revelers. It travels on wi-fi and through televisions. Parker screamed for all of us. Three victories into recovering from life in the baseball wastelands, I’m more than happy to scream along with him. Outside the Friend Zone (Game 50) I missed most of this game while navigating a full schedule. I grabbed a few blissful moments of radio revelry as the Twins swatted home runs hither and tither with great abandon. I didn’t catch the part where they let the Brewers creep back in, and I don’t think I care for that part. Four wins in a row is pretty nice week, but my joy de baseball hasn’t returned yet. Maybe they’re just too far away from the Great Line of Break-Evening. I got to spend some good time today with friends. It made me realize I can’t even imagine befriending a baseball player, unless they were a worn down relief pitcher. I’m too old. Simply dreaming of wild baseball nights tires me out.

Twins at Brewers Wanting What Uecker’s Got (Game 47) Twins found a win on their first game of the series in Milwaukee. I listened to the first inning on the radio and monitored the rest of the action on my phone. I only half believe giving up on a team hurts their chances of winning, but I absolutely know they won in spite of my pessimism today. Listened to Bob Uecker call that first inning. Still weird to think about him having a stalker for all of those years. I guess, when you’re the voice of the official game of childhood dreams people come after you hoping to take more than their fair share. I knew about Uecker from Mr. Belvedere before I knew about him from baseball. I used to look so much like the kid from that show they called me “Wesley” when I as in elementary school. Man, I hated that. I must not have used up all my superstition, because I’m starting to think Doumit does best when I’m not paying attention. You know, like playing “Red Light, Green Light.” From Four Up to Extra Innings (Game 48) In the Age of Smartphones, time exists differently. It speeds up or slows down depending on when you check to see what updates have been brought to your device. Because of this, in my world, the Twins went from having a 4-0 lead to being tied 4-4 in a matter of minutes, with no explanation. They choked between a celebratory tweet sent to my phone and the game coming back from commercial. I don’t know if it’s better to take the disappointment all at once, or to let it sink in with each at bat pounding another nail into the coffin. The late-innings ball wasn’t pretty, even a few steps removed and watching the plays as they happened on my computer. During this, the Twins Twitter account was in the process of what felt, to me, like recreating the annoyance of the wave on-line. In the 14th inning the Twins pushed a run across and bedtime was in sight. Duensing shut the door and the Twins managed to win one in extra innings. In under 24 hours, they face the same team at a different stadium. It’s like they won’t have anything new to gossip about before the game.

Twins at Brewers Wanting What Uecker’s Got (Game 47) Twins found a win on their first game of the series in Milwaukee. I listened to the first inning on the radio and monitored the rest of the action on my phone. I only half believe giving up on a team hurts their chances of winning, but I absolutely know they won in spite of my pessimism today. Listened to Bob Uecker call that first inning. Still weird to think about him having a stalker for all of those years. I guess, when you’re the voice of the official game of childhood dreams people come after you hoping to take more than their fair share. I knew about Uecker from Mr. Belvedere before I knew about him from baseball. I used to look so much like the kid from that show they called me “Wesley” when I as in elementary school. Man, I hated that. I must not have used up all my superstition, because I’m starting to think Doumit does best when I’m not paying attention. You know, like playing “Red Light, Green Light.” From Four Up to Extra Innings (Game 48) In the Age of Smartphones, time exists differently. It speeds up or slows down depending on when you check to see what updates have been brought to your device. Because of this, in my world, the Twins went from having a 4-0 lead to being tied 4-4 in a matter of minutes, with no explanation. They choked between a celebratory tweet sent to my phone and the game coming back from commercial. I don’t know if it’s better to take the disappointment all at once, or to let it sink in with each at bat pounding another nail into the coffin. The late-innings ball wasn’t pretty, even a few steps removed and watching the plays as they happened on my computer. During this, the Twins Twitter account was in the process of what felt, to me, like recreating the annoyance of the wave on-line. In the 14th inning the Twins pushed a run across and bedtime was in sight. Duensing shut the door and the Twins managed to win one in extra innings. In under 24 hours, they face the same team at a different stadium. It’s like they won’t have anything new to gossip about before the game.

Twins at Tigers 10 Pins Fall Down (Game 44) I asked the score if I should watch the Twins game. The score said no, and I had no regrets about spending some time with my wife, my friend, and an awful movie called The Greenskeeper. The formerly infamous John Rocker, pitcher, played the killer. It’s on Netflix. In the ninth inning, we watched our phones to make sure the Twins avoided getting no-hit. Following a baseball team has very few real-life side effects. Getting no-hit can really change a fan’s next few days. There will be texts, tweets, and Facebook messages. There may be phone calls. Every new site on the Internet and every newsstand mocks you. Mauer hit a single. No additional suffering this day. Lots of games left, though. What IS a Loveable Loser? (Game 45) The Twins score enough early to limp out of the game with a win. It’s hard to remember the last names of the Twins rotation. In the shuffle, they lost Joe Benson, for whatever that’s worth. When, I think about “loveable loser” teams, they’re usually either teams that pull it together to win in the end or the Chicago Cubs. I don’t want to be a Cubs fan, Target Field division. Reality isn’t doing much to calm my fears. Gleeman’s been tweeting Twins pitching stats that’ll curl your toenails. Sometimes I’d feel more comfortable if we played T-ball. When I get that scared, I just let someone tell me bedtime stories about the guys in single-A. It’s the only way I can get to sleep. Head First, Like Pete Rose (Game 46) The Twins lost again, but we’re not really going to talk about them. Today was Arrested Development Day. After being off the air for more than seven years, the cult sitcom was resurrected on Netflix. They offered up all 15 new episodes for viewing today, so that’s exactly how many episodes my wife and I watched. Baseball had to wait for the Bluths. Doubt I’m the only one who thought that today. Arrested Development got canceled for being a baseball show in a football world. It rewarded patient viewers with keen eyes and quick wits. It’s not something you’d expect a Steve Holt to understand. If you’re not a frequent visitor to the Bluth banana stand, you know someone who is and they’ve told you all about the show. It perfectly captures a detached, doomed and yet whimsical worldview you need to have when the vultures are circling overhead. And those vultures bring us right back to the Twins, who made last night’s victory seem like a trick. Excuse me. Like an illusion.

Twins at Tigers 10 Pins Fall Down (Game 44) I asked the score if I should watch the Twins game. The score said no, and I had no regrets about spending some time with my wife, my friend, and an awful movie called The Greenskeeper. The formerly infamous John Rocker, pitcher, played the killer. It’s on Netflix. In the ninth inning, we watched our phones to make sure the Twins avoided getting no-hit. Following a baseball team has very few real-life side effects. Getting no-hit can really change a fan’s next few days. There will be texts, tweets, and Facebook messages. There may be phone calls. Every new site on the Internet and every newsstand mocks you. Mauer hit a single. No additional suffering this day. Lots of games left, though. What IS a Loveable Loser? (Game 45) The Twins score enough early to limp out of the game with a win. It’s hard to remember the last names of the Twins rotation. In the shuffle, they lost Joe Benson, for whatever that’s worth. When, I think about “loveable loser” teams, they’re usually either teams that pull it together to win in the end or the Chicago Cubs. I don’t want to be a Cubs fan, Target Field division. Reality isn’t doing much to calm my fears. Gleeman’s been tweeting Twins pitching stats that’ll curl your toenails. Sometimes I’d feel more comfortable if we played T-ball. When I get that scared, I just let someone tell me bedtime stories about the guys in single-A. It’s the only way I can get to sleep. Head First, Like Pete Rose (Game 46) The Twins lost again, but we’re not really going to talk about them. Today was Arrested Development Day. After being off the air for more than seven years, the cult sitcom was resurrected on Netflix. They offered up all 15 new episodes for viewing today, so that’s exactly how many episodes my wife and I watched. Baseball had to wait for the Bluths. Doubt I’m the only one who thought that today. Arrested Development got canceled for being a baseball show in a football world. It rewarded patient viewers with keen eyes and quick wits. It’s not something you’d expect a Steve Holt to understand. If you’re not a frequent visitor to the Bluth banana stand, you know someone who is and they’ve told you all about the show. It perfectly captures a detached, doomed and yet whimsical worldview you need to have when the vultures are circling overhead. And those vultures bring us right back to the Twins, who made last night’s victory seem like a trick. Excuse me. Like an illusion.

Twins at Braves Gimme Danger? (Game 41) Bad night in the US outside of baseball. Tornados took a chunk out of the country again, leaving too many dead (no matter the number) and many of the rest battling post-disaster financial hardship like it was a kind of cancer. For those affected, this will be a mile marker for the rest of their lives. Sadly, but less tragically, Doors’ keyboardist Ray Manzarek died. The Doors were dangerous rock and roll. They made music fearlessly, and when they were beautiful, it was almost a side effect. Like baseball, they go great with beer. I could’ve used a little more dangerous rock and roll with my Twins game tonight. You can tell the tale in two sentences. Four runs given up in the first. Nothing to write home about after that. It takes talent and brains to win ball games: that rare combo of dedicated training and calculated application of skills to situations. So if the Twins can’t win the Twins way, maybe we oughta get a little gritty out there. How many wins does being creepy out there add to a season? Is their a Mad Hungarian stat floating around somewhere? Fair in Foul Weather (Game 42) Except for Plouffe’s unfortunate injury, all I remember about this game is being sure they would win and Perkins would get the save until I always knew Perkins would biff the save and the Twins stood no chance. I think with my brain but I cheer with my guts and heart. I believe in statistics, but when I’m watching as a fan the Twins are going to win it all at the World Series and lose every game from here on out – often in the same inning. Losing Plouffe to a play at second splintered Twitter into individual statements of fear and worry. After last year’s never-ending stream of injuries, there’s no joy in Twinsville. The new car smell is gone, and all of us fans are pointing out the dents and dings while we sigh aloud. The Wheels Come Off (Game 43) Cheering for a successful Twins season (including the very humble Break-Evening) involved great suspension of disbelief from the first pitch. Today I heard the Twins were behind before I even knew they started playing. I didn’t tune back into the game until it was over. Dan Gladden and everyone else sounded mad about the game. Like, someone brought a complete jerk of a date to Christmas dinner mad. Even with my fan blinders firmly in place, I felt the season drop like an upset stomach. Embarrassing on-field promotions are coming. It will be more cost efficient to wallpaper your house with Twins tickets than newspaper. Okay, so? I overreact. At least I got to see Liriano pitch a solid game for the Pirates. He threw the baseball up, down, and everywhere, but someone Frankie K got it working tonight. I miss him. One last thing: The Tomahawk Chop is still a thing? Imagine if someone tried to start it at a high school baseball game and it got caught on camera.