I was among the 17,000+ fans that paid good money last night to get into Target Field to watch a bunch of bombas, get ridiculous Donaldson head umbrellas, boo the Astros (not me! I still unapologetically like the ’Stros) and see some fireworks after the game. Things were going pretty well for the Twins and then we brought in some ‘relief’ pitching and it was another day, another loss. I, however, have ceased to care about game outcomes, remember?
Sweet umbrellas, right? (Only if you’re Willians Astudillo. Nobody will wear those outside of Target Field.)
turtles are adapted for aquatic life. pic.twitter.com/NT4DfDQfFU— Minnesota Twins (@Twins) June 12, 2021
It was a night to honor Donaldson’s rainmaking. (And also Grateful Dead tribute night, and they legit played only one song by the between innings that I noticed - Touch of Grey - but I digress). As if on cue, Donaldson brought the rain twice last night, launching the ball into the clouds, first in the third inning and then tying it up in the eighth with a solo shot. This was after smacking the heroic game-tying bomb in the bottom of the ninth the night before. He’s trying, you guys!
We got to the game and my husband hadn’t heard the news that Bailey Ober had snagged Shoemaker’s start until we got there. He was Ober the moon excited that Shoemaker wasn’t starting. (Groan.. sorry for the dad joke.. but it’s almost Father’s Day, amirite?). And Ober had a fantastic start, what with all the strikeouts and lack of Astros runs. He left the game after the fifth with a 3-2 lead and high hopes. The weather was beautiful, the Twins were hitting the bombas - Cruz started it off in the first, then Sano in the second, and then came the first of the aforementioned double rain from Donaldson in the third. The Astros seemed lost without their trashcans telling them when to swing the bat.
But this is the 2021 season, remember? And just as Donaldson was on cue, the relievers took their cue to start shitting all over the offense’s efforts. More specifically, Matt Shoemaker, after being demoted to reliever before the start yesterday, being the poop-stain on the underpants of our fun game. I’m not a negative person, my friends. I try not to say hurtful things to people. I try to bring a sunny perspective, or at least some humor to try to diffuse sad/intense/scary situations. I did not partake in the Astros-booing at Target Field. (I’ve made my thoughts on the cheating scandal pretty clear over at Moonshots and Mustard. I still love me some Altuve, Bregman, and the-now-a-Blue-Jay George Springer.) But holy mother-forking-shirtballs I am absolutely done with the mismanagement of the pitching, and also with the inability to put together a bullpen that can come in and protect a lead. Or at least give a smidge of hope that they can win.
All of the sudden, the 17,000+ plus people started being too many. All I could think of was “ew, get your hair out of my drink, lady in the row ahead of us” or “ew, get your possibly Covid-infected face away from me, sweaty guy in the seat way-too-closely-next-to-me” or “ew, stop trying so hard to pretend to be into the game, annoyingly loud drunk girl on a date down the row from me”. It was hot. My kids were cranky. The Twins were now losing. The crowd around us was too loud. And drunk. And holy shit I had just become a boomer. A Karen. A get-off-my-lawn-fist-shaking-in-the-air crabby old lady. What in the actual f??
The game itself was a great time. Target Field is fast becoming the Target Field of pre-2020 (unless you happen to notice the medical staff that is set up to give Covid shots right outside of
The Metropolitan Club Bat and Barrel Truly On Deck entry stairway on the plaza). Vendors have actual faces that are no longer hidden behind masks. There are cheering, non-piped-in crowd noises. There are happy faces, and oh-so-many cute babies - none of whom are cardboard cutouts. Our open-air haven in the middle of downtown Minneapolis has become Minnesota’s happy place once again. But holy shit, pitching staff. Get it together. Let’s start by finding new employment for Matt Shoemaker, eh?
And as much as I like to think that I don’t care about the scores, I still kind of do. Once those game tides turned, so did my mood. Sigh. I just have too many feels! WHY CAN’T I QUIT YOU, TWINS? In the sage words of Kevin, Howie, AJ, Nick, and Brian (otherwise known as the Backstreet Boys): Quit playing games with my heart.