“Cripes,” said your Dad. “I mean, geez Louise.”
Your Dad offered the above reaction unprompted, his first since M*A*S*H went off the air in 1983 (“Well, that’s that, then.”).
Your Dad went on to say that, while he wasn’t really paying much attention to the game, he had it on in the garage while he was putting away all the winter stuff and replacing the string on the weed wacker.
“I heard the radio get real loud, so I knew something bad happened,” your Dad said. “I went back inside, and your mother had the game on TV. They were showing that one fella’s (New York Yankee Gary Sanchez) home run on replay. My goodness.”
Your Dad, who has never used an obscenity harsher than “damn” (which he used when you totaled his new Buick Skylark in high school, and which he later apologized for), was unusually verbose about the game.
“I really don’t like those guys (the New York Yankees),” said your Dad. “They just rub me the wrong way. And our guys just can’t seem to beat them. It’s a whole deal.”
Your Dad reserved some of his harshest criticism for Twins closer Fernando Rodney.
“I mean, jeez. Come on. Gotta do better than that.”
Your Dad, who retired a couple years ago and still sends you cash for your birthday even though you told him not to, indicated that he wasn’t going to let this game stop him from going to Target Field in a couple weeks.
“Our church has a bus that we’re taking down,” said your Dad. “Your mother is iffy on going because she thinks the at-bat music is too defiant. But I sure like a day at the park, and I think the Winterbauers are going. Tom’s a hoot, especially if he has a couple barley pops (beer).”