Rambling Man

First of all, the Onion is killing me on a regular basis. Anyone see the article entitled something in the neighborhood of, "Prince Fielder Dies of Inside the Park Home Run"? Quality. They must have warehouses and warehouses packed full of monkeys on typewriters to come up with the stuff they do.

Meanwhile, the Minnesota Genetically Identical Siblings Born Shortly One After Anothers have been doing a fantastic impression of a Valleyfair ride lately (read: all season), and it has got me thinking. When does one decide that one's team is just a .500 team? How much evidence is necessary? This is not to say that I believe this to be the case with respect to the '07 Twins. But should I? Sure they haven't won more than four games in a row all season, and sure they've hovered around .500 all season. But they're also a mere 5 and a third (games started by Ponson only count partially since it was clearly a joke) games back of the division lead right now. And how many games did the freaking Cardinals win last year?

It was these kinds of thoughts that ricocheted from the crumbling drywalled recesses of my brain last night as I sat through the 12-inning pitchers' duel (is there a better kind?) with my tow-headed amour at Metrodome. You know that point in your fandom where you'd give anything yes anything if only this damned game would end so you could go to bed already? Where streaming masses of pinstripe and stirrup-clad little leaguers parade for the exits right past you with the game yet hanging in the balance? Where you would like to question their fandom, but get a giddy little thrill when your (so far this year) spotty lefty reliever comes into the game, and there is the slight hope that you can slide beneath your comforter oh-so-very soon? It's a moral dilemma people. A quandry if you will. And it was an exact microcosm last night for my general feelings about my club as we near the midpoint of the season.


My loyalty as a sports afficionado demands that I stay til the end of the game, and that I never give up on my club, no matter how "Royal-y" the season. But my medulla oblongata demands sleep -- a proper amount of time for my neurons to rest and prepare for the flood of coffee and sunshine and over-enthusiastic office workers that is imminent once the sun rises next. And other parts of my brain demand that I don't fixate on a club that is going nowhere, no matter how many hopeful teases and rationalizations there are to the contrary...

Current whisperings in my ear:
*Injuries
*Did it last year from farther back
*Just make the playoffs and anything can happen

Why can't the different parts of my brain just get along?