Axel Kohagen

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.

Red Sox at Twins The Vanimal and Clay (Game 38) The Twin Cities team takes the loss and Break-Evening drops to two games away. And yet I dream. Clay Buchholz stood at the other end of the street again Vance Worley, and the Vanimal was outgunned from the outset of the duel. The Vanimal stood tall in his boots and gave the Twins six innings. The greatest distance in the world is the distance between two lovers before their first kiss. The second greatest is between two runs and three. This weekend series look like a war between rain and great baseball weather. Baseball weather better win. I get to go to my first game of 2013 on Sunday. Bat on the Shoulder, Monster Magazine in Back Pocket (Game 39) Behind on my fiction writing, I took my laptop to Donny Dirk’s Zombie Den to finalize revisions on my baseball-themed horror novel The HooseCows. My regrets about avoiding the game were neutralized on the drive to the bar, when David Ortiz knocked in a three-run home run and put the writing up on the wall. It just wasn’t a Twins kind of day. The transition from my baseball world to my horror world seemed pretty seamless. It’s not that weird, really. How many kids from previous generations spent their childhood alternating between the ballpark and monster time? How many pairs of jeans slid into second with a Tales from the Crypt, Famous Monsters of Filmland, or Fangoria magazine rolled up in the their back pocket? I don’t know when sports and scares got Berlin-walled, but I’d like for everyone to just cut it out. Also, Break-Evening is getting further away for these Twins. At least I’ll be at the ballpark tomorrow. A Bucket of Donuts (Game 40) People have blamed baseball for driving them to drinking for years. I might be the first poor bastard to blame baseball for driving him face first into an actual bucket of mini-donuts. My first game of 2013 at Target Field was delightful, in no small part due to the time spent with my wife. We settled in and took in the Target Field experience. The ballpark couldn’t have felt more like home if Thornton Wilder wrote a play about it. The field looked like this. [ATTACH=CONFIG]4129[/ATTACH] The perfect Sunday in the ballpark was marred by defensive glitches, like skips and jumps when you’re trying to finish watching a scratched DVD. The sky grew dark and my wife and I kept checking out phones to see if we were going to get through nine innings. The field looked like this. [ATTACH=CONFIG]4130[/ATTACH] The rain came down and the game got called when Morneau got the plate, leaving him like a jilted groom at the altar. To kill time during the delay, the folks with the plan loaded up The Sandlot for everyone to watch while waiting out the rain. Some of the ballplayers sat and watched from vantage points out of the rain. Outside of the occasional bleat of a testy fan, everything stayed chill and comfy. Hunger got the best of me and I got that bucket of donuts. Seeing The Sandlot outdoors, with other folks, reminded me again that Joe Bob Briggs was right, and the Drive-In can NEVER die. When the movie was over, the field looked like this. [ATTACH=CONFIG]4131[/ATTACH] Wife and I decided not to wait to see if the Twins ever got out of the coma. We went home, in love with time at Target Field and each other. A very nice day indeed.

White Sox at Twins Four Sacks of Groceries and Two Dingers (Game 35) When the Twins have a three run lead, it’s safe to grocery shop without excessive worry. When the Twins are behind, each trip down the grocery store aisles is pure agony. Every spare moment and empty space offers an opportunity to check the score on your cell phone. When the other team’s runs pile on, it’s hard to keep shopping. The Twins rewarded my trust with a surplus of runs and a magical day for Aaron Hicks. He hit two home runs and robbed Adam Dunn of one. It’s easy to say I never doubted Aaron Hicks, because I always wanted him to succeed. That said, it does feel like the team almost got up from the slot machine before it started paying out hits. Did They Play? (Game 36) I remember seeing all things Aaron Hicks over the Internet, and then I remember listening to the game. I remember they lost, despite getting a few lucky calls from the umpires. Some baseball games find their way to the box scores as dropped spoonfuls of bland glop. I’m having trouble hating the White Sox this year. This upsets me. Hating the White Sox made me feel good, in a special way. With Ozzie and A.J. scattered to the winds, they’re just not as odious. Adam Dunn massacred this team in ways reserved for cheap paperbacks, but I can’t hate him. He went to the brink of baseball nothingness and came back. I don’t even hate the Yankees all that much this year. Either I’m growing up or there’s a shortage of villains in cleats. Loss in the Afternoon (Game 37) I forgot the Twins started early and didn’t remember until I came downstairs to the sounds of Cory Provus calling the action on the field. Then, things got cursed. Every time I got away from the game, the White Sox put up run after run. I’m grown enough to know I didn’t curse the team when I wasn’t listening. Still, I’m sorry, because I blame myself. Today was a Jamey Carroll kind of day. Three hits at the plate for a guy who’s usually on the bench. This is a guy who’s achieved baseball excellence above and beyond what 99.9% of mortals ever will. But you don’t see a lot of Carroll jerseys in the stands. Jamey Carroll is proof magic exists, and yet he pales when compared to a Mauer, or a Pujols, or a Harper. How far can any of us expect to rise, and how truly rare are the greatest of the great?

White Sox at Twins Four Sacks of Groceries and Two Dingers (Game 35) When the Twins have a three run lead, it’s safe to grocery shop without excessive worry. When the Twins are behind, each trip down the grocery store aisles is pure agony. Every spare moment and empty space offers an opportunity to check the score on your cell phone. When the other team’s runs pile on, it’s hard to keep shopping. The Twins rewarded my trust with a surplus of runs and a magical day for Aaron Hicks. He hit two home runs and robbed Adam Dunn of one. It’s easy to say I never doubted Aaron Hicks, because I always wanted him to succeed. That said, it does feel like the team almost got up from the slot machine before it started paying out hits. Did They Play? (Game 36) I remember seeing all things Aaron Hicks over the Internet, and then I remember listening to the game. I remember they lost, despite getting a few lucky calls from the umpires. Some baseball games find their way to the box scores as dropped spoonfuls of bland glop. I’m having trouble hating the White Sox this year. This upsets me. Hating the White Sox made me feel good, in a special way. With Ozzie and A.J. scattered to the winds, they’re just not as odious. Adam Dunn massacred this team in ways reserved for cheap paperbacks, but I can’t hate him. He went to the brink of baseball nothingness and came back. I don’t even hate the Yankees all that much this year. Either I’m growing up or there’s a shortage of villains in cleats. Loss in the Afternoon (Game 37) I forgot the Twins started early and didn’t remember until I came downstairs to the sounds of Cory Provus calling the action on the field. Then, things got cursed. Every time I got away from the game, the White Sox put up run after run. I’m grown enough to know I didn’t curse the team when I wasn’t listening. Still, I’m sorry, because I blame myself. Today was a Jamey Carroll kind of day. Three hits at the plate for a guy who’s usually on the bench. This is a guy who’s achieved baseball excellence above and beyond what 99.9% of mortals ever will. But you don’t see a lot of Carroll jerseys in the stands. Jamey Carroll is proof magic exists, and yet he pales when compared to a Mauer, or a Pujols, or a Harper. How far can any of us expect to rise, and how truly rare are the greatest of the great?

Orioles at Twins A Damn Shame (Game 32) These days, it’s a lot easier to keep up with the Twins when you’re traveling. This can be perilous, however. For example, when the Twins blow a six run lead and you find out in the middle of a friendly conversation with your family. There are words and phrases that desperately need screaming, but politeness dictates you keep your mouth shut. I settled on letting out a wordless scream. I think it did the trick. Later, as we settled in to sleep for this night I listened to the team cough up the lead, and then a few more runs to boot. Behind a closed door I felt free to mutter the best swear words I knew. Sure am glad I didn’t miss this game because I was traveling, you guys. Rolling the Right Way (Game 33) Sneak peeks at my cell phone offered happier updates this time around. This is incredibly fortunate, because I needed a distraction from the awful movie I rented for the family to watch as we finished out the evening. I’m sure we weren’t the only family suffering through a comedy with way too much nudity and thrusting, but that doesn’t make it any better. A Twins game where the score grew and the team rolled toward inevitable victory added some good cheer. Didn’t see many TC symbols around the part of Iowa we grew up in. The updates and radio broadcasts felt like messages from the home front. I oughta raise high the Twins Territory banners when I get home. Fizzling Out Over The Plains (Game 34) With the car loaded and our trip home begun, I smiled when I heard Cory Provus’ voice on the AM radio. There’s something perfect about Sunday afternoons, wide open plains, and baseball on the AM radio. If you ever listened to a single game with a grandparent, you know they’re right with you at that moment. The mushy feelings didn’t last long. Provus said the score, and the Orioles kept adding to their side of the equation. The warm and fuzzy AM radio became harder to hear, and 5-0 sounded like a great place to bail on this particular game. Fortunately, Rammstein and AC/DC are made for long drives across the Midwest, too.

Orioles at Twins A Damn Shame (Game 32) These days, it’s a lot easier to keep up with the Twins when you’re traveling. This can be perilous, however. For example, when the Twins blow a six run lead and you find out in the middle of a friendly conversation with your family. There are words and phrases that desperately need screaming, but politeness dictates you keep your mouth shut. I settled on letting out a wordless scream. I think it did the trick. Later, as we settled in to sleep for this night I listened to the team cough up the lead, and then a few more runs to boot. Behind a closed door I felt free to mutter the best swear words I knew. Sure am glad I didn’t miss this game because I was traveling, you guys. Rolling the Right Way (Game 33) Sneak peeks at my cell phone offered happier updates this time around. This is incredibly fortunate, because I needed a distraction from the awful movie I rented for the family to watch as we finished out the evening. I’m sure we weren’t the only family suffering through a comedy with way too much nudity and thrusting, but that doesn’t make it any better. A Twins game where the score grew and the team rolled toward inevitable victory added some good cheer. Didn’t see many TC symbols around the part of Iowa we grew up in. The updates and radio broadcasts felt like messages from the home front. I oughta raise high the Twins Territory banners when I get home. Fizzling Out Over The Plains (Game 34) With the car loaded and our trip home begun, I smiled when I heard Cory Provus’ voice on the AM radio. There’s something perfect about Sunday afternoons, wide open plains, and baseball on the AM radio. If you ever listened to a single game with a grandparent, you know they’re right with you at that moment. The mushy feelings didn’t last long. Provus said the score, and the Orioles kept adding to their side of the equation. The warm and fuzzy AM radio became harder to hear, and 5-0 sounded like a great place to bail on this particular game. Fortunately, Rammstein and AC/DC are made for long drives across the Midwest, too.

Twins at Red Sox Too Old for the Gang at Cheers (Game 28) Home early, with my wife home as well, I started getting a hankering for watching the Twins play at a sports bar. Baseball’s just a little bit better when you’re covered in buffalo sauce and ordering another beer. Except it was Monday. And I’m old. And wings plus beer plus anything else starts to add up to be a decent chunk of change. Don’t get me started on the calories, either. Plus, then you’re surrounded by a lot of people and you have to wear pants . . . Think it’s about time I got a rocking chair and gave in to being a cranky old guy. The game didn’t do much to make me less cranky. The Twins went up by two quickly, but when they couldn’t do much after that you knew it was going to end badly. A Brian Dozier home run prolonged the hope just long enough for an extra-innings snuffing of hope’s candle. .500 is attainable, Twins. But you gotta win a few in a row to get back there. I’m really pulling for Vance Worley, because I feel like I haven’t gotten to say “Vanimal” enough, and I’d really like to say “Vanimal” quite a lot. Friendly Monsters (Game 29) It snowed in Minnesota on Friday. Today, I saw a bank sign telling me it was 80. It’s warm enough now you can smell people’s sweat, and somehow that’s important for enjoying baseball on the radio. David Ortiz continued a hitting streak in this game. He’ll always be the one that got away for Twins fans, but he’s more than that. He’s got a giant smile and hits massive home runs. He’s like King Kong, Godzilla, or the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. You have to love him, no matter what team he plays for. Tonight’s monster was Ryan Doumit, who had a double and a home run. Scott Diamond put Red Sox in a line and mowed ‘em down. Aaron Hicks committed a baseball-flipping protocol faux pas. After that, some fans and analysts had kittens at an alarming rate. Everyone baseball lover’s heart was sick for J.A. Happ, who took a line drive to the head and went down fast. Going to a baseball game can feel like visiting a cathedral, but we all want to avoid blood sacrifices. Ryan Doumit’s Punch-Out (Game 30) When I got the chance to tune into the Twins game, there’d been a slaughter. The Twins were already in double digits and victory was all but assured. My guy Ryan Doumit hit a two-run homer and was all over the basepath. I’ve taken to quoting lyrics from “Mother,” his walk-up song, in celebratory tweets lauding Doumit’s feats of strength. I believe this is called gushing. I’m fine with that. It’s good to have a baseball buddy. Whenever the Twins smack the hell out of the ball, I picture each hit as another magic trick. The audience claps in disbelief but somehow, the show keeps going. If Cuddy were still here, I could really sell that metaphor. Loose Teeth (Game 31) By the time I tuned into the Twins game, evidence of a one-inning victory blow was all over my cell phone. I listened to the rest of the game in satisfied silence, sure the Twins would win. It’s like pulling teeth. You work at it. You get some leverage. And then the whole thing pops and you can’t even remember the struggle. On a related note, I picked up bits of the Minnesota House of Representatives approving a gay marriage bill. I instantly remembered high school attitudes about such things and can’t believe how quickly times change. But some things get the privilege of staying the same. Cheering when your team records the final out and giddily telling your partner about the victory is the same today as yesterday, and as it has been for decades. That’s a good thing to stay the same. Somehow, the Twins over-achieved on breaking even and pulled out a winning record in May. I’ll allow it.

Twins at Red Sox Too Old for the Gang at Cheers (Game 28) Home early, with my wife home as well, I started getting a hankering for watching the Twins play at a sports bar. Baseball’s just a little bit better when you’re covered in buffalo sauce and ordering another beer. Except it was Monday. And I’m old. And wings plus beer plus anything else starts to add up to be a decent chunk of change. Don’t get me started on the calories, either. Plus, then you’re surrounded by a lot of people and you have to wear pants . . . Think it’s about time I got a rocking chair and gave in to being a cranky old guy. The game didn’t do much to make me less cranky. The Twins went up by two quickly, but when they couldn’t do much after that you knew it was going to end badly. A Brian Dozier home run prolonged the hope just long enough for an extra-innings snuffing of hope’s candle. .500 is attainable, Twins. But you gotta win a few in a row to get back there. I’m really pulling for Vance Worley, because I feel like I haven’t gotten to say “Vanimal” enough, and I’d really like to say “Vanimal” quite a lot. Friendly Monsters (Game 29) It snowed in Minnesota on Friday. Today, I saw a bank sign telling me it was 80. It’s warm enough now you can smell people’s sweat, and somehow that’s important for enjoying baseball on the radio. David Ortiz continued a hitting streak in this game. He’ll always be the one that got away for Twins fans, but he’s more than that. He’s got a giant smile and hits massive home runs. He’s like King Kong, Godzilla, or the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. You have to love him, no matter what team he plays for. Tonight’s monster was Ryan Doumit, who had a double and a home run. Scott Diamond put Red Sox in a line and mowed ‘em down. Aaron Hicks committed a baseball-flipping protocol faux pas. After that, some fans and analysts had kittens at an alarming rate. Everyone baseball lover’s heart was sick for J.A. Happ, who took a line drive to the head and went down fast. Going to a baseball game can feel like visiting a cathedral, but we all want to avoid blood sacrifices. Ryan Doumit’s Punch-Out (Game 30) When I got the chance to tune into the Twins game, there’d been a slaughter. The Twins were already in double digits and victory was all but assured. My guy Ryan Doumit hit a two-run homer and was all over the basepath. I’ve taken to quoting lyrics from “Mother,” his walk-up song, in celebratory tweets lauding Doumit’s feats of strength. I believe this is called gushing. I’m fine with that. It’s good to have a baseball buddy. Whenever the Twins smack the hell out of the ball, I picture each hit as another magic trick. The audience claps in disbelief but somehow, the show keeps going. If Cuddy were still here, I could really sell that metaphor. Loose Teeth (Game 31) By the time I tuned into the Twins game, evidence of a one-inning victory blow was all over my cell phone. I listened to the rest of the game in satisfied silence, sure the Twins would win. It’s like pulling teeth. You work at it. You get some leverage. And then the whole thing pops and you can’t even remember the struggle. On a related note, I picked up bits of the Minnesota House of Representatives approving a gay marriage bill. I instantly remembered high school attitudes about such things and can’t believe how quickly times change. But some things get the privilege of staying the same. Cheering when your team records the final out and giddily telling your partner about the victory is the same today as yesterday, and as it has been for decades. That’s a good thing to stay the same. Somehow, the Twins over-achieved on breaking even and pulled out a winning record in May. I’ll allow it.

Thank you for the comment. I just like having a chance to explore the season as I experience it, in bits and pieces.

Twins at Cleveland Except Tonight (Game 25) For me, skipping the 10th inning of an extra innings game is like skipping the opener of a rock concert. You usually don’t miss much. Except tonight, when the Twins crapped out in extra inning (singular). Because I am a fan of the heart and not of the head, I assume the Twins will win all games where the score stays close. And when a home run comes flying out of the Magical Land of Parmelee, the Twins just have to win. Except tonight, when the Twins didn’t. I assume the Twins will find a way to win a game that keeps them from going below .500. The sun shines brighter when the Twins are in the Magical Land of Break-Eveners. Except today, when it snowed again and the Twins didn’t. I don’t want to be a winner. I want to gladly settle on being a Break-Evener. The Hicks, The Mauer, and the Pelfrey (Game 26) Twins drop two in the first and never get back up again. They found a way to get three runners across home plate, which helps a little. Aaron Hicks hit his first home run. It seems like that story is moving closer to a happy ending every day. The story of Mauer having difficulties at the plate continues to chill my blood. Correia came up clunky and empty, and he was due for one. This was a baseball game to wipe clean his slate of great starts. What’ll we start over with? As a devout Break-Evener, I’ll settle for third starter material with the occasional bad game. Especially looking down the barrel of Pelfrey tomorrow. Giant Liar (Game 27) My hopeful demeanor about Twins games, back on Friday, is a giant load of crap. The Twins earned an early lead in this game and my gut roiled waiting for them to cough it up and get swept up by Cleveland brooms. The TC caps made me liar. I’m especially humbled by Mike Pelfrey, who owned the mound and turned in a heckuva performance. I monitored this game on Twitter, where home runs are announced by tweet after tweet of name-related puns. Trevor Plouffe’s name is a punster’s dream. I wonder how many home runs Plouffe has to hit before he’s no longer the official Bad Boy of the Twins. He needs out of that doghouse, and fast. The Twins don’t tolerate Bad Boys very well. Maybe that’s what draws me to them. “You just don’t understand him!” I plan to scream to Gardy after Plouffe’s play in the field raises his anger. “You just never gave him a chance.”

Twins at Cleveland Except Tonight (Game 25) For me, skipping the 10th inning of an extra innings game is like skipping the opener of a rock concert. You usually don’t miss much. Except tonight, when the Twins crapped out in extra inning (singular). Because I am a fan of the heart and not of the head, I assume the Twins will win all games where the score stays close. And when a home run comes flying out of the Magical Land of Parmelee, the Twins just have to win. Except tonight, when the Twins didn’t. I assume the Twins will find a way to win a game that keeps them from going below .500. The sun shines brighter when the Twins are in the Magical Land of Break-Eveners. Except today, when it snowed again and the Twins didn’t. I don’t want to be a winner. I want to gladly settle on being a Break-Evener. The Hicks, The Mauer, and the Pelfrey (Game 26) Twins drop two in the first and never get back up again. They found a way to get three runners across home plate, which helps a little. Aaron Hicks hit his first home run. It seems like that story is moving closer to a happy ending every day. The story of Mauer having difficulties at the plate continues to chill my blood. Correia came up clunky and empty, and he was due for one. This was a baseball game to wipe clean his slate of great starts. What’ll we start over with? As a devout Break-Evener, I’ll settle for third starter material with the occasional bad game. Especially looking down the barrel of Pelfrey tomorrow. Giant Liar (Game 27) My hopeful demeanor about Twins games, back on Friday, is a giant load of crap. The Twins earned an early lead in this game and my gut roiled waiting for them to cough it up and get swept up by Cleveland brooms. The TC caps made me liar. I’m especially humbled by Mike Pelfrey, who owned the mound and turned in a heckuva performance. I monitored this game on Twitter, where home runs are announced by tweet after tweet of name-related puns. Trevor Plouffe’s name is a punster’s dream. I wonder how many home runs Plouffe has to hit before he’s no longer the official Bad Boy of the Twins. He needs out of that doghouse, and fast. The Twins don’t tolerate Bad Boys very well. Maybe that’s what draws me to them. “You just don’t understand him!” I plan to scream to Gardy after Plouffe’s play in the field raises his anger. “You just never gave him a chance.”

Twins at Detroit That Was Fast (Game 22) If the Twins have to lose, maybe it’s best they lose quickly so we can all watch a nice movie before we head to bed for the evening. When Kris Atteberry does the postgame report after a brutal Twins loss, it always sounds like the narration on a Civil War documentary. All they’re missing is a lonesome harmonica sound. I don’t like it when Mauer isn’t hitting. It’s like adjusting to a world where the laws of physics aren’t in affect. I did like it a lot better when Prince Fielder played for the National League. I enjoy cheering for the guy, but it’s a lot easier when he’s not spanking every pitcher in a Twins uniform. I’m trying not to mention Mike Pelfrey. This is the best I can do. Historically, this unremarkable baseball game only has significance as having been played on the day Jason Collins announced he is gay. This will change baseball, and it should. And yet 90 feet will stay 90 feet and getting a hit will still feel so damned good, regardless of your age, gender, or who you love. Don’t Get Comfy (Game 23) Settled in to my usual spot on the couch after I got home from work. I set down my soda and snacks. My lovely Great Dane stayed curled up beside me. The sun shone through my front windows. By the time I was ready for a beautiful baseball moment, the Twins got torpedoed in the bottom of the 5th and took all the fun out of my evening. At least Mauer got a hit. Maybe life will get back to normal. This Tigers team is really, really good. If we Twins fans got lucky enough to stumble into another “David and Goliath path to the playoffs” story (and this is mostly playing pretend here), they’d make for the perfect opponents. Snow Joke (Game 24) The snow flurries I watched flit through the air as I listened the Twins and the Tigers weren’t a joke, and I wasn’t laughing. I’m feeling kinda Parmalee lately. His homer today definitely got my attention, and it must be stated that I’ll forgive anything on a batting average for a home run. For at least a week. It’s a weakness. It should be noted Cory Provus calls as good of a “foul ball to the booth” as he does a baseball game. When the ball came after the Twins radio crew in their booth, it sounded like shrapnel from a WWII film. Danny Gladden made the play and lost his watch. Provus narrated the search for the missing timepiece. The Twins take this last game to maintain their status as Champion Break-Eveners. .500 never tasted so good.

Twins at Detroit That Was Fast (Game 22) If the Twins have to lose, maybe it’s best they lose quickly so we can all watch a nice movie before we head to bed for the evening. When Kris Atteberry does the postgame report after a brutal Twins loss, it always sounds like the narration on a Civil War documentary. All they’re missing is a lonesome harmonica sound. I don’t like it when Mauer isn’t hitting. It’s like adjusting to a world where the laws of physics aren’t in affect. I did like it a lot better when Prince Fielder played for the National League. I enjoy cheering for the guy, but it’s a lot easier when he’s not spanking every pitcher in a Twins uniform. I’m trying not to mention Mike Pelfrey. This is the best I can do. Historically, this unremarkable baseball game only has significance as having been played on the day Jason Collins announced he is gay. This will change baseball, and it should. And yet 90 feet will stay 90 feet and getting a hit will still feel so damned good, regardless of your age, gender, or who you love. Don’t Get Comfy (Game 23) Settled in to my usual spot on the couch after I got home from work. I set down my soda and snacks. My lovely Great Dane stayed curled up beside me. The sun shone through my front windows. By the time I was ready for a beautiful baseball moment, the Twins got torpedoed in the bottom of the 5th and took all the fun out of my evening. At least Mauer got a hit. Maybe life will get back to normal. This Tigers team is really, really good. If we Twins fans got lucky enough to stumble into another “David and Goliath path to the playoffs” story (and this is mostly playing pretend here), they’d make for the perfect opponents. Snow Joke (Game 24) The snow flurries I watched flit through the air as I listened the Twins and the Tigers weren’t a joke, and I wasn’t laughing. I’m feeling kinda Parmalee lately. His homer today definitely got my attention, and it must be stated that I’ll forgive anything on a batting average for a home run. For at least a week. It’s a weakness. It should be noted Cory Provus calls as good of a “foul ball to the booth” as he does a baseball game. When the ball came after the Twins radio crew in their booth, it sounded like shrapnel from a WWII film. Danny Gladden made the play and lost his watch. Provus narrated the search for the missing timepiece. The Twins take this last game to maintain their status as Champion Break-Eveners. .500 never tasted so good.

RANGERS AT HOME Have Cap, Will Travel (Game 18) Took the wife to Wits at the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul, where Michael Ian Black joined the show for the evening. Black is a comedic laser so sharp you can correct people’s vision with his jokes. Wits projects tweets onto the wall before the performance and at intermission. Couple tweeters in attendance used the board as a way of checking the score. Caught a couple Twins caps and jackets in the audience, too. The Wits performance was original and intimate, and made me a fan of musician A.C. Newman. The problem? The Twins performance was nothing new. It was the same old tale of runs given up early and the game fumbling its way to a Minnesota loss. I did catch part of the television broadcast before we made it to the theater. When Dick Bremer finally goes with a full pompadour hair-do, get a picture for me. Blah Summer Nights (Game 19) Still in a funk over the Twins loss on Thursday night, I punished the team by only monitoring their play via the live graphics on MLB.com. At least, I tried monitoring the team. I was also trying to load music onto my Android phone for theoretical jogging on some future date. This process became a disastrous blow to my self esteem and cemented my identity as a man who technology has passed by. The Twins did little to distract me from technical hell. Then they got to the ninth inning and Arcia hit a ball out of the park to bring my beloved Doumit to the plate as the tying run. That didn’t work out so well. Joe Nathan may be a Texas Ranger now, but I enjoy his pitching so much it’s hard not to cheer a little when he comes up against the Twins. When Arcia knocked in three I almost puffed out my own cheeks in solidarity with the man on the mound. I need to get to Target Field soon. Outdoors no longer seems like a hostile environment designed to destroy my soul. A cool breeze doesn’t taste half as good if there’s not a ballgame in front of you. Hicks Hacks and Hits (Game 20) With my windows open and my work week over, I sat down to spend some quality time with the Minnesota Twins radio broadcast. Initially, I had designs on a nap. Fortunately, the Twins bats cracked too loudly for sleep and the game ended with the Twins at .500. Twitter Twins fans are coming to accept Aaron Hicks, who scored his first extra base hit during this game. Some trumpet his recent growth to announce they’re first on the bandwagon. Others have settled in because there ain’t much else to do. Since Friday, I have become aware people exist. I suspected they were out there, but now that the weather is perfectly delightful, there are people everywhere. I think the fading cabin fever leads to spontaneous conversations with strangers. I’ll bet Target Field was full of new best friends today. Changed and Unchanged (Game 21) On my retro Sunday, I enjoyed a baseball game on the radio while looking out the window on a gorgeous spring day and reading G.K. Chesterton’s classic 1908 mystery The Man Who Was Thursday. Except my radio also double as an Ipod dock and I was reading Chesterton on a Kindle, not in hardcover. Nothing makes the universe feel more right than realizing enjoying the action on the diamond connects you with over a century of history. I wouldn’t have caught baseball on the radio in 1908, but I could’ve kept up on the scores and maybe caught a game or two. I would’ve seen something that year that’s unheard of in our time. The Cubs won the NL pennant. The Twins composed a perfect Sunday afternoon game. Correia kept the baserunners from crossing home and the Twins hitters kept the punches coming when it counted. Any game with a Morneau home run feels like a bare knuckle brawl and Gardy’s already getting ejected in midseason form. No more Twins baseball until tomorrow night. Wish my MLB app could pick up games from the past.

RANGERS AT HOME Have Cap, Will Travel (Game 18) Took the wife to Wits at the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul, where Michael Ian Black joined the show for the evening. Black is a comedic laser so sharp you can correct people’s vision with his jokes. Wits projects tweets onto the wall before the performance and at intermission. Couple tweeters in attendance used the board as a way of checking the score. Caught a couple Twins caps and jackets in the audience, too. The Wits performance was original and intimate, and made me a fan of musician A.C. Newman. The problem? The Twins performance was nothing new. It was the same old tale of runs given up early and the game fumbling its way to a Minnesota loss. I did catch part of the television broadcast before we made it to the theater. When Dick Bremer finally goes with a full pompadour hair-do, get a picture for me. Blah Summer Nights (Game 19) Still in a funk over the Twins loss on Thursday night, I punished the team by only monitoring their play via the live graphics on MLB.com. At least, I tried monitoring the team. I was also trying to load music onto my Android phone for theoretical jogging on some future date. This process became a disastrous blow to my self esteem and cemented my identity as a man who technology has passed by. The Twins did little to distract me from technical hell. Then they got to the ninth inning and Arcia hit a ball out of the park to bring my beloved Doumit to the plate as the tying run. That didn’t work out so well. Joe Nathan may be a Texas Ranger now, but I enjoy his pitching so much it’s hard not to cheer a little when he comes up against the Twins. When Arcia knocked in three I almost puffed out my own cheeks in solidarity with the man on the mound. I need to get to Target Field soon. Outdoors no longer seems like a hostile environment designed to destroy my soul. A cool breeze doesn’t taste half as good if there’s not a ballgame in front of you. Hicks Hacks and Hits (Game 20) With my windows open and my work week over, I sat down to spend some quality time with the Minnesota Twins radio broadcast. Initially, I had designs on a nap. Fortunately, the Twins bats cracked too loudly for sleep and the game ended with the Twins at .500. Twitter Twins fans are coming to accept Aaron Hicks, who scored his first extra base hit during this game. Some trumpet his recent growth to announce they’re first on the bandwagon. Others have settled in because there ain’t much else to do. Since Friday, I have become aware people exist. I suspected they were out there, but now that the weather is perfectly delightful, there are people everywhere. I think the fading cabin fever leads to spontaneous conversations with strangers. I’ll bet Target Field was full of new best friends today. Changed and Unchanged (Game 21) On my retro Sunday, I enjoyed a baseball game on the radio while looking out the window on a gorgeous spring day and reading G.K. Chesterton’s classic 1908 mystery The Man Who Was Thursday. Except my radio also double as an Ipod dock and I was reading Chesterton on a Kindle, not in hardcover. Nothing makes the universe feel more right than realizing enjoying the action on the diamond connects you with over a century of history. I wouldn’t have caught baseball on the radio in 1908, but I could’ve kept up on the scores and maybe caught a game or two. I would’ve seen something that year that’s unheard of in our time. The Cubs won the NL pennant. The Twins composed a perfect Sunday afternoon game. Correia kept the baserunners from crossing home and the Twins hitters kept the punches coming when it counted. Any game with a Morneau home run feels like a bare knuckle brawl and Gardy’s already getting ejected in midseason form. No more Twins baseball until tomorrow night. Wish my MLB app could pick up games from the past.

Double-headers are perfect. Ideally, the Twins would play twenty-four hours a day and I could always listen to them on the radio. There's probably some silly reason that wouldn't work, though. Heard about the Arcia home-run on a quick phone check, then listened to enough game to feel like the Twins had it ready to put in their pocket. Then I alternated snippets of radio updates and smart phone monitoring to realize the second game might stay close, but it was probably never going the Twins way. One game won, one game lost. When it comes down to it, we'll all remember today for the weather and the baseball will be an afterthought. I left my house feeling like an extra in Dr. Zhivago and came home to spring time and mud pies. John Bonnes poetically praised this last summer dumping. The words were beautiful, but I think he's suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. If I have to give an MVP for the day, I'd give it to the Target Rally Song. I still hum along and bop my head to that thing, and it's been around for several years. How many pop sensations haven't had the longevity of that jingle? Can we get a disco remix? - Axel

Double-headers are perfect. Ideally, the Twins would play twenty-four hours a day and I could always listen to them on the radio. There's probably some silly reason that wouldn't work, though. Heard about the Arcia home-run on a quick phone check, then listened to enough game to feel like the Twins had it ready to put in their pocket. Then I alternated snippets of radio updates and smart phone monitoring to realize the second game might stay close, but it was probably never going the Twins way. One game won, one game lost. When it comes down to it, we'll all remember today for the weather and the baseball will be an afterthought. I left my house feeling like an extra in Dr. Zhivago and came home to spring time and mud pies. John Bonnes poetically praised this last summer dumping. The words were beautiful, but I think he's suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. If I have to give an MVP for the day, I'd give it to the Target Rally Song. I still hum along and bop my head to that thing, and it's been around for several years. How many pop sensations haven't had the longevity of that jingle? Can we get a disco remix? - Axel

Spent the day with friends I hadn't seen in far too long and observed the Twins cementing a victory, via my phone, on the drive home. Plus, the sun is starting to smack back the zombie hordes of winter snowdrifts. Groovy. There was another Twins fan present at our afternoon gathering, so I felt no shame about checking the score. There are those other times when you have to monitor the boys of summer without getting caught. What's your strategy? The sly peak into your purse or pocket? The legitimate excuse to check your phone, followed by quick score check? The bathroom updates? Or do you just get your phone out and dare others to stop you? Oh yeah. Twins are over .500. The team may not be completely out of the cellar and into the light, but like today's weather taught me, a little sunlight goes along way after a lot of darkness and despair. -Axel

Spent the day with friends I hadn't seen in far too long and observed the Twins cementing a victory, via my phone, on the drive home. Plus, the sun is starting to smack back the zombie hordes of winter snowdrifts. Groovy. There was another Twins fan present at our afternoon gathering, so I felt no shame about checking the score. There are those other times when you have to monitor the boys of summer without getting caught. What's your strategy? The sly peak into your purse or pocket? The legitimate excuse to check your phone, followed by quick score check? The bathroom updates? Or do you just get your phone out and dare others to stop you? Oh yeah. Twins are over .500. The team may not be completely out of the cellar and into the light, but like today's weather taught me, a little sunlight goes along way after a lot of darkness and despair. -Axel

Weather kept Twins baseball off my radio from the game ending Tuesday night until today's 2-1 victory over the White Sox. In that time, the nation struggled to reclaim meaning from tragedy. Locally, winter weather kicked Minnesotan ribs while the state was still down from the last snowstorm. Baseball would've helped. Somehow, the Twins are at .500 again. I haven't looked at any stats, but my gut's telling me their at bats have a little more pep in them than last year. Keeps us going in tight games. Of course, I'm the first to admit I'm a fan with my heart first. I just tell the stories. If you're looking for the facts, go somewhere smarter. Nice seeing Doumit get some love in a game. One step closer to fulfilling my "Glenn Danzig throws out the first pitch" fantasy. -Axel

Weather kept Twins baseball off my radio from the game ending Tuesday night until today's 2-1 victory over the White Sox. In that time, the nation struggled to reclaim meaning from tragedy. Locally, winter weather kicked Minnesotan ribs while the state was still down from the last snowstorm. Baseball would've helped. Somehow, the Twins are at .500 again. I haven't looked at any stats, but my gut's telling me their at bats have a little more pep in them than last year. Keeps us going in tight games. Of course, I'm the first to admit I'm a fan with my heart first. I just tell the stories. If you're looking for the facts, go somewhere smarter. Nice seeing Doumit get some love in a game. One step closer to fulfilling my "Glenn Danzig throws out the first pitch" fantasy. -Axel

I'm ashamed to admit I used to complain about Joe Mauer five years ago. I was an impressionable baseball fan, and I think I allowed the tough dudes of sports bitchery to get too far inside my head. I picture those men, the constant whiners, as if constantly huddled under bleachers and punching each others' arms to emphasize every point. I think I'm older and wiser now, and I appreciate Joe Mauer a great deal. He's very good in his bad years, and a precision hitting machine when he's at his best. He never loses composure. He proves his toughness in consistency spread over a long line, not in moments of fury too brief to amount to anything meaningful. With his four hits and Anthony Swarzak's relief magic, the Twins have guaranteed a win in this series against the Angels and look to be finding a way back to .500 baseball. For this year, I can learn to love .500 baseball. - Axel

I'm ashamed to admit I used to complain about Joe Mauer five years ago. I was an impressionable baseball fan, and I think I allowed the tough dudes of sports bitchery to get too far inside my head. I picture those men, the constant whiners, as if constantly huddled under bleachers and punching each others' arms to emphasize every point. I think I'm older and wiser now, and I appreciate Joe Mauer a great deal. He's very good in his bad years, and a precision hitting machine when he's at his best. He never loses composure. He proves his toughness in consistency spread over a long line, not in moments of fury too brief to amount to anything meaningful. With his four hits and Anthony Swarzak's relief magic, the Twins have guaranteed a win in this series against the Angels and look to be finding a way back to .500 baseball. For this year, I can learn to love .500 baseball. - Axel

I'm happy the Twins won 8-2 over the Angels on a cold and snowy night. I'm even happy Brendan Harris got a home run for the Angels. I always had a soft spot for him when he was a Twin, even if he did find himself on the losing end of an on-field squirrel attack. Mostly, I'm thankful that tonight there was a patch of my fair city where people gathered together to watch an ordered, fair, and safe contest. More people watched the event on their televisions, and other (like me) listened on the radio. When the game was over, I know who won and who lost. I can piece together reasons why. I'm glad for all the players who take pride in what they do, and the officials and team employees who keep the game on the field a place where life makes sense. We pay billions of dollars to keep the sporting world safe from the muddiness of reality, where rules and hearts get broken. Today, in Boston, the safety of 26.2, breath control, and stamina was violated by some brand of horrible real-world business. Upsetting to everything we hold dear. Thank God that, at night, 3 strikes is an out and three outs half a inning and a lead after nine innings is a victory. My head fits nicely around these numbers. I can analyze them with people in stadiums, in bars, in living rooms, or on social media. I can keep conversations going and keep from being isolated, lonely, or scared. A baseball cap and a smile gets you a conversation on any street in this country. So thanks to all of those who keep these important games played and played right. Thoughts and prayers to those who are hurting. And get some sleep, because tomorrow we play ball again. - Axel