Don't worry. If there are, the Twins will find them. I'm going to cry myself to sleep, knowing full well when I awake the Twins world will be a darker place. How 'bout them Vikings!
I'm stunned. Shades of ignoring an immediate need for a long term project. Al la Vikings? Treadwell instead of an O-lineman? Is there something in the Minnesota water?
Forgive my ignorance, but did you mean Reggae music boxes? Although I suppose the Swiss are more into horns than oil drums... Seriously, very nice! Beats my shot glass collection.
Remodeling is an American wife's hobby, a husband's nightmare and a contractor's gold mine. We once set out to replace an old dishwasher with a new one; cost of new dishwasher, $250. Final cost including installaion; $2,500. We moved shortly after.
I have pursued many careers over my lifetime, marketing however was never in my sights. But I think I might have one more career in me. If I can just get this thing to snowball... thaw the initial cold shoulder of resistance... break the ice if you will... I might be able to hitch my sleigh to a new star! OOH! I shiver at the possibilities!
Let's modify that. Run the clip with the long homerun, but Bert says "The Sanoman; he's going to frost your balls!" Then the video switches to a closeup of a grinning Sano smearing frosting on a baseball. Run that by the PR office. I've got to to go take my meds.
How about "The Sanoman"? You know, like snowman. Just going with the Minnesota motif. We run a video clip of one of Sano's long homeruns sailing out of sight and Bert's voice comes on says, "The Sanoman; he's going to freeze your balls!" That ought to put the fear of God in Twins opponents. Might even get Bert another fine and suspension.
Sauerkraut, chopped onions, ketchup, mustard. One beer to wash it down. Second beer to wash down the tums. Wipe mouth on sleeve, hands on pants leg. Burp loudly, but politely. Take wife's elbow to the ribs with a smile.
I'd give him a little chin music first, hoping he'd throw out his back while dodging the bean ball. Then I'd give him heat away, hoping the sore back shortens his reach. Unless of course he attacks the mound with his bat in hand after that first pitch. In that case I'd ask him to sign my cast. Which I could probably sell on e-bay for a gazillion dollars, which of course I would have to give to the doctors who put me back together... Maybe I just walk the guy.
Okay, let's look at it this way; we don't know where Los Angeles of Anaheim is and game time is way past our bedtimes so if the Twinks fail in their mission we can disavow all knowledge of their assignment. Just like the Front Office, the coaching staff, the bull pen and Mr. Phelps. This post will self-destruct in three seconds.