Turning and turning in the widening lead
The pitcher cannot hear the catcher;
Things fall apart; centre field cannot hold;
Twins Territory is loosed upon the world,
The starting pitching is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of Opening Day is drowned;
The best lack all health, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Twins season is at hand.
The Twins season! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of a 1991 World Series Highlights DVD
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the woods of the north,
A shape with portly body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant waterfowl.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty years of Taco John's
Were vexed to nightmare by Nachos Navidad,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Minneapolis to be born?
I think it's Kent Hrbek. And he's starving.
Put the Twins at 72 wins. 78 max. Yeats out.