A Twinsgiving story

The Minnesota Twins and manager Paul Molitor are sitting around a table at the Molitor residence. It's a very long table because it has to fit everyone on the 25-man roster. Well, almost everyone.

A few feet away, Alan Busenitz, Trevor Hildenberger, John Curtiss, Zach Granite, Mitch Garver, Aaron Slegers, and Gabriel Moya are all cramped around a fold-up table that is far too short and small for any of them. It is the Rookids Table. The sounds of yelling, screaming, and arguing from the table never cease.

Granite is frantically scribbling on a piece of paper "I HATE the Yankees! They aint my friend no more!" with a red crayon over and over again. Moya is drawing a dinosaur. Busenitz and Garver are fighting over the only blue crayon because blue is the favorite color of each of theirs.

Molitor is sitting at the head of the Adults Table. Behind him and above the fireplace is a giant portrait of Thad Levine and Derek Falvey in a pair of seasonal sweaters and holding a cat. Every chair is occupied by a Twins player except for the one directly to the right of Molitor. It's more of a throne than a chair, made of solid gold with solid gold silverware complimenting a solid gold plate on the table. Two maids stand on either side of the throne, looking around in boredom.

"Who is that chair for?" Eddie Rosario asks to Molitor, breaking the awkward silence that had loomed over the group since they all sat down.

"That chair is for Shohei Ohtani and I don't want any of you even looking at it," Molitor responded harshly. "We had to spend $37,000 of our international free agent budget just to rent it out. He's going to show up any minute now. He's probably just... running late."

(Shohei was not going to show up. He was not running late.)

"Let's just start eating without him, I guess," Molitor said.

Joe Mauer immediately stood up, grabbed one of the two hot dishes he brought with him and walked over to Molitor.

"Gee, Mr. Molitor, you gotta try this hot dish Mom made," he said smiling. "She made two of the exact same hot dishes. They're TWINS. Get it?”

"Joe, I've told you countless times to just call me Paul," Paul responded.

"Aww, I understand Mr. Molitor, but Mom says it's polite to call everyone Mr., Mrs., or sometimes Ms. If you're not sure if the lady is married or not," Mauer replied.

Molitor stared into Joe's face for a few seconds before sighing to himself and scooping up a helping of hot dish onto his plate. Joe went around the room to dish out the rest of the hot dish, telling each and every player the same story of his Theresa's twin hot dishes.

"Wait a minute," Ervin Santana said after looking around. "Where's Hector? We always shared mashed potatoes."

"Hector won't be coming to Thanksgiving anymore," Molitor responded. "I'm sorry Ervin, but he's no longer a member of the family."

The silence resumed over the table once all the food was dished out and they began eating. At the Rookids Table, a shout of "THAT WAS MY SLICE OF TURKEY!" preceded the sound of the table being flipped over and food, silverware, and crayons crashing everywhere. Curtiss ran into the room, tears streaming down his face and a fork sticking out of his hand.

"Mr. … Mr. Paul, I got a real bad booboo," He said.

"Every single year..." Molitor whispered to himself. "Miguel, you know the drill. Go grab the first-aid kid and call the hospital. I'm sure they'll be expecting our call."

The eating and silence resumed after Sano took Curtiss to another room to wait for the medics. The Rookids Table was a lost cause now. They were on their own until they tired themselves out.

Unexpectedly, the phone rang. Molitor left his seat to answer it in the other room.

"Hello?"

There was heavy breathing followed by "Go look outside your eastern-facing window," a voice said. Laughter could be heard in the background.

"Who is thi-" Molitor began, but the person on the other end hung up the phone.

Molitor walked into a room with an eastern facing window, took a deep breath, and opened the blinds. In the neighboring yard stood Ron Gardenhire, Joe Vavra, and Rick Anderson, facing away from the Molitor household, bent over and trousers down. The three men looked behind themselves to make sure Molitor had seen the three full moons before high fiving each other and stumbling back into their house giggling immensely.

Molitor looked to the stand next to his bed where his Manager of the year award is sitting. He thinks to himself, "Was it worth it?"