Gene Glynn visits the Twins locker room

Otto Greule Jr

The Rochester manager is serving as an "extra coach" for the last couple of weeks of the season.

SCENE: The Twins clubhouse, before Saturday night's game with Tampa Bay. Various players are going through pregame preparations; RON GARDENHIRE is sitting in his office, quietly perusing a binder, possibly of statistics, though there appears to be a vintage 70s-era Playboy peeking out from behind the binder. Just then, Rochester manager GENE GLYNN walks in.

GLYNN: And we'll have to - hello gentlemen!

SEVERAL PLAYERS: Gene!

The players rush to hug Glynn. Several, in particular CHRIS COLABELLO, don't seem to want to let Glynn go.

GLYNN: Gentlemen, you'll have to excuse me for a moment. Then we'll have sharing time.

MICHAEL TONKIN: Oh boy, sharing time!

He immediately runs to the side of the room and sits down, Indian-style. Several other former Rochester players follow his lead.

GLEN PERKINS: What in the blue hell are you guys doing?

SHAIRON MARTIS: It's sharing time! Or, as I like to say, "Shairon time."

He laughs, as do all the Rochester players.

PERKINS: That's not - Josh, what are you doing?

JOSH WILLINGHAM: Perk, I know it's crazy, but I went on a couple of rehab assignments, and I gotta tell you - I love sharing time. I feel like I can talk about stuff in sharing time.

PERKINS: Like what?

WILLINGHAM: I can't say. You're not in the circle of sharing.

MARTIS: Or Shairon!

PERKINS: I'm not doing that.

WILLINGHAM: Then I can't tell you. Those are the sharing time rules, everybody knows that.

All the Rochester players nod.

GLYNN: These boys learn well, Glen. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go visit Mr. Gardy.

ALL THE ROCHESTER PLAYERS: Bye Mr. Gene!

GLYNN (walking into Gardenhire's office, to himself) Not sure I like that hardware on the door... Ron! It's good to see you!

GARDENHIRE (not smiling): Hello, Gene. Terry told me you were coming. I see you got in all right?

GLYNN: Oh, yes. Mr. Ryan thought that maybe I could help out by being around these boys for the next few weeks. A few of them seem a little "stuck."

GARDENHIRE: Oh? And how do you plan to help?

The sound of the Rochester players chanting "SHARING TIME!" drifts in through the door, followed by the sound of Perkins yelling "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!"

GLYNN: I'll be around. A little of this, a little of that.... are those the only two outlets on that wall?

GARDENHIRE: Why?

GLYNN: (mostly to himself) Yeah, you could turn that around... I'm sorry. I'm thinking out loud.

GARDENHIRE: Whatever. (sees Colabello outside the door) Chris! Come in here!

COLABELLO: What's happening, skip?

GARDENHIRE: Son, you're swinging like a rusty gate out there again. I want you to go work with Bruno before the game today, get some swings, and see if we can't get you back on track.

COLABELLO: (stares blankly)

GARDENHIRE: Chris? You all right there? Did you hear what I said?

COLABELLO: (stares blankly)

GLYNN: You just have to use the right tone of voice on him. (to Colabello) Chris, I see you've been struggling the last few weeks.

COLABELLO: (snaps out of it) I sure have, Mr. Gene!

GLYNN: Now, we all go through these struggles. Why don't you talk to Mr. Bruno? See if he can help you get straightened out?

COLABELLO: Good idea, Mr. Gene! I'll go find him right now!

GLYNN: You do that, son. (to Gardenhire) See?

GARDENHIRE: What just happened here?

GLYNN: You just have to know how to talk to them.

GARDENHIRE: And the way that I have to talk to them is like I'm Mr. Hooper from Sesame Street?

GLYNN: Well, it's always worked for me. Anyway, it's good to be here, Ron. Now where did I leave those paint samples?

FADE OUT. Glynn putters around the manager's office, variously examining construction features and pulling out a tape measure as if he's about to remodel the place.

Gardenhire, apparently lost for words for a moment, shrugs his shoulders, sits down, and pulls out his "binder" again.

In the clubhouse, various noises of affirmation emanate from the Sharing Time circle, while Perkins lobs occasional wads of tape at whoever is speaking.

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