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Axel Kohagen

End of Twins, Beginning of Baseball (Twins vs. Indians 92-94)

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No More All-Star Moments (Twins 3 Indians 2 Ė Game 92)

This is the story of the 2013 Twins, and thereís really not a whole lot left to cover in these remaining games. True believers will hold out for a miracle, a string of victories, and playoff glory. I love all things TC, but I canít believe in this campfire tale.

If it happens, Iíll jump on the bandwagon and stand in the parade like I always belonged there.

The Twins came out of the All-Star Break plucky, like nobody told them the odds. Mauer and Morneau made some late-inning magic. Perkins took the mound for a save opportunity with his fly down, which oughta be a story he tells in radio interviews into his gray-haired years.

Still, the team is thirteen games under .500, so this tale is destined to end in tragedy.

Doppelganger (Twins 3 Indians 2 Ė Game 93)

Twins win again, almost exactly like they did the night before. Except Perkins kept his fly zipped.

I kinda hope he left that zipper down on purpose. Couldíve started out as a bullpen dare and ended up with a box of steaks delivered to Perkins house. Itís a long shot Ė and clearly I have no inside information Ė but itís a nice little daydream for me.

If the Twins canít win, they can at least bond. Share some emotional scars and find out what the guy theyíre warming up with really has under the hood. Mischief and ritual can build trust.

Maybe what Iím saying is this: We need another Kent Hrbek, and maybe a dash of Gary Gaetti. They may not be the straws that stir the drink, but they are the hands that shake up the can of beer.

Maybe this could be the team that rises up out of that foam, like a phoenix from the ashes.
Game of Moans (Twins 1 Indians 7 Ė Game 94)

Around first pitch, my wife and talked about the lack of time weíd been spending with the Twins. We were taking our dog for a walk by the mighty Mississippi, and we didnít talk much about Twins baseball. It was too beautiful a day to ruin.

After getting lunch and returning home, I checked the score to find the Twins were down 6-0. I shut off the phone, shut down my give-a-damn, and continued enjoying time with my wife.

I miss baseball, but I canít submit to this reign of bad pitches and low energy. No one needs another blog post lamenting the slow death of this team. Writing dozens of posts about whatís wrong with the Twins will kill joy inside my heart.

My game needs to change. Thereís really no need to watch baseball games to see the Twinsí season progress. Itís time to watch the Twinsí season progress to appreciate baseball.

The game remains the game. Four bases, 90 feet apart, and three strikes to get a chance to dance. Even without a World Series in a teamís sights, a two-out home run still brings glory. Every home run crosses a very real border into immortality. Real life is rarely so satisfying.

Itís dismal, everyone, but thereís still baseball out there.


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