Eff. Just.... Eff.

Hello there, friends.

Whenever I see certain family members, I get the same question without fail: How can you continually write about such a <bad/disappointing/shitty/infuriating/upsetting/awful/insert adjective here> team? I always answer with something like “They’re actually not that bad, just have 90% of their guys hurt” or “Ugh, I know, but I love them and I’m no bandwagon fan” or “Yeah but how good is <Buxton/Garver/Donaldson/Kirilloff/insert oft-injured-player here> when they’re healthy?” Maybe there’s a reason that “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers remains one of my favorite songs (and karaoke standards): No matter how upsetting something is, if I love it/them/whatever/whomever, I try to find the silver lining... Orrrrr I obsess over/stalk the shit out of it (as my beloved Brandon Flowers sings about in the song Mr. Brightside).

(Side note: Tickets for The Killers rescheduled 2020 show just went on sale Friday morning. You’re welcome.)

Anyway. That rambling leads me to sitting in front of the ol’ laptop this morning thinking about the past week in the life of a Twins fan. Or, more accurately, this Twins fan.

Last week, I painstakingly laid out the path to AL Central dominance that the Twins could take to make it back into contention. If you didn’t read it, or didn’t follow my incoherent rambling, the gist was that as the Twins started to thaw from frozen to lukewarm prior to the All Star break, if our post-break road trip against the Tigers and White Sox went well and the Indians Guardians went on a skid against the good teams they were up against, the Twins could gain some serious ground in the AL Central. At the time, we were 11.5 games out of first. Now? SEVENTEEN AND A HALF GAMES OUT OF FIRST. However, the first week post-AS break went like this:

• Two rainouts and three losses in Detroit.
• A split of the four games in Chicago.
• And a loss to the Angels Thursday night.
• Oh, and we traded one of our most beloved players before said loss to the Angels.

I think it’s safe to say that the Twins have thoroughly decided 2021 is a lost cause. Sigh.

Even though it seems that the Twins have given up on the season, my family and I made the trek to Target Field last night. We crammed into our seats next to lots of people all there for one reason and one reason only:

Shohei Ohtani.

And for a while, my hopes were still alive thanks to Kenta Maeda’s badassery. He was on fire for most of his time on the mound on Thursday night, putting away players left and right. Then my husband did it. He lost the game. Just before the top of the fifth, he said “Maeda is pitching a hell of a game” to which I replied “WHY DID YOU SAY THAT OUT LOUD?! YOU DON’T SAY IT OUT LOUD”. Then Marsh grounded out. Whew. No hex. But then? BAM! Maeda gives up a double, a single, and ultimately the losing three run home run. Hubs claims that he didn’t jinx the Twins. Whatever helps you sleep at night, dude. But if you know anything about baseball superstitions, Hubs totally lost the game for the Twins without ever setting foot on the field. At least in my mind he did, because up until then the Twins were obviously going to win.

Despite the Twins loss (and atrocious base running - seriously, WTF Larnach and Polanco??), Thursday’s game was highly entertaining. Maeda shut down one of the best players in the game. A dying bird halted the game. Sano was wearing the-now-a-TB-Ray Nelson Cruz’s pants. And in his first game back from AAA, Tortuga did his best Tortuga-ing. Seriously. The way Astudillo carried the bat halfway down the line while hauling ass into a double was the greatest moment of the game, which I had the sense to record because I had a spidey tortuga sense that we were about to witness awesomeness:

And despite the constant disappointment from this team, and knowing that by the end of the month we’ll likely have traded even more of our guys away to contenders, I’ll be going again on Monday night. Not necessarily to watch the Twins try to chip away at the 5.5 games Detroit has on them, but because it’s Star Wars night. You know, the night where with special ticket purchase, you get a Boomsaber bobblehead. A bobblehead of a player that will be spending Monday night in a non-Twins uniform. The guy who led the 2019 Bomba Squad into the history books. The old man that seemingly never ages, who in three (actually less) seasons in Minnesota, hit more home runs for the Twins (76) than the legendary Rod Carew did in twelve (74). That guy. Sigh.

Yes, this team keeps kicking me in the (proverbial and non existent because I’m a woman) balls. And yes, I keep coming back for more. Apparently I’m a masochist. I love this team despite all of the pain this season... or in any given post season over the last couple of decades. At least we won’t have that pain this year. See? The bright side of this shittacular season: No post season disappointment. Yay!

Twinkie Town Twitter (say it 10 times fast) asked the Twitterverse yesterday “How many of you guys still actually watch/listen to games daily? Props to those that do.” I get those props. Maybe because I like being sad. Maybe because I love when they win. Maybe it’s because Astudillo running will always be the best thing to watch in the summer when there’s nothing else on. Or maybe because I still have the memories of the 87 and 91 teams and know that elation of our team winning and have not learned that after 29 years of disappointment that I should maybe find a different summer hobby.

How about you friends? Obviously you care or you wouldn’t be reading Twinkie Town. Even if you’re here to troll, there’s something deep down that makes you keep coming back. Are you jumping off the bandwagon for a while or are you still committed to our boys of summer until your dying breath?

xoxo,

Marea