I'm the One They Call the Big Papi

With my in-state co-conspirators alternately wrapped up in fruit and financial planning pursuits, I've been left to fend for myself somewhat this week. All alliteration aside (whoops), Tuesdays With Torii (can't stop) pauses with pursed lips (damn) and breaths a heavy sigh of relief and proclaims the playoffs a done deal (okay I'm done, I swear). We're in baby. I'm writing my, in the words of the great Zoolander, yougoogily for the Bitch Sox right now. What was YOUR fondest moment and how shall we choose to remember them in the afterlife?

And in my comrades literary (but not spiritual) absence from TwinsMania, my thoughts turn to our remote cousin of the north and Red Sox lover, affectionately known as Pooh. Sure it fills me with glee to see Torii regain his...er, well...let's say return to a form we have long desired but which has eluded us through ankle injuries and compensating for said ankle injuries lo these many months. For Torii these streaks are fervid and flimsy, the consistency of a soap bubble you don't dare to touch. But his recent surge could NOT have come at a better time for our fair team and has, as Mauer and Liriano before him, provided an individual spark serving to ignite the piranha kindling elsewhere in the lineup. I hope this campfire keeps burning well into November, long after we have splurged on Smores and accidentally fallen asleep in front of it. No real risk of forest fires in October anyway.

The Pooh Sox however, are a horse of a different color right now. A bloody sock red. They are battered and beaten, and while my Twins-loving heart doesn't mind catapaulting into a division title, it does hurt just a little that we do it in Boston, that Yankee celebrations come at our hands, and that I must cheer for Big Papi ineptitude for inertia. Because you see, I don't love Big Papi, I'm IN love with him. He hit a landmark 50th homerun last night and got a well-deserved curtain call. I got the same warm kind of feeling seeing that, as during other notable curtain calls in the Dome this year (Joe Mauer 5 for 5 night; F-bomb's last pitch) -- knowledgeable fans recognizing greatness. These moments are even better, however, when the person in question is a just a flat-out awesome human being. You won't hear about any fuzzy feelings for certain other former Twins who might be in that situation. They shall remain nameless. I'll call him simply A. J. to...you know...protect his anonymity. Sure Big Papi is The One That Got Away. He's the 41 in a 30 on Terry Ryan's otherwise perfect driving record. But there is no love lost for Papi from Twins fans, and I for one get a particular joy from seeing him excel. Even if it isn't for my team.

Here's hoping you hit 10 more this season Papi Gigante. And if a non-Morneau has to win the MVP this year, here's hoping it's you. No tengo tiempo para Jeter.