Pulling A Blyleven

Seeing the Twins lose their 4th straight, my first reaction was to search for the Beast of Revelation and the number Six Hundred Threescore and Six. But, I think there's room for optimism. Like, hey, we're not losing to the Royals here. The Angels are 24 and 8 at home, and in Oakland we played them close. Besides, in Anaheim they have Christopher Lloyd and his band of angelic bretheren helping them out in the outfield. Yeah, I saw it on TV, so it must be true.

Rocket Bats didn't turn in an Earth-shattering performance, but it wasn't totally awful either. The problem is more that the Twins' hitters are about as supportive as a deadbeat father on a bender. But as we all know, the dark times of Ragnarok can be a protracted experience, before final redemption is at hand in the end. This end, however, might just extend to next season. But at the very least, we've got the return of the Chairman to look forward to, though it might be a small drop in the bucket. Irrational exhuberance over things that don't make much of a difference is dangerous however, like when I was working food service in high school and I got to use a new mop. It was great at first, but boy did the depression hit hard soon thereafter. Joe Mauer, you're not a mop, I'm just saying.

In closing, I leave you all with this great commentary on last night's game by loyal reader Timberwolf.

Timberwolf: FUCK THIS TEAM

Timberwolf: I HATE THE TWINS

Timberwolf: I am going out to smoke weed

Timberwolf: At least, the Lynx won

Tell me, is that not the most logical progression of events you've ever seen? In all seriousness, reading those 4 lines completely conveys the exact way one would have felt and reacted after watching the Twins last night. And that, everyone, is the reason this blog was started.

I'll forward those comments onto Simone Augustus.

--WV