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Breaking News: Pohlad Changes Team Name...Almost

Team will no longer be called the Twins.

Earlier this afternoon, following yet another Minnesota victory, owner Carl Pohlad called a press conference to announce a change in the team's name.  On the podium, Pohlad was flanked by Terry Ryan, Ron Gardenhire and Dave St. Peter.

"The team will no longer be called the Twins," stated Pohlad from a microphone with a banner depicting the famous "TC" logo draped behind him.  "We shall be henceforth known as...the Minnesota Wins."

Immediately the room went into an uproar, while the four men on the slightly raised stage nodded, winked and shook hands with one another.

A young reporter raised his hand.  "Mr. Pohlad, why the Minnesota Wins?  You're just dropping the 'T' off the front of the name."

Pohlad's eyes tightened as he attempted to form his muscles into what he remebered as the movements of a smile.  "Because it's what we do.  We win.  In fact, I don't remember the last time we lost."  All four men began to nod, wink and shake hands once again.

"We lost on June 21, sir," said the same young reporter.

"What?" rhasped Pohlad.  "When?  I don't remember that."  All four men shook their heads and grimaced.

A female reporter spoke up next.  She had been widely known in the community for many years, making her name by predicting doom for Joe Mays following his 17-win season.  "On whose council are you going forward with this name change?" she asked gravely.

"Do you know the Muffin Man?" asked Pohlad.

"The Muffin Man?" asked the female reporter.

"The Muffin Man!" exclaimed Gardenhire, remembering memories of tasty muffins long past.

"Who lives on Drury lane?" asked the female reporter.  "Yes, I know him."

Pohlad nodded as though no further explaination were needed, but he continued.  "The wise Muffin Man gave me council on the matter of the name change.  Yes, the Great and Powerful Muffin Man, his advice was all I needed."

The four men on the podium began to congratulate each other again.

By now, the press conference was silent.  No one made a sound, for they were afraid to be singled out against an argument that made no sense.  They all knew, as the female reporter knew, that The Great and Powerful Muffin Man was just Ron Coomer behind a velvet curtain.

It could have ended like this...

The disillusioned young reporter dropped his microphone and reporter's cap, quitting his job on the spot, deciding he didn't want to report matters of ill consequence, spoken by buffoons.  The female reporter followed him out, seeing the vision of broadcast journalism as it now was, distorted and stained by words conveying no meaning, and wanting to part of such a business any longer.

Or, it could have ended like this...

"Oh," said the young male reporter.

"Yes, I see now," said the respected and established female reporter.

There was much rejoicing.

It even could have happended like this...

The silence in the room was broken by Inspector Santana and his vice president Joe Nathan, entering the room by way of a dramatic entrance through the double doors behind the masses of reporters and television cameras and Dark Starr.

"I know who killed Scott Baker!" announced Santana to a stunned crowd, as Nathan puffed on a cigar.  "It was Boof Bonser in the clubhouse with a fastball!"  Joe Nathan nodded.

Mrs. Peacock fainted and the police took Boof away in chains.

But it ended like this...

The respected and established female reporter scoffed at Pohlad's explaination, and moved to the infamous velvet curtain. "I know the Muffin Man," she said, emphasizing the name with distain unconcealed. She found the ropes to the concealing drapes.

Inside, Ron Coomer tried to hide behind a stool. It wasn't working.

"I'll give you your Muffin Man!" The reporter yanked on the ropes and the velvet curtains opened with a swish. Again, the crowd went into an uproar. The four men on the podium stared on in disbelief.

A little girl with big eyes and a teddy bear under one arm approached the embarassed Coomer. "Why, Mr. Coomer?" she asked, wide eyed. "Why?" The little girl was too young to know the truth.

One single tear rolled down Coomer's cheek. "Because the late 90's were just too much," he sniffed. "When we got on a hot streak after being so down most of the year, I just had to do something! We're not losers! None of us are losers! None of us were ever losers! Except maybe Stahoviak, who should have been playing hockey..."

Ron Gardenhire was beside himself. "THAT'S the Muffin Man?" he asked himself, unable to believe that Ron Coomer and the person who had made all those delicious muffins were the same person.

"And I would have gotten away with it, if it weren't for that snooping reporter!" fumed Coomer.

The PA speakers squelched as Pohlad began to speak again. "I can't take advice from someone who isn't the Muffin Man. Suppose we'll just have to be the Twins," he said quite dejectedly. The four men on the stage nodded solemnly with their heads down, and left the room.

And that's why you should never trust The Muffin Man. He's Ron Coomer, and he gives bad advice on naming your team.