Super Bowl Homeboy

I suppose it is a bit greedy to ask for four straight wins, but I have to express my supreme disappointment with the first six frames of today’s balls of bases contest.

Here I was all set to pen a euphoric lunchtime picnic set in the e-crastination of MLBTV and wordpress — happily content to the only brightspot of an otherwise rainy day taken up by boring work and an inevitably sucky trip to the gym (necessary to the sustainability of my diet, which consists mostly of chicken fingers and ketel one).

But then Scott “Spaghetti” Baker and the Minnesota Wet Noodles took all of about eleven minutes to get me to minimize my HD browser in favor of the satisfaction of finishing my TPX report.

Don’t take my negative vibes as being down on the Twins for the season, but why is it that whenever I do manage to inflate up my excitement over something  (the faux-double-header), the Minnesota brain trust finds a way to quash it out of excitement as quickly as possible? I should probably manage expectations more appropriately.

While I’m being a downer, here’s an exchange from a great film, The Last Picture Show, that reminded me of Honky Tonk Chilly when I watched it the other night:

Sam: You see? This is what I get for bettin’ on my own home town ballteam. I ought’a have better sense.

Abilene: Wouldn’t hurt to have a better home town.

I love Minneapolis. But Chilly, sometimes you make me hate it — just like the spaghettwins of april 09.

But, hey. At least we’ve always got fine dining just up the road…

well im drownin,
in ur ocean.
its much cooler.
slow motion.

-Chad Kroeger,  “Slow Motion”

Seattle shuts out the greatest baseball team of the millennium? Sometimes you can’t explain things. Right, Chad?

…AND PUMP IT UP

I’m not worthy.

I’m not worthy.

I’M NOT WORTHY

A cab is picking me up for the airport in five hours. I have about five hours of work to do to meet a deadline after that.

These are the moments. I have nothing to complain about.

I would watch Gigli 20 more times for a Delmonster solo shot.

I don’t care what happens in the rest of the game or for the rest of the weekend. It will be a long time before I forget that inning. That was an epic meltdown.

Things I would do to erase that inning from my memory.

1. Shoot some sort of animal.

2. Watch Gigli

3. Watch Ben Affleck clip his toenails naked.

4. Pay MLB.com another five dollars for every game that the Twins defense didn’t implode.

5. Slap the scorekeeper for not giving us what we deserved in that inning — eight errors.

I cant type anything else. I’ve tried watcing this clip three times to cheer me up and it hasn’t put a smile on my face.

“Seeing Boof Bonser on the hill is like spotting your ex across a crowded bar.” -Text from the Metrodome, September 24, 2008, 9:07 p.m.

You might have told yourself your life was fine without them. The Vikings were in the win column. College football is underway. You’re spending 4.6 hours a day thinking about your fantasy team. You’ve moved on…

Bullshit.

She’s back. She’s just as hot as the idealized version of her that you’ve done your best to suppress. But now she’s ordering soco limes for her friends and she’s given you the “Hey, I’m not going to come over there but come hither” stare.

You’re confused. You’re emotional. You’ve had two jack and cokes in the last 12 minutes….

…Damn it.

Boof, you did it again.

So, I will pay MLB.com some stupid amount tonight. I will cook a pizza and drink a hodge podge of Miller and Magic Hat, because those are the only things in my fridge besides jelly and tortillas. And I will get sucked into believing in a team that is 1-3 against tonight’s White Sox starter this season, who is sporting a 1.86 ERA in those starts.

But none of that matters. You and the Twins never fought, never disagreed, never argued about Jennifer Love Hewitt and certainly never defriended each other on Facebook.

So have another shot, Twins fan. WE’RE COMMMMMMIN!!!!!

Last week, Super Bowl Homeboy teased the concept of a Teen Wolf takeover of the Minnesota Vikings. The truth, however, is that Minnesota needs an infusion far beyond the grasp of inexperienced, sexually and biologically confused wolves of the teenage variety.

What Minnesota needs are full-blown Werewolves. And we need them NOW.

SBHB proposes a massive influx in ownership funding of the werewolf variety. This break down should proceed as follows:

1) Mandate that the checks and balances of the Vikings’ Triangle of Authority allow any branch of Purple government power to veto non-werewolf quarterback selections. It was firmly established in Sunday’s victory over Carolina, both on the field and in post-game interviews, that Gus Frerotte is a USDA-certified werewolf. While it did take nearly a quarter-and-a-half of Chilly’s boneheaded gunslinging plan to breakdown before we moved to the traditional werewolf-style offense, 35:00 was more than enough to howl at victory. Werewolves’ shapeshifting powers, insatiable desire to taste the human flesh, and curiously convenient inability to differentiate between the full moon and the Metrodome roof make them prime candidates to lead this otherwise Mormon value-led electric speed train to Tampa.

2) Forget about the fact that our NBA franchise has never sniffed the Finals, is largely the laughing stock of the Western Conference, would at least consider drafting a stiff, awkward Eastern European standing on 10-inch stilts purely on the basis of whether he were socially available for McHale family pizza parties, and are “The Rockers” of the NBA, only if Marty Janetty had held Shawn Michaels back for like, five more years.

What does this mean for the franchise? Free agent signings and more bungled drafts aren’t going to do the trick. We need a makeover on this entire organization. So call the doctor from Face/Off, surgically remove our reputation from our body and apply the destructive sex appeal of the modern day werewolf. Then sit back to watch the Firework show.

The one problem presented here, of course, is that the Minnesota TimberWerewolves’ brain trust is led by a vampire. There are a lot of questions that need to be asked of Minnesota sports teams right now. But the most important of those is the following: werewolf or vampire?

Werewolves destroy and conquer. Vampires infiltrate like a cancer. Werewolves win. Vampires leech the blood straight from the hearts of their one-time admirers before flapping back to the castle from whence they came, only to silently tremble in the lonely, bitter dark of their own misfortune.

Kevin McHale is a vampire.

He may have at one time in the 1980s attained werewolf status, but age has certainly revealed Van McHale’s true colors. He must be swiftly replaced with a werewolf, before his effects tarnish the makeover of this franchise. Remember, vampires never die. But unlike werewolves, they are vulnerable to religious artifacts such as the cross and holy water. And the likelihood that Jesus already resides in Minnesota should help.

3) I started to think last night that the Twins are an awful lot like Hitchcock’s Cary Grant movies. When Hitchcock reinvented Grant and found a way to bring out that charmingly clumsy duality in him, the appeal of the movie became that you couldn’t tell until the final scene whether Grant was good or evil. Of course that’s obvious to old people or nerds like me who watch these movies. But it wasn’t always so. Before, Cary Grant was primarily straight-shooting (or bi-shooting if you know what I mean), screwball comedian actor who was occasionally impressive but short of memorable. Likewise, Ron Gardenhire has begun to direct a picture in which I can’t tell whether this group of misfits he has plucked out of the second-tier of MLB obscurity is the villain in addition to the hero. It may also be that this entire parallel doesn’t hold up at all, and the 2006 Twins were more like Hitchcock movies in that regardless of whether they won the pennant or not, they were still going to the playoffs – the equivalent of a successful movie. Conversely, this season, in which our hopes have been raised artificially high at this juncture, is more like an M. Night Shyamalan movie. Hitchcock movies were good no matter how the final scene turned out. Shyamalan movies have promise and then generally turn out to be a potent bust at the final twist. Only time will tell.

Back to the important question though. Are the Twins werewolves or vampires? Jason Kubel did his best werewolf impression last night. Delmonster is already a card-carrying member of the monster community, but as a giant lizard, he is far from attaining werewolf status. Nick Blackbeard’s Delight, on the hill tonight, is of course a pirate, which defeats vampire as we all know. He has the sideburns to be a werewolf. The question is whether he has a vampire’s heart and A.J. Pierzynski smells like garlic. I bet you never thought you’d read that sentence…

So, the first time a girl ever seriously broke my heart, I spent an entire summer vacuously wallowing in an immature bathtub full of enough embarassingly melodramatic bullshit to drown every page of every book Nicholas Sparks ever wrote, probably with enough bathtub tears left over to irrigate Australia.

Lesson(s) learned? 1. Perenially chase people from afar and then run away when you’re vulnerable. 2. Stop caring about other human beings. (Joking. Kind of.)

Yet, somehow I can’t apply these kinds of life lessons to being a Minnesota sports fan. This is so irrational that I can’t even figure out — while actively attempting to rationalize it, no less — why I continue to not alter my emotional behavior towards these teams. It might be because Joe Mauer is better looking than any girl I will ever have a shot in hell with, but that can’t be the entire reason.

Every year I get sucked into falling for the promise of seriously malicious swindlers who are trying to sell me products like Mike f-ing Lamb and Tarvaris Jackson. What the hell does this say about me as a person who claims to have any remote shred of judgment? I don’t even want to talk about Kevin McHale. And until the NHL decides you can win hockey games by a score of Zero to negative-1, I don’t know why I would pay attention to that league.

So I will sit by my computer all night tracking the Twins-White Sox game, because it’s a Tuesday and I am a painfully predictable and boring human being. But know this Minnesota, I will NOT fall for you tonight. THIS TIME, I have learned my lesson from a decade of heartache. You cannot own these tears any longer!

Or at least not until my 4th beer.