Axel Kohagen

I am not a handyman. I am a jack of no trades. When it became time to prepare my snowblower for storage, I took it as a threat to the peace and harmony of my weekend. Sure enough, I managed to stretch a small chore into two days of choking back cuss words because my daughter was in earshot. It's ready now. Probably.
The nice part is I didn't suffer alone. I had Cory Provus and Dan Gladden to keep me company. I listened to the Twins play in the garage. It felt right, somehow. Baseball and small engine maintenance. I'm typing this with grease and oil on my hands. My wife seeded the lawn while I labored. Typical home-owner stuff, with baseball keeping us company. Same as it ever was, as long as fans have had radios and things to do.
Cory Provus was being harassed for not being an athlete, but I don't think he's the only non-athlete in the world of baseball. There are lots of different ways of being one of the gang. Baseball already sports a stark dichotomy between its jocks and its nerds (both terms used with love). But that's not all. There are those of us who love the sport for its history and storytelling, present company most definitely included. 
You don't have to be a five-tool all-star to join the screaming hordes of Twins territory. Baseball, I believe, can be an outlet for healthy masculinity. Masculinity is a style of being that doesn't have to be tied to men. It doesn't have to be exclusive and punitive. Masculinity can be a rough and tumble ride for everyone. Yell. Pump your fist. Become a part of the howling crowd. Let out the beast in you where it's safe to be free. 
In an extra-innings game in the Dome, I remember what happened when Joe Crede hit a walk-off grand slam. I screamed. We all screamed. Some dude standing next to me screamed with me. We hugged hard after slapping hands in a high five. Masculine, but without toxicity.
The Twins made Saturday and Sunday worth my time. Solid pitching and runs galore. I yelled and pumped my fist by myself, except not really. Other people are out there, yelling with me in their own garages and houses. It's a safe place to be a part of the team. Correa and company gave me plenty to yell about, too.
In college, one of my roommates bought another roommate a Green Bay hat and told him he liked the Packers now. It worked. What a simple gesture with to bring someone onto the team. At a time where people complain about masculinity (and baseball) losing traction, what are we doing to bring people to share their voices in the roar of the crowd? 

I am not a handyman. I am a jack of no trades. When it became time to prepare my snowblower for storage, I took it as a threat to the peace and harmony of my weekend. Sure enough, I managed to stretch a small chore into two days of choking back cuss words because my daughter was in earshot. It's ready now. Probably.
The nice part is I didn't suffer alone. I had Cory Provus and Dan Gladden to keep me company. I listened to the Twins play in the garage. It felt right, somehow. Baseball and small engine maintenance. I'm typing this with grease and oil on my hands. My wife seeded the lawn while I labored. Typical home-owner stuff, with baseball keeping us company. Same as it ever was, as long as fans have had radios and things to do.
Cory Provus was being harassed for not being an athlete, but I don't think he's the only non-athlete in the world of baseball. There are lots of different ways of being one of the gang. Baseball already sports a stark dichotomy between its jocks and its nerds (both terms used with love). But that's not all. There are those of us who love the sport for its history and storytelling, present company most definitely included. 
You don't have to be a five-tool all-star to join the screaming hordes of Twins territory. Baseball, I believe, can be an outlet for healthy masculinity. Masculinity is a style of being that doesn't have to be tied to men. It doesn't have to be exclusive and punitive. Masculinity can be a rough and tumble ride for everyone. Yell. Pump your fist. Become a part of the howling crowd. Let out the beast in you where it's safe to be free. 
In an extra-innings game in the Dome, I remember what happened when Joe Crede hit a walk-off grand slam. I screamed. We all screamed. Some dude standing next to me screamed with me. We hugged hard after slapping hands in a high five. Masculine, but without toxicity.
The Twins made Saturday and Sunday worth my time. Solid pitching and runs galore. I yelled and pumped my fist by myself, except not really. Other people are out there, yelling with me in their own garages and houses. It's a safe place to be a part of the team. Correa and company gave me plenty to yell about, too.
In college, one of my roommates bought another roommate a Green Bay hat and told him he liked the Packers now. It worked. What a simple gesture with to bring someone onto the team. At a time where people complain about masculinity (and baseball) losing traction, what are we doing to bring people to share their voices in the roar of the crowd? 

"I'm not superstitious. But I'm a little stitious." - Michael Scott
As fans of The Office know, Michael Scott can sometimes share deep knowledge. I think a lot of us are a little "stitious" when it comes to baseball. Prior to this Twins/Tigers series, I'd have told you I'm not a very superstitious person at all. Then, my coworker and I made Max Kepler good again.
I'll explain.
Before the series started, we were talking about Miguel Sano. We both remembered Aaron Gleeman's mailbag column where he showed Kepler was in the same boat as Sano, except Kepler got less grief. My friend said he thought Kepler could break out of it. Then, bam! Four home runs in two games (we'll just ignore that pesky third game for now). Kepler's hot. 
Maybe we need to talk about a Sano breakout next. 
Do I believe that we caused a major league ballplayer to hit better because of a hallway conversation? You know what? I kinda do. Just like I kinda think I jinxed the Timberwolves by watching Game 5 instead of going to bed early. I believe you can reverse jinx rainy weather by predicting it. I believe you don't talk about a no-hitter while it's going on. I once got Michael Cuddyer to hit home runs by wearing his shirsey. 
Of course, math and statistics doth make a liar out of me.. I UNDERSTAND that luck is just an illusion, but I KNOW it works for me. Even when it doesn't, my brain will find some way to make it work. 
I was glad to see the Minnesota Twins are a little stitious in their own way. I read about Richie the Rally Goat in Do-Hyoung Park's game recap. Everything about this article is wonderful. Paddack sums it up best when he says, "Baseball gods are looking out for us, and Richie here, he's done a good job of being a rally goat." Good on you, Richie.
Let's face it - there are a lot of cold and unchangeable facts in the world. We need superstition to clear our heads from the frustration of banging them into the brick walls of truth and certainty. As fans, adhering to superstitions it the least we can do. Literally.
I bought my own Richie the Rally Goat this morning. Count me in! Let's be a little bit stitious together!

I am not a handyman. I am a jack of no trades. When it became time to prepare my snowblower for storage, I took it as a threat to the peace and harmony of my weekend. Sure enough, I managed to stretch a small chore into two days of choking back cuss words because my daughter was in earshot. It's ready now. Probably.
The nice part is I didn't suffer alone. I had Cory Provus and Dan Gladden to keep me company. I listened to the Twins play in the garage. It felt right, somehow. Baseball and small engine maintenance. I'm typing this with grease and oil on my hands. My wife seeded the lawn while I labored. Typical home-owner stuff, with baseball keeping us company. Same as it ever was, as long as fans have had radios and things to do.
Cory Provus was being harassed for not being an athlete, but I don't think he's the only non-athlete in the world of baseball. There are lots of different ways of being one of the gang. Baseball already sports a stark dichotomy between its jocks and its nerds (both terms used with love). But that's not all. There are those of us who love the sport for its history and storytelling, present company most definitely included. 
You don't have to be a five-tool all-star to join the screaming hordes of Twins territory. Baseball, I believe, can be an outlet for healthy masculinity. Masculinity is a style of being that doesn't have to be tied to men. It doesn't have to be exclusive and punitive. Masculinity can be a rough and tumble ride for everyone. Yell. Pump your fist. Become a part of the howling crowd. Let out the beast in you where it's safe to be free. 
In an extra-innings game in the Dome, I remember what happened when Joe Crede hit a walk-off grand slam. I screamed. We all screamed. Some dude standing next to me screamed with me. We hugged hard after slapping hands in a high five. Masculine, but without toxicity.
The Twins made Saturday and Sunday worth my time. Solid pitching and runs galore. I yelled and pumped my fist by myself, except not really. Other people are out there, yelling with me in their own garages and houses. It's a safe place to be a part of the team. Correa and company gave me plenty to yell about, too.
In college, one of my roommates bought another roommate a Green Bay hat and told him he liked the Packers now. It worked. What a simple gesture with to bring someone onto the team. At a time where people complain about masculinity (and baseball) losing traction, what are we doing to bring people to share their voices in the roar of the crowd? 

I am not a handyman. I am a jack of no trades. When it became time to prepare my snowblower for storage, I took it as a threat to the peace and harmony of my weekend. Sure enough, I managed to stretch a small chore into two days of choking back cuss words because my daughter was in earshot. It's ready now. Probably.
The nice part is I didn't suffer alone. I had Cory Provus and Dan Gladden to keep me company. I listened to the Twins play in the garage. It felt right, somehow. Baseball and small engine maintenance. I'm typing this with grease and oil on my hands. My wife seeded the lawn while I labored. Typical home-owner stuff, with baseball keeping us company. Same as it ever was, as long as fans have had radios and things to do.
Cory Provus was being harassed for not being an athlete, but I don't think he's the only non-athlete in the world of baseball. There are lots of different ways of being one of the gang. Baseball already sports a stark dichotomy between its jocks and its nerds (both terms used with love). But that's not all. There are those of us who love the sport for its history and storytelling, present company most definitely included. 
You don't have to be a five-tool all-star to join the screaming hordes of Twins territory. Baseball, I believe, can be an outlet for healthy masculinity. Masculinity is a style of being that doesn't have to be tied to men. It doesn't have to be exclusive and punitive. Masculinity can be a rough and tumble ride for everyone. Yell. Pump your fist. Become a part of the howling crowd. Let out the beast in you where it's safe to be free. 
In an extra-innings game in the Dome, I remember what happened when Joe Crede hit a walk-off grand slam. I screamed. We all screamed. Some dude standing next to me screamed with me. We hugged hard after slapping hands in a high five. Masculine, but without toxicity.
The Twins made Saturday and Sunday worth my time. Solid pitching and runs galore. I yelled and pumped my fist by myself, except not really. Other people are out there, yelling with me in their own garages and houses. It's a safe place to be a part of the team. Correa and company gave me plenty to yell about, too.
In college, one of my roommates bought another roommate a Green Bay hat and told him he liked the Packers now. It worked. What a simple gesture with to bring someone onto the team. At a time where people complain about masculinity (and baseball) losing traction, what are we doing to bring people to share their voices in the roar of the crowd? 

I am not a handyman. I am a jack of no trades. When it became time to prepare my snowblower for storage, I took it as a threat to the peace and harmony of my weekend. Sure enough, I managed to stretch a small chore into two days of choking back cuss words because my daughter was in earshot. It's ready now. Probably.
The nice part is I didn't suffer alone. I had Cory Provus and Dan Gladden to keep me company. I listened to the Twins play in the garage. It felt right, somehow. Baseball and small engine maintenance. I'm typing this with grease and oil on my hands. My wife seeded the lawn while I labored. Typical home-owner stuff, with baseball keeping us company. Same as it ever was, as long as fans have had radios and things to do.
Cory Provus was being harassed for not being an athlete, but I don't think he's the only non-athlete in the world of baseball. There are lots of different ways of being one of the gang. Baseball already sports a stark dichotomy between its jocks and its nerds (both terms used with love). But that's not all. There are those of us who love the sport for its history and storytelling, present company most definitely included. 
You don't have to be a five-tool all-star to join the screaming hordes of Twins territory. Baseball, I believe, can be an outlet for healthy masculinity. Masculinity is a style of being that doesn't have to be tied to men. It doesn't have to be exclusive and punitive. Masculinity can be a rough and tumble ride for everyone. Yell. Pump your fist. Become a part of the howling crowd. Let out the beast in you where it's safe to be free. 
In an extra-innings game in the Dome, I remember what happened when Joe Crede hit a walk-off grand slam. I screamed. We all screamed. Some dude standing next to me screamed with me. We hugged hard after slapping hands in a high five. Masculine, but without toxicity.
The Twins made Saturday and Sunday worth my time. Solid pitching and runs galore. I yelled and pumped my fist by myself, except not really. Other people are out there, yelling with me in their own garages and houses. It's a safe place to be a part of the team. Correa and company gave me plenty to yell about, too.
In college, one of my roommates bought another roommate a Green Bay hat and told him he liked the Packers now. It worked. What a simple gesture with to bring someone onto the team. At a time where people complain about masculinity (and baseball) losing traction, what are we doing to bring people to share their voices in the roar of the crowd? 

"I'm not superstitious. But I'm a little stitious." - Michael Scott
As fans of The Office know, Michael Scott can sometimes share deep knowledge. I think a lot of us are a little "stitious" when it comes to baseball. Prior to this Twins/Tigers series, I'd have told you I'm not a very superstitious person at all. Then, my coworker and I made Max Kepler good again.
I'll explain.
Before the series started, we were talking about Miguel Sano. We both remembered Aaron Gleeman's mailbag column where he showed Kepler was in the same boat as Sano, except Kepler got less grief. My friend said he thought Kepler could break out of it. Then, bam! Four home runs in two games (we'll just ignore that pesky third game for now). Kepler's hot. 
Maybe we need to talk about a Sano breakout next. 
Do I believe that we caused a major league ballplayer to hit better because of a hallway conversation? You know what? I kinda do. Just like I kinda think I jinxed the Timberwolves by watching Game 5 instead of going to bed early. I believe you can reverse jinx rainy weather by predicting it. I believe you don't talk about a no-hitter while it's going on. I once got Michael Cuddyer to hit home runs by wearing his shirsey. 
Of course, math and statistics doth make a liar out of me.. I UNDERSTAND that luck is just an illusion, but I KNOW it works for me. Even when it doesn't, my brain will find some way to make it work. 
I was glad to see the Minnesota Twins are a little stitious in their own way. I read about Richie the Rally Goat in Do-Hyoung Park's game recap. Everything about this article is wonderful. Paddack sums it up best when he says, "Baseball gods are looking out for us, and Richie here, he's done a good job of being a rally goat." Good on you, Richie.
Let's face it - there are a lot of cold and unchangeable facts in the world. We need superstition to clear our heads from the frustration of banging them into the brick walls of truth and certainty. As fans, adhering to superstitions it the least we can do. Literally.
I bought my own Richie the Rally Goat this morning. Count me in! Let's be a little bit stitious together!

"I'm not superstitious. But I'm a little stitious." - Michael Scott
As fans of The Office know, Michael Scott can sometimes share deep knowledge. I think a lot of us are a little "stitious" when it comes to baseball. Prior to this Twins/Tigers series, I'd have told you I'm not a very superstitious person at all. Then, my coworker and I made Max Kepler good again.
I'll explain.
Before the series started, we were talking about Miguel Sano. We both remembered Aaron Gleeman's mailbag column where he showed Kepler was in the same boat as Sano, except Kepler got less grief. My friend said he thought Kepler could break out of it. Then, bam! Four home runs in two games (we'll just ignore that pesky third game for now). Kepler's hot. 
Maybe we need to talk about a Sano breakout next. 
Do I believe that we caused a major league ballplayer to hit better because of a hallway conversation? You know what? I kinda do. Just like I kinda think I jinxed the Timberwolves by watching Game 5 instead of going to bed early. I believe you can reverse jinx rainy weather by predicting it. I believe you don't talk about a no-hitter while it's going on. I once got Michael Cuddyer to hit home runs by wearing his shirsey. 
Of course, math and statistics doth make a liar out of me.. I UNDERSTAND that luck is just an illusion, but I KNOW it works for me. Even when it doesn't, my brain will find some way to make it work. 
I was glad to see the Minnesota Twins are a little stitious in their own way. I read about Richie the Rally Goat in Do-Hyoung Park's game recap. Everything about this article is wonderful. Paddack sums it up best when he says, "Baseball gods are looking out for us, and Richie here, he's done a good job of being a rally goat." Good on you, Richie.
Let's face it - there are a lot of cold and unchangeable facts in the world. We need superstition to clear our heads from the frustration of banging them into the brick walls of truth and certainty. As fans, adhering to superstitions it the least we can do. Literally.
I bought my own Richie the Rally Goat this morning. Count me in! Let's be a little bit stitious together!

"I'm not superstitious. But I'm a little stitious." - Michael Scott
As fans of The Office know, Michael Scott can sometimes share deep knowledge. I think a lot of us are a little "stitious" when it comes to baseball. Prior to this Twins/Tigers series, I'd have told you I'm not a very superstitious person at all. Then, my coworker and I made Max Kepler good again.
I'll explain.
Before the series started, we were talking about Miguel Sano. We both remembered Aaron Gleeman's mailbag column where he showed Kepler was in the same boat as Sano, except Kepler got less grief. My friend said he thought Kepler could break out of it. Then, bam! Four home runs in two games (we'll just ignore that pesky third game for now). Kepler's hot. 
Maybe we need to talk about a Sano breakout next. 
Do I believe that we caused a major league ballplayer to hit better because of a hallway conversation? You know what? I kinda do. Just like I kinda think I jinxed the Timberwolves by watching Game 5 instead of going to bed early. I believe you can reverse jinx rainy weather by predicting it. I believe you don't talk about a no-hitter while it's going on. I once got Michael Cuddyer to hit home runs by wearing his shirsey. 
Of course, math and statistics doth make a liar out of me.. I UNDERSTAND that luck is just an illusion, but I KNOW it works for me. Even when it doesn't, my brain will find some way to make it work. 
I was glad to see the Minnesota Twins are a little stitious in their own way. I read about Richie the Rally Goat in Do-Hyoung Park's game recap. Everything about this article is wonderful. Paddack sums it up best when he says, "Baseball gods are looking out for us, and Richie here, he's done a good job of being a rally goat." Good on you, Richie.
Let's face it - there are a lot of cold and unchangeable facts in the world. We need superstition to clear our heads from the frustration of banging them into the brick walls of truth and certainty. As fans, adhering to superstitions it the least we can do. Literally.
I bought my own Richie the Rally Goat this morning. Count me in! Let's be a little bit stitious together!

"I'm not superstitious. But I'm a little stitious." - Michael Scott
As fans of The Office know, Michael Scott can sometimes share deep knowledge. I think a lot of us are a little "stitious" when it comes to baseball. Prior to this Twins/Tigers series, I'd have told you I'm not a very superstitious person at all. Then, my coworker and I made Max Kepler good again.
I'll explain.
Before the series started, we were talking about Miguel Sano. We both remembered Aaron Gleeman's mailbag column where he showed Kepler was in the same boat as Sano, except Kepler got less grief. My friend said he thought Kepler could break out of it. Then, bam! Four home runs in two games (we'll just ignore that pesky third game for now). Kepler's hot. 
Maybe we need to talk about a Sano breakout next. 
Do I believe that we caused a major league ballplayer to hit better because of a hallway conversation? You know what? I kinda do. Just like I kinda think I jinxed the Timberwolves by watching Game 5 instead of going to bed early. I believe you can reverse jinx rainy weather by predicting it. I believe you don't talk about a no-hitter while it's going on. I once got Michael Cuddyer to hit home runs by wearing his shirsey. 
Of course, math and statistics doth make a liar out of me.. I UNDERSTAND that luck is just an illusion, but I KNOW it works for me. Even when it doesn't, my brain will find some way to make it work. 
I was glad to see the Minnesota Twins are a little stitious in their own way. I read about Richie the Rally Goat in Do-Hyoung Park's game recap. Everything about this article is wonderful. Paddack sums it up best when he says, "Baseball gods are looking out for us, and Richie here, he's done a good job of being a rally goat." Good on you, Richie.
Let's face it - there are a lot of cold and unchangeable facts in the world. We need superstition to clear our heads from the frustration of banging them into the brick walls of truth and certainty. As fans, adhering to superstitions it the least we can do. Literally.
I bought my own Richie the Rally Goat this morning. Count me in! Let's be a little bit stitious together!

Baseball is a marathon, not a sprint . . . but I'm willing to bet you can spoil a marathon with a weak start. Mental fortitude cracking with the arrhythmic slapping of your feet against the pavement. Planning and precision giving way to panic. Comparing yourself to the other runners, who seem to be running flawlessly.
Baseball is a marathon . . . for the fans, too. It takes commitment to stay abreast of a whole season. The game this afternoon felt like a must-win situation to keep some sense of hope. These were winnable games against a beatable opponent. We won one, by a single run. For the fans to stay in this race, we're going to need to win a lot more. 
Of course, who am I to talk about marathons and baseball seasons? I've never run a marathon, and my baseball days ended in elementary school with me standing in right field, praying the ball would never come near me. I'd like to run a marathon by the time I turn 50, which gives me a little over 5 1/2 years to get this body into shape. 
People have been very supportive of my marathon pipe-dream. The way they describe it makes it seem simple. You start running. 26.2 miles later, you stop. Along the way, you keep your feet moving. Everyone says it's a mental battle. Right now, I'm battling to get in the gym and get into 5K shape. Little victories mean a lot. Just going to the gym on a day where I'd rather see how many peanut butter Oreos I could cram in my mouth is a victory.
This one run victory is like that. It keeps everybody grinding on, hoping the Twins find their footing, pick up the pace, and we all feel the breeze at our backs. 
It's hard to write series recaps about three lukewarm baseball games where one lukewarm baseball team faces another lukewarm baseball team. The biggest narrative seems to stem from Aaron Gleeman's revelation that this is the first time the Twins have ever batted under .200 for the first 12 games. Maybe a little chatter about some surprisingly good pitching. I bet I'm not the only one struggling to find something to write about, even at this early stage of the season. Hey, we can't all be Randball's Stu and hit it out of the park every time.
So let's pick up those feet and put 'em back down again, Twins! Get into the rhythm. Find your stride before it's late June/early July. Because before long it'll be time to listen to "Dirty Black Summer" by Danzig and pretend sparklers are still fun when you're over fifteen. I'd like to still be in the race then.

Baseball is a marathon, not a sprint . . . but I'm willing to bet you can spoil a marathon with a weak start. Mental fortitude cracking with the arrhythmic slapping of your feet against the pavement. Planning and precision giving way to panic. Comparing yourself to the other runners, who seem to be running flawlessly.
Baseball is a marathon . . . for the fans, too. It takes commitment to stay abreast of a whole season. The game this afternoon felt like a must-win situation to keep some sense of hope. These were winnable games against a beatable opponent. We won one, by a single run. For the fans to stay in this race, we're going to need to win a lot more. 
Of course, who am I to talk about marathons and baseball seasons? I've never run a marathon, and my baseball days ended in elementary school with me standing in right field, praying the ball would never come near me. I'd like to run a marathon by the time I turn 50, which gives me a little over 5 1/2 years to get this body into shape. 
People have been very supportive of my marathon pipe-dream. The way they describe it makes it seem simple. You start running. 26.2 miles later, you stop. Along the way, you keep your feet moving. Everyone says it's a mental battle. Right now, I'm battling to get in the gym and get into 5K shape. Little victories mean a lot. Just going to the gym on a day where I'd rather see how many peanut butter Oreos I could cram in my mouth is a victory.
This one run victory is like that. It keeps everybody grinding on, hoping the Twins find their footing, pick up the pace, and we all feel the breeze at our backs. 
It's hard to write series recaps about three lukewarm baseball games where one lukewarm baseball team faces another lukewarm baseball team. The biggest narrative seems to stem from Aaron Gleeman's revelation that this is the first time the Twins have ever batted under .200 for the first 12 games. Maybe a little chatter about some surprisingly good pitching. I bet I'm not the only one struggling to find something to write about, even at this early stage of the season. Hey, we can't all be Randball's Stu and hit it out of the park every time.
So let's pick up those feet and put 'em back down again, Twins! Get into the rhythm. Find your stride before it's late June/early July. Because before long it'll be time to listen to "Dirty Black Summer" by Danzig and pretend sparklers are still fun when you're over fifteen. I'd like to still be in the race then.

Baseball is a marathon, not a sprint . . . but I'm willing to bet you can spoil a marathon with a weak start. Mental fortitude cracking with the arrhythmic slapping of your feet against the pavement. Planning and precision giving way to panic. Comparing yourself to the other runners, who seem to be running flawlessly.
Baseball is a marathon . . . for the fans, too. It takes commitment to stay abreast of a whole season. The game this afternoon felt like a must-win situation to keep some sense of hope. These were winnable games against a beatable opponent. We won one, by a single run. For the fans to stay in this race, we're going to need to win a lot more. 
Of course, who am I to talk about marathons and baseball seasons? I've never run a marathon, and my baseball days ended in elementary school with me standing in right field, praying the ball would never come near me. I'd like to run a marathon by the time I turn 50, which gives me a little over 5 1/2 years to get this body into shape. 
People have been very supportive of my marathon pipe-dream. The way they describe it makes it seem simple. You start running. 26.2 miles later, you stop. Along the way, you keep your feet moving. Everyone says it's a mental battle. Right now, I'm battling to get in the gym and get into 5K shape. Little victories mean a lot. Just going to the gym on a day where I'd rather see how many peanut butter Oreos I could cram in my mouth is a victory.
This one run victory is like that. It keeps everybody grinding on, hoping the Twins find their footing, pick up the pace, and we all feel the breeze at our backs. 
It's hard to write series recaps about three lukewarm baseball games where one lukewarm baseball team faces another lukewarm baseball team. The biggest narrative seems to stem from Aaron Gleeman's revelation that this is the first time the Twins have ever batted under .200 for the first 12 games. Maybe a little chatter about some surprisingly good pitching. I bet I'm not the only one struggling to find something to write about, even at this early stage of the season. Hey, we can't all be Randball's Stu and hit it out of the park every time.
So let's pick up those feet and put 'em back down again, Twins! Get into the rhythm. Find your stride before it's late June/early July. Because before long it'll be time to listen to "Dirty Black Summer" by Danzig and pretend sparklers are still fun when you're over fifteen. I'd like to still be in the race then.

Baseball is a marathon, not a sprint . . . but I'm willing to bet you can spoil a marathon with a weak start. Mental fortitude cracking with the arrhythmic slapping of your feet against the pavement. Planning and precision giving way to panic. Comparing yourself to the other runners, who seem to be running flawlessly.
Baseball is a marathon . . . for the fans, too. It takes commitment to stay abreast of a whole season. The game this afternoon felt like a must-win situation to keep some sense of hope. These were winnable games against a beatable opponent. We won one, by a single run. For the fans to stay in this race, we're going to need to win a lot more. 
Of course, who am I to talk about marathons and baseball seasons? I've never run a marathon, and my baseball days ended in elementary school with me standing in right field, praying the ball would never come near me. I'd like to run a marathon by the time I turn 50, which gives me a little over 5 1/2 years to get this body into shape. 
People have been very supportive of my marathon pipe-dream. The way they describe it makes it seem simple. You start running. 26.2 miles later, you stop. Along the way, you keep your feet moving. Everyone says it's a mental battle. Right now, I'm battling to get in the gym and get into 5K shape. Little victories mean a lot. Just going to the gym on a day where I'd rather see how many peanut butter Oreos I could cram in my mouth is a victory.
This one run victory is like that. It keeps everybody grinding on, hoping the Twins find their footing, pick up the pace, and we all feel the breeze at our backs. 
It's hard to write series recaps about three lukewarm baseball games where one lukewarm baseball team faces another lukewarm baseball team. The biggest narrative seems to stem from Aaron Gleeman's revelation that this is the first time the Twins have ever batted under .200 for the first 12 games. Maybe a little chatter about some surprisingly good pitching. I bet I'm not the only one struggling to find something to write about, even at this early stage of the season. Hey, we can't all be Randball's Stu and hit it out of the park every time.
So let's pick up those feet and put 'em back down again, Twins! Get into the rhythm. Find your stride before it's late June/early July. Because before long it'll be time to listen to "Dirty Black Summer" by Danzig and pretend sparklers are still fun when you're over fifteen. I'd like to still be in the race then.

Baseball is a marathon, not a sprint . . . but I'm willing to bet you can spoil a marathon with a weak start. Mental fortitude cracking with the arrhythmic slapping of your feet against the pavement. Planning and precision giving way to panic. Comparing yourself to the other runners, who seem to be running flawlessly.
Baseball is a marathon . . . for the fans, too. It takes commitment to stay abreast of a whole season. The game this afternoon felt like a must-win situation to keep some sense of hope. These were winnable games against a beatable opponent. We won one, by a single run. For the fans to stay in this race, we're going to need to win a lot more. 
Of course, who am I to talk about marathons and baseball seasons? I've never run a marathon, and my baseball days ended in elementary school with me standing in right field, praying the ball would never come near me. I'd like to run a marathon by the time I turn 50, which gives me a little over 5 1/2 years to get this body into shape. 
People have been very supportive of my marathon pipe-dream. The way they describe it makes it seem simple. You start running. 26.2 miles later, you stop. Along the way, you keep your feet moving. Everyone says it's a mental battle. Right now, I'm battling to get in the gym and get into 5K shape. Little victories mean a lot. Just going to the gym on a day where I'd rather see how many peanut butter Oreos I could cram in my mouth is a victory.
This one run victory is like that. It keeps everybody grinding on, hoping the Twins find their footing, pick up the pace, and we all feel the breeze at our backs. 
It's hard to write series recaps about three lukewarm baseball games where one lukewarm baseball team faces another lukewarm baseball team. The biggest narrative seems to stem from Aaron Gleeman's revelation that this is the first time the Twins have ever batted under .200 for the first 12 games. Maybe a little chatter about some surprisingly good pitching. I bet I'm not the only one struggling to find something to write about, even at this early stage of the season. Hey, we can't all be Randball's Stu and hit it out of the park every time.
So let's pick up those feet and put 'em back down again, Twins! Get into the rhythm. Find your stride before it's late June/early July. Because before long it'll be time to listen to "Dirty Black Summer" by Danzig and pretend sparklers are still fun when you're over fifteen. I'd like to still be in the race then.

There were lots of bad baseball moments this holiday weekend. Yesterday, I would've written a whole blog entry about despair and bullpen blow-ups. Today the Twins split the Red Sox series with a decisive victory and I'm a happy boy. Couple home runs, some late inning score-padding. Dylan Bundy turning in a solid performance - we'll just worry about those hard-hit balls later, shall we? 
Game-by-game, I'm like Frankenstein, Twins win. Baseball GOOD. Twins lose. Baseball BAD. The big guy's been on my mind because I rewatched The Bride of Frankenstein this weekend. That's the one where the monster learns to speak a few words in addition to his grunting. Friend GOOD. Fire BAD. I think there's a Frankenstein's monster in the heart of every baseball fan. Even with advanced statistics that map the game for us and help cool our emotions, the monster inside of us reacts. 
It'll get easier to stay positive if the Twins can win more than they lose. It's obvious, but I think there's another level to it. There's this thing called Positive Sentiment Override. It means that things are so overwhelmingly positive that negative experiences don't ruin the positivity. Last year stunk. The Twins have a long way to go before the positive sentiment overrides all the awfulness we suffered through. By way of comparison, think of Yankee fans who believe their team should win the World Series every year. I guess it's easier to build up positive sentimentality with an enormous payroll.
Realistically, this could take time. They say you need 5 positives to every negative to get the full affect. For sake of argument, let's bastardize that theory a bit and say the Twins would have to be successful in almost every aspect of the game. I don't know that they're there yet. Until they are, that Frankenstein voice will keep saying, "Twins BAD" every time something doesn't go our way. Bloggers and commentators will growl, hiss, and bristle at every perceived slight and weakness. 
If we cultivate a culture where winning is the norm, then we might see the "Baseball GOOD" mindset take over the site. Bandwagon fans jump aboard. Losses? We'll get 'em next time. 
I think it might take a playoff series win to really set Twins fans free from their primal, monstrous negativity. Bride of Frankenstein ends with the monster destroying the castle because the bride, created for him, hates and fears him from the start. He doesn't get the one thing he most desperately wants. Twins fans tear the castles of hope down every time they lose the thing they most desperately desire - post-season victory. 
But for now, the monster's happy for the night with a W and a few dingers. We've played some tough teams, so there's reason to be hopeful the Twins add more positivity and decrease the negative knee-jerk reactions to every loss, real or perceived. 
By the way, if you're interested in Positive Sentiment Override and how it affects relationships, check out the work of John Gottman. I've (very) loosely interpreted in a way that benefits my argument. His stuff is great.

There were lots of bad baseball moments this holiday weekend. Yesterday, I would've written a whole blog entry about despair and bullpen blow-ups. Today the Twins split the Red Sox series with a decisive victory and I'm a happy boy. Couple home runs, some late inning score-padding. Dylan Bundy turning in a solid performance - we'll just worry about those hard-hit balls later, shall we? 
Game-by-game, I'm like Frankenstein, Twins win. Baseball GOOD. Twins lose. Baseball BAD. The big guy's been on my mind because I rewatched The Bride of Frankenstein this weekend. That's the one where the monster learns to speak a few words in addition to his grunting. Friend GOOD. Fire BAD. I think there's a Frankenstein's monster in the heart of every baseball fan. Even with advanced statistics that map the game for us and help cool our emotions, the monster inside of us reacts. 
It'll get easier to stay positive if the Twins can win more than they lose. It's obvious, but I think there's another level to it. There's this thing called Positive Sentiment Override. It means that things are so overwhelmingly positive that negative experiences don't ruin the positivity. Last year stunk. The Twins have a long way to go before the positive sentiment overrides all the awfulness we suffered through. By way of comparison, think of Yankee fans who believe their team should win the World Series every year. I guess it's easier to build up positive sentimentality with an enormous payroll.
Realistically, this could take time. They say you need 5 positives to every negative to get the full affect. For sake of argument, let's bastardize that theory a bit and say the Twins would have to be successful in almost every aspect of the game. I don't know that they're there yet. Until they are, that Frankenstein voice will keep saying, "Twins BAD" every time something doesn't go our way. Bloggers and commentators will growl, hiss, and bristle at every perceived slight and weakness. 
If we cultivate a culture where winning is the norm, then we might see the "Baseball GOOD" mindset take over the site. Bandwagon fans jump aboard. Losses? We'll get 'em next time. 
I think it might take a playoff series win to really set Twins fans free from their primal, monstrous negativity. Bride of Frankenstein ends with the monster destroying the castle because the bride, created for him, hates and fears him from the start. He doesn't get the one thing he most desperately wants. Twins fans tear the castles of hope down every time they lose the thing they most desperately desire - post-season victory. 
But for now, the monster's happy for the night with a W and a few dingers. We've played some tough teams, so there's reason to be hopeful the Twins add more positivity and decrease the negative knee-jerk reactions to every loss, real or perceived. 
By the way, if you're interested in Positive Sentiment Override and how it affects relationships, check out the work of John Gottman. I've (very) loosely interpreted in a way that benefits my argument. His stuff is great.

Baseball is a marathon, not a sprint . . . but I'm willing to bet you can spoil a marathon with a weak start. Mental fortitude cracking with the arrhythmic slapping of your feet against the pavement. Planning and precision giving way to panic. Comparing yourself to the other runners, who seem to be running flawlessly.
Baseball is a marathon . . . for the fans, too. It takes commitment to stay abreast of a whole season. The game this afternoon felt like a must-win situation to keep some sense of hope. These were winnable games against a beatable opponent. We won one, by a single run. For the fans to stay in this race, we're going to need to win a lot more. 
Of course, who am I to talk about marathons and baseball seasons? I've never run a marathon, and my baseball days ended in elementary school with me standing in right field, praying the ball would never come near me. I'd like to run a marathon by the time I turn 50, which gives me a little over 5 1/2 years to get this body into shape. 
People have been very supportive of my marathon pipe-dream. The way they describe it makes it seem simple. You start running. 26.2 miles later, you stop. Along the way, you keep your feet moving. Everyone says it's a mental battle. Right now, I'm battling to get in the gym and get into 5K shape. Little victories mean a lot. Just going to the gym on a day where I'd rather see how many peanut butter Oreos I could cram in my mouth is a victory.
This one run victory is like that. It keeps everybody grinding on, hoping the Twins find their footing, pick up the pace, and we all feel the breeze at our backs. 
It's hard to write series recaps about three lukewarm baseball games where one lukewarm baseball team faces another lukewarm baseball team. The biggest narrative seems to stem from Aaron Gleeman's revelation that this is the first time the Twins have ever batted under .200 for the first 12 games. Maybe a little chatter about some surprisingly good pitching. I bet I'm not the only one struggling to find something to write about, even at this early stage of the season. Hey, we can't all be Randball's Stu and hit it out of the park every time.
So let's pick up those feet and put 'em back down again, Twins! Get into the rhythm. Find your stride before it's late June/early July. Because before long it'll be time to listen to "Dirty Black Summer" by Danzig and pretend sparklers are still fun when you're over fifteen. I'd like to still be in the race then.

There were lots of bad baseball moments this holiday weekend. Yesterday, I would've written a whole blog entry about despair and bullpen blow-ups. Today the Twins split the Red Sox series with a decisive victory and I'm a happy boy. Couple home runs, some late inning score-padding. Dylan Bundy turning in a solid performance - we'll just worry about those hard-hit balls later, shall we? 
Game-by-game, I'm like Frankenstein, Twins win. Baseball GOOD. Twins lose. Baseball BAD. The big guy's been on my mind because I rewatched The Bride of Frankenstein this weekend. That's the one where the monster learns to speak a few words in addition to his grunting. Friend GOOD. Fire BAD. I think there's a Frankenstein's monster in the heart of every baseball fan. Even with advanced statistics that map the game for us and help cool our emotions, the monster inside of us reacts. 
It'll get easier to stay positive if the Twins can win more than they lose. It's obvious, but I think there's another level to it. There's this thing called Positive Sentiment Override. It means that things are so overwhelmingly positive that negative experiences don't ruin the positivity. Last year stunk. The Twins have a long way to go before the positive sentiment overrides all the awfulness we suffered through. By way of comparison, think of Yankee fans who believe their team should win the World Series every year. I guess it's easier to build up positive sentimentality with an enormous payroll.
Realistically, this could take time. They say you need 5 positives to every negative to get the full affect. For sake of argument, let's bastardize that theory a bit and say the Twins would have to be successful in almost every aspect of the game. I don't know that they're there yet. Until they are, that Frankenstein voice will keep saying, "Twins BAD" every time something doesn't go our way. Bloggers and commentators will growl, hiss, and bristle at every perceived slight and weakness. 
If we cultivate a culture where winning is the norm, then we might see the "Baseball GOOD" mindset take over the site. Bandwagon fans jump aboard. Losses? We'll get 'em next time. 
I think it might take a playoff series win to really set Twins fans free from their primal, monstrous negativity. Bride of Frankenstein ends with the monster destroying the castle because the bride, created for him, hates and fears him from the start. He doesn't get the one thing he most desperately wants. Twins fans tear the castles of hope down every time they lose the thing they most desperately desire - post-season victory. 
But for now, the monster's happy for the night with a W and a few dingers. We've played some tough teams, so there's reason to be hopeful the Twins add more positivity and decrease the negative knee-jerk reactions to every loss, real or perceived. 
By the way, if you're interested in Positive Sentiment Override and how it affects relationships, check out the work of John Gottman. I've (very) loosely interpreted in a way that benefits my argument. His stuff is great.

When I dipped my toe into the new Twins season, I braced myself and winced. Like most people on Twins Daily, I'm excited for our hitting but unsure if we've got the pitching to be competitive. More than that, these old bones are sore from the 2021 season. Things looked swell last year at this time, and then the losses piled on and on. And on and on and on. Admitting you were a Twins fan got you a free bowl of soup and a friendly ear in Depression-era diners last year. "Times are tough," the cook would say. 
I made time to watch the first game at a chain restaurant that specializes in wings (even though no wings come close to achieving the greatness of Tooties on Lowry, home of the best wings on earth). I took my 5-year-old daughter and bought some quality baseball time by loaning her my cell phone so she could play her little game on it. The Twins tripped and fell right away in the game. They staggered and righted themselves a bit with an Urshela home run, then stumbled on the way to their final out. 
Game two and Buxton does a little talking with his bat. Twins take a lead and then blow it. I follow along on my phone, sliding back into the groove of ignoring friends and relatives to keep up on the game. The secret is lots of eye contact when you're paying attention to THEM, to make up for all the times you only have eyes for your phone. 
Game three is much better. Sanchez knocks in a grand slam and there are home runs everywhere, like they were participation trophies. I tried to listen to part of this on the radio, but my 5-year-old daughter caught me tuning in when I was supposed to be babysitting her dolls. I ended up having to sing David Bowie songs to them while the Twins hauled in their first victory.
Game four? I'm fully immersed in the Twins season and loving it. 
There are good things happening for the Twins, and there's every reason to nurture a bit of hope. So why did I feel so blah? General contrariness? Always a possibility. Maybe it's because I read the news today, oh boy, and the real world has become A Bad Place. Baseball usually takes me away from all that - the longer, the better! Maybe it'll just take a little longer this year to fully escape into the game.
There's no reason to worry about whether or not this team can warm your heart. This team is so loveable it could sour puppies and kitties by comparison. Buxton plays the game with gusto and he'll take you along for the ride. Polanco and Correa can turn frowns upside down with a swipe of their bats. Kirilloff is going to get there, people, and it'll be delightful.  And this Duran guy? You gotta love what you see when he pitches. Also, he appears to be a very good hugger, based on my own observations. This is a team you can cheer for. This is a team that brings "fan favorites" and "baseball crushes" back to the ballpark. 
I, for one, am ready to let baseball dazzle me into a happy grin yet again. Bring on the summer of 2022, and bring on the next chapter of Twins history!
 

When I dipped my toe into the new Twins season, I braced myself and winced. Like most people on Twins Daily, I'm excited for our hitting but unsure if we've got the pitching to be competitive. More than that, these old bones are sore from the 2021 season. Things looked swell last year at this time, and then the losses piled on and on. And on and on and on. Admitting you were a Twins fan got you a free bowl of soup and a friendly ear in Depression-era diners last year. "Times are tough," the cook would say. 
I made time to watch the first game at a chain restaurant that specializes in wings (even though no wings come close to achieving the greatness of Tooties on Lowry, home of the best wings on earth). I took my 5-year-old daughter and bought some quality baseball time by loaning her my cell phone so she could play her little game on it. The Twins tripped and fell right away in the game. They staggered and righted themselves a bit with an Urshela home run, then stumbled on the way to their final out. 
Game two and Buxton does a little talking with his bat. Twins take a lead and then blow it. I follow along on my phone, sliding back into the groove of ignoring friends and relatives to keep up on the game. The secret is lots of eye contact when you're paying attention to THEM, to make up for all the times you only have eyes for your phone. 
Game three is much better. Sanchez knocks in a grand slam and there are home runs everywhere, like they were participation trophies. I tried to listen to part of this on the radio, but my 5-year-old daughter caught me tuning in when I was supposed to be babysitting her dolls. I ended up having to sing David Bowie songs to them while the Twins hauled in their first victory.
Game four? I'm fully immersed in the Twins season and loving it. 
There are good things happening for the Twins, and there's every reason to nurture a bit of hope. So why did I feel so blah? General contrariness? Always a possibility. Maybe it's because I read the news today, oh boy, and the real world has become A Bad Place. Baseball usually takes me away from all that - the longer, the better! Maybe it'll just take a little longer this year to fully escape into the game.
There's no reason to worry about whether or not this team can warm your heart. This team is so loveable it could sour puppies and kitties by comparison. Buxton plays the game with gusto and he'll take you along for the ride. Polanco and Correa can turn frowns upside down with a swipe of their bats. Kirilloff is going to get there, people, and it'll be delightful.  And this Duran guy? You gotta love what you see when he pitches. Also, he appears to be a very good hugger, based on my own observations. This is a team you can cheer for. This is a team that brings "fan favorites" and "baseball crushes" back to the ballpark. 
I, for one, am ready to let baseball dazzle me into a happy grin yet again. Bring on the summer of 2022, and bring on the next chapter of Twins history!
 

Everybody's trying to save baseball from something. Things aren't the way they oughta be. Or they're not the way they were. Baseball purists tilt a windmills and sling arrows at one another with one goal in mind - keep The Game intact for the future. The generational hand-off has to occur, or The Game gets lost.
What's really at stake? What are we fighting for? Real life has enough to engage us. There are plenty of other sports. What makes baseball so noble? Just recently, many denigrated the sport as "just a game" when the owners and players fought for their own visions for the future of the sport. The players get to play a kid's game for a living. The diamond is not real life. So many complaints, and yet many of those incensed will come back to the game with their money in hand.
Baseball, after the first pitch is thrown, runs on its own hourglass. I'm not the first person to notice baseball games take as long as they take. A new pitch clock won't change that. The game lasts until the final out is recorded. And I'd be resorting to a cliche if I mentioned baseball is a marathon, not a sprint. 
The world, however, has moved so very far away from that baseball ethos. Look at where we are. Seriously. We're literally suffering through two of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. Where are you getting your doom from? It's always in your pocket, waiting on your cell phone. You can take a quick break at work and use that office computer to keep tabs on the spreading darkness. Make sure you only check in with the news agencies that share your point of view. We're always behind and we're sprinting every day.
When a baseball game is being played, your brain has a chance to work through all the angles. Like a chess game, to borrow another cliche. The organist plays along as you ponder coaching decisions under the sky and the stars. The world is shrunk down to one problem, Home versus Away.  Baseball rewards you for paying attention and using your brain. If you miss the plot, you miss a lot. 
When we save baseball, we save ourselves. At least, we save the part of ourselves that has time to sit with a problem and take the time to work on it. When the game is done, we're back to real life. Everything moves fast and if you can't win the first time, don't try. We lack patience.
Fixing baseball is dangerous. If it loses patience and thoughtfulness, it loses its identity. And we can't afford to lose more parts of society that reward patience and thoughtfulness. Take a child to a baseball game the way it is now and, true, they might be bored. But boredom doesn't kill kids. Give that kid some of your time and explain the game. Watch the joy on their face when they start to see the inner cogs of the mental game. Congratulations! You just shared a valuable life skill. You just taught a kid about relationships and strategies.
Because The Game is STILL The Game. It's been The Game since before the Civil War, and it's more important now than ever because the world is broken. Life is fragile - it's even more fragile when the threat of war and more war looms over the world. Baseball isn't the only solution, but I firmly believe it is one solution. The kids will come to baseball and they will learn to be patient and thoughtful and they'll transfer those skills into navigating a treacherous, hostile world. If the kids never learn those skills in this fast-paced, chaotic world, it's not baseball that will be lost.  It's us.

Everybody's trying to save baseball from something. Things aren't the way they oughta be. Or they're not the way they were. Baseball purists tilt a windmills and sling arrows at one another with one goal in mind - keep The Game intact for the future. The generational hand-off has to occur, or The Game gets lost.
What's really at stake? What are we fighting for? Real life has enough to engage us. There are plenty of other sports. What makes baseball so noble? Just recently, many denigrated the sport as "just a game" when the owners and players fought for their own visions for the future of the sport. The players get to play a kid's game for a living. The diamond is not real life. So many complaints, and yet many of those incensed will come back to the game with their money in hand.
Baseball, after the first pitch is thrown, runs on its own hourglass. I'm not the first person to notice baseball games take as long as they take. A new pitch clock won't change that. The game lasts until the final out is recorded. And I'd be resorting to a cliche if I mentioned baseball is a marathon, not a sprint. 
The world, however, has moved so very far away from that baseball ethos. Look at where we are. Seriously. We're literally suffering through two of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. Where are you getting your doom from? It's always in your pocket, waiting on your cell phone. You can take a quick break at work and use that office computer to keep tabs on the spreading darkness. Make sure you only check in with the news agencies that share your point of view. We're always behind and we're sprinting every day.
When a baseball game is being played, your brain has a chance to work through all the angles. Like a chess game, to borrow another cliche. The organist plays along as you ponder coaching decisions under the sky and the stars. The world is shrunk down to one problem, Home versus Away.  Baseball rewards you for paying attention and using your brain. If you miss the plot, you miss a lot. 
When we save baseball, we save ourselves. At least, we save the part of ourselves that has time to sit with a problem and take the time to work on it. When the game is done, we're back to real life. Everything moves fast and if you can't win the first time, don't try. We lack patience.
Fixing baseball is dangerous. If it loses patience and thoughtfulness, it loses its identity. And we can't afford to lose more parts of society that reward patience and thoughtfulness. Take a child to a baseball game the way it is now and, true, they might be bored. But boredom doesn't kill kids. Give that kid some of your time and explain the game. Watch the joy on their face when they start to see the inner cogs of the mental game. Congratulations! You just shared a valuable life skill. You just taught a kid about relationships and strategies.
Because The Game is STILL The Game. It's been The Game since before the Civil War, and it's more important now than ever because the world is broken. Life is fragile - it's even more fragile when the threat of war and more war looms over the world. Baseball isn't the only solution, but I firmly believe it is one solution. The kids will come to baseball and they will learn to be patient and thoughtful and they'll transfer those skills into navigating a treacherous, hostile world. If the kids never learn those skills in this fast-paced, chaotic world, it's not baseball that will be lost.  It's us.

Everybody's trying to save baseball from something. Things aren't the way they oughta be. Or they're not the way they were. Baseball purists tilt a windmills and sling arrows at one another with one goal in mind - keep The Game intact for the future. The generational hand-off has to occur, or The Game gets lost.
What's really at stake? What are we fighting for? Real life has enough to engage us. There are plenty of other sports. What makes baseball so noble? Just recently, many denigrated the sport as "just a game" when the owners and players fought for their own visions for the future of the sport. The players get to play a kid's game for a living. The diamond is not real life. So many complaints, and yet many of those incensed will come back to the game with their money in hand.
Baseball, after the first pitch is thrown, runs on its own hourglass. I'm not the first person to notice baseball games take as long as they take. A new pitch clock won't change that. The game lasts until the final out is recorded. And I'd be resorting to a cliche if I mentioned baseball is a marathon, not a sprint. 
The world, however, has moved so very far away from that baseball ethos. Look at where we are. Seriously. We're literally suffering through two of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. Where are you getting your doom from? It's always in your pocket, waiting on your cell phone. You can take a quick break at work and use that office computer to keep tabs on the spreading darkness. Make sure you only check in with the news agencies that share your point of view. We're always behind and we're sprinting every day.
When a baseball game is being played, your brain has a chance to work through all the angles. Like a chess game, to borrow another cliche. The organist plays along as you ponder coaching decisions under the sky and the stars. The world is shrunk down to one problem, Home versus Away.  Baseball rewards you for paying attention and using your brain. If you miss the plot, you miss a lot. 
When we save baseball, we save ourselves. At least, we save the part of ourselves that has time to sit with a problem and take the time to work on it. When the game is done, we're back to real life. Everything moves fast and if you can't win the first time, don't try. We lack patience.
Fixing baseball is dangerous. If it loses patience and thoughtfulness, it loses its identity. And we can't afford to lose more parts of society that reward patience and thoughtfulness. Take a child to a baseball game the way it is now and, true, they might be bored. But boredom doesn't kill kids. Give that kid some of your time and explain the game. Watch the joy on their face when they start to see the inner cogs of the mental game. Congratulations! You just shared a valuable life skill. You just taught a kid about relationships and strategies.
Because The Game is STILL The Game. It's been The Game since before the Civil War, and it's more important now than ever because the world is broken. Life is fragile - it's even more fragile when the threat of war and more war looms over the world. Baseball isn't the only solution, but I firmly believe it is one solution. The kids will come to baseball and they will learn to be patient and thoughtful and they'll transfer those skills into navigating a treacherous, hostile world. If the kids never learn those skills in this fast-paced, chaotic world, it's not baseball that will be lost.  It's us.

I just asked my wife if my Twins Zubaz still existed.
 
I have to ask. They’ve seen better days. Their greatest wound is an inch and a half ripped seam in the crotch, rendering them useless for anything public. I’ve thought about mending the tear, but the rest of the Zubaz are worn so thin I imagine they’d tear in ten other places like ice crackling during a spring thaw.
 
Do I wear them expecting they’ll bring me closer to the Minnesota Twins as I slumber? Absolutely. Pajamas should always be a bridge to pleasant dreams.
 
In truth, I often dream of going to Twins games. Usually I’m just wandering Target Field, trying to meet up with some group of people I’m supposed to join at the game. Once, despite being in my early forties, I dreamed I was the first runner-up to be the Twins ball boy. They asked me to field a grounder and toss the ball to the coach. When I failed as miserably as I would while I was awake, the other dude got the job.
 
I actually made the team one evening, but it was a nightmare. Sure, I was excited to be a Minnesota Twin. But I also knew I suck at playing baseball. In my dream, I was taking up a roster spot with no skill. The dilemma - do I tell Coach I shouldn’t be there or wait until he figures it out and drink in the joy of baseball?
 
Maybe my Twins Zubaz are like a dreamcatcher in reverse, letting out the best parts of baseball dreams and sealing in the existential doom of regular living.
 
Whether or not your dreams come true, it’s fun to play pretend you’re on the team. If you’ve got your own version of my Twins Zubaz, share some details in the comments. How far do you go? Some nights, I break out the Twins socks and a TC t-shirt and when I wake up, I’m still a guy in his early forties. A guy in his forties with the smile of a goofy twelve-year-old.
 
My wife will probably kill the Zubaz when I’m not looking. They’re one hole away from being invisible and she preys on weak and wounded clothing. When that day comes, I’ll have to get a new pair immediately. The new pair won’t be as soft and worn-in. They’ll get into game shape in no time, though. It’s spring training for sleep slacks, too.
 
Pleasant dreams, Twins Territory.