It seems that everyone in Twins Territory has an offseason plan (with the possible exception of Bill Smith). An alarming number of these include the semimation of the team (it's not what you think, perverts. Decimation is getting rid of one in ten, so if you ship off half the team it would be semimated.) I thought it was only fair that I share my offseason plan.
Complain loudly. Demand a complete replacement of coaches, executives, owners and beer vendors. Point out several Little League players the team could pick up cheap. Drink beer.
Eat Turkey until coma sets in. Wash down with beer. Make nasty comments about Thursday football. Drink more beer.
Risk life and limb in hand to hand combat over the last "toy of the season." Wonder how typical looking housewife got the authentic samurai swords. Write irate letter demanding the Twins fork over a penalty payment for Target Field because they certainly didn't play baseball there this year. Drink beer.
Go out for New Years Eve. Wake up just in time for Mardi Gras. Shovel a snow tunnel to get out of the house. Check papers to see who won the Super Bowl. Stock up on beads and beer.
Notice that pitchers and catchers have reported to training camp. Get stupidly hopeful that the next Sidd Finch is among the motley lot of has beens and never will bes. Switch to boilermakers.
Watch as much of the Twins preseason as my liver can tolerate. Realize they took my little league suggestion seriously. Hear the word "rebuilding" more often than Bert's Birthday(TM). Switch from whiskey to Everclear.
Realize that Opening Day is also Good Friday and Bert's Birthday(TM). Irony forces a complete psychotic break and I watch the game absolutely convinced da boyz will be back in the playoffs next fall. The sun shines, there is the crack of the bat, the sound of the ball hitting leather, the sun shines and the snow is slowly melting. Life is good again. Hand me a beer.