One for the Ages

Tonight, August 12th of 2-0-0-9, the Twins faced the Royals in the second game of the series. Last night they were brutally maimed, so everyone in the state entered this game licking our wounds. A much maligned Liriano was taking the hill attempting to remind us all that he is a professional pitcher in the Major Leagues. A bevel of slumping bats were trying to give our pitching staff some offensive relief. To make matters worse, I had purchased a Cheap Seat on god-damned student ID night.

The game started out wonderfully. It was almost as if none of the horror of the last couple of weeks had happened. My friend Muffy and I were sitting in my home away from home, section 238, and it did not appear that we were immediately surrounded by jackass college kids. Frankie gave up a solo shot in the top of the first, but struck out two batters ugly. The Twins came out firing for 5 runs in the bottom half, and already The Cisco Kid had some cushion. He ended up going 7 full innings, 90 pitches, 8 strikeouts, 2 hits, 1 run. A FANTASTIC OUTING. The Twins got a couple more in the 4th and won the game 7-1.

That was the overall impression. Let's dig a little deeper. This was the first day of Twins pitching prospect Jeff Manship's professional career. I met Jeff in Single-A Beloit three years ago. We had a nice long conversation about the life of a minor league ball player, and we agreed to meet up at Bullwinkle's when he got called up. I have been waiting for him. I do not estimate that we will ever get that drink, but it is a nice anecdote for me.

I hate a lot of things, but maybe nothing more than jackass twenty year olds at sporting events who make it impossible for anyone to watch or enjoy the game. Matty Guerrier was brought in to pitch the 8th inning. The first batter hit a screaming line drive right at him and he casually gloved it and winged it over to Morneau to go around the horn. It was an electric play. The crowd around me went crazy. I was surprised at how all of these drunken morons were as excited as me by that play. Then I realized that at the exact instant Matty G snared that liner, at least 45 beach balls had been simultaneously released in my section.

The horror. The horror.

I had my pen out to keep my scorebook, and I immediately began weilding it as a weapon. I took down at least six right out of the gate, and several more as they came my way. No one really noticed me doing this as there were so many being bandied about. It was a bloodbath. Meanwhile, Nick Punto made an amazing stick-side diving snare of a ground ball up the middle, hurled it from the ground to Morneau who botched the catch for an infield single. I do not think anyone noticed, and I was barely able to keep sight of the game myself.

With one down, the next batter grounds sharply to Matty G, who again makes a steller catch. He spins and fires to Cabrera (who I am falling in love with) who messes up his footwork before he gets to 2nd base and drops the throw. Safe at 2nd, and the ball is rolling towards right field. The runner on 2 gets up and heads to 3rd base. Nicky Baseball is backing up the play like a good little ballplayer and chases the ball down. He baseball slides in to pick it up and fires the ball over to Crede who sweeps the tag down in time. I witnessed a 1-6-4-5 put-out. Has anyone ever seen a 1-6-4-5? It was amazing! Nicky saved a rally there, it would have been runners on 1st and 3rd with one out for their 2-3-4 hitters. A fantastic play. Did anyone care? No, why would they? There were beach balls to swat at. Rubes.

The Twins got the bases juiced in the bottom of the 8th inning through a series of fielder's choice, a passed ball and a hit batsman. Who was coming up to bat? Little Nicky Punt-0-for-3 himself. He usually hits well in at bats following great defensive plays (Bert will back me up on this), so I was very excited. The beach balls have all been popped or lost to the lower deck and there was only one straggler left. It happened to hit me in the back just before LNP came up. I immediately swung around and stabbed it violently with my pen, just as some douche was reaching to throw it up again (I almost got him in the finger). That was the last damn ball and I killed it. Not three seconds passed before I was hit in the back with a foil-wrapped dollar dog. I was not surprised, heavy is the head that pops the beach balls. However, my boy was up with the bases loaded, and I was sporting his game-worn jersey. I took it off quickly to avoid any future ketchup or mustard stains, and attempted to focus on the at-bat. Another hot dog hit me, and then Muffy got nailed in the face. Uncool, you jackasses.

Obviously Punto flied out deep to right center ending the inning. Obviously all those cowards who were then about to get confronted by an angry Twins fan/antibody enthusiast left the game early. Obviously, even though they warmed him up during the top of the eight, the Twins did not let Jeff Manship make his debut. Obviously JoNathan came in to strike out the side and end the game.

I wish I had gotten to enjoy those last two innings like I should have been able to. The Twins finally played an effective game. They got on the board early, their starter went 7 dominant innings, and their defense played well. Why after weeks and weeks of embarrassing losses do people have to suck the fun out of a win? Shouldn't we all have been in rapt attention soaking in the joy of victory that we have been thirsting for since the All-Star Break? God damn college kids.

Upon arriving home tonight I received the greatest gift I have ever gotten. Omernik, somehow someway, found me a Nick Punto chapstick. The tube looks like his away grey jersey with "Punto 8" on it. It is bing cherry flavored. I think my awed reaction was everything she hoped it would be, and I am going to save this glorious keepsake with my finest posessions. No, I am not ever going to use it no matter how chapped I get. This is priceless.

What a night! I had no idea that this game would be so eventfull, but I am very thankful that I had Muffy and Omernik to experience it with me.

Number of hot dogs I have been hit with for popping beach balls since 2001: 7.
Come get some, frat boys.