FanPost

Coaches Meeting: Gardy Reads Twinkie Town

Leon Halip


9 AM Sunday August 17 at Target Field, in a conference room off of the clubhouse, the majority of the Twins coaches are scattered about sipping coffee, looking over clipboards and laptops, and chatting as they await the arrival of Manager Ron Gardenhire. The sound and stench of flatulence fills the room. Brunansky giggles and everyone stares at Steinbach.

Bobby Cuellar: Again? Good Lord, do you eat nothing but popcorn, peanuts and beer?

Brunansky: And beans! (giggles some more)

Gardenhire enters the room, empty handed except for a longneck Coors. The room falls uncomfortably silent and stays that way for a long, long 10 seconds. Gardy belches and sets the bottle down with a thud on the desk at the front of the room.

Gardy: Well, let's get 'er done here and get ready for the game. Andy, start us off.

Anderson: Um, I talked to Milone this morning and he feels good. We talked through a couple of batters that he hadn't seen much, but he seems to have read the scouting report pretty well.

Gardy: Yeah, OK. Maybe we can score 10 runs and get him a win like they did in Oakland.

Anderson: Um, right. Everything OK there Skip?

Gardy: Oh, just great. Just peachy. Bruno?

Brunansky: So the boys all have the report on Guthrie and we've got most of the guys tuned to wait him out a bit and show some patience. He's not unhit . . .

Gardy: Patience. Such a nice freakin' word. . . . Jeepers.

Brunansky: Uh, wha . . . whaddaya mean there, Boss?

Gardy: Oh, nothing. Nothing. Just thinking about something I read on TwinkieTown about how I can't nurture the talent -- "NUR-ture the TAL-ent." Jewish Christmas.

Ullger: How's that, Boss?

Gardy: The long knives are out, Scotty. The long knives are out. That's all I'm sayin'. Bobby C, how are the boys?

Cuellar: Looks good, Ron. Probably leave Fien out today, but Hughes gave us what we needed. Everyone is pretty healthy.

Gardy: They don't care. They don't know what we do to get the team ready. 9 more games in the next 8 days. It ain't easy, but do they care? Do they? NO! Jon Hunt has his arrows out and they're aimed square for my back! Ya know?

Ullger: Uh, I don't quite follow you there, Skipper.

Vavra: Skip, no one that matters is talking like that. Even in that piece, most of the comments were supportive of the coaching staff. Hmm. Except Andy. No one really defended you there, Rick.

Anderson: What? What are you talking about?

Gardy: They're coming after us, Andy. And they want blood.

Cuellar: Ron, is that your first beer today? Don't you usually wait until after the game?

Gardy: Second. Maybe third. What are you my mother now? Oh. Just a sec . . . (He steps into the hallway)

Damman: Holy Moley! (Gardy returns pulling a large cooler that is clinking with that lovely sound of beer bottles in ice.)

Gardy: Have one if you want. Gonna be hot. Or maybe we'll get rained out. Anyways, I won't snitch on you. Any snitches here? Huh? (Bruno and Steinbach step up to the cooler).

Ullger: Boys! Boys! We're getting ready for a game! . . . Oh, give me one . . .

(Paul Molitor walks in iPad at the ready. He brings a Hall of Fame presence with him.)

Molitor: Sorry I'm late. (He pauses, looks around). Wha . . . what's going on here?

Gardy: Yeah, Molly. What is going on? Where you been? Special secret meeting? Anything you want to let us in on? Eh?

Molitor: What? I got up a bit late and the dog slipped his leash and traffic was just a bit heavy . . . what's the big deal?

Vavra: There was a dolled up "Fire Gary" piece on TwinkieTown, and skip has taken it to heart.

Ullger: What's TwinkieTown? Who's Gary?

Molitor: (Ignoring Ullger, as he has all season) Yeah? What do LaVelle and Rhett say?

Vavra: NOTHING! It's just a flakey little fanpost. Geez.

Gardy: SEE! I knew Molly would get ansty waiting around for his chance. You been talking to Terry this morning, there Brutus?

Molitor: What? I've been getting ready for the game, like every day. Why are you being such a tool?

(Steinbach watching interestedly,takes a swig of beer and belches. Brunansky tries to follow suit but manages only a little burp.)

Gardy: Cheese on Toast, ya never know who'll be the one to . . . Hey! Have a brewski Molly! How is Jimmy doing?

Molitor: No, thanks. Jimmy who?

Gardy: Pohlad! Jim Pohlad! You went over Terry's head, didn't you? I know Terry wouldn't do me like that!

(Lightning strikes nearby, and the "CRACK" reaches into the conference room.)

Cuellar: Oh for cryin' out loud.

Anderson: No one stood up for me, huh?

Cuellar: Shut up.

Vavra: Gonna be a long season . . .

Ullger: What's going on?

Vavra: Shut up.

(Molitor, a bit confused, eyes Gardenhire curiously, then straightens up.)

Molitor: So, anyways, I was just going to say that Escobar, Suzuki, and Mauer all have OPS of over 1.000 on this Guthrie dude. We should have a good day. They're all in the line up, aren't they?

Gardy: Yeah. Yeah they are. Bruno, anything to add?

Brunansky: Nope. 1.000 OPS, eh?

(Lightning again, and a long rolling thunder. Gardy gives Brunansky a sizing up look.)

Gardy: Let's hope the rain holds off. Get in the clubhouse and get the boys out for BP. I'll be out in a couple minutes.

(Everyone stands and shuffles out, light chatter resuming).

Gardy: Screw you, Jon Hunt.