September 29th, 2006
I almost didn’t go to last night’s game. It was the middle game of a seven-game home stand. I was a bit tired. The Twins had already bested the Royals. And come on: just because I have season tickets doesn’t mean I have to go to every home game, right?
Then I thought back to a Sunday afternoon in July when the Tigers were in town. After a morning of wedding preparations, I decided to go to the game in the fourth inning. The Twins bailed out a struggling Johan Santana in the late innings. A humiliating balk plays a role in the defeat. Incredible game. Twins win.
Fast-forward to last night. Ninth inning, two outs, Twins down 1-0. People are streaming out of the Dome, trying to beat the rush to the light-trail train. I stare at them in disbelief: Haven’t they paid attention this season? So many games at the Dome this season have been won with heroics and nerves of steel. Does anyone remember Jason Kubel’s walk-off grand slam vs. the Boston Red Sox. Fools! I curse at them. I hope you slip on some Sheiks “business cards” on your way to the parking lot.
For a moment, my mind wanders to my lonely bicycle locked up outside the stadium. It’s the most dependable thing I own, it never lets me down, but its patience has been tested all season long: I never leave early. My bike is always the last one to go home from the party. The poor guy. I bought him from a better owner — a bicycle shop proprietor — and dragged him from Brooklyn to this place where it’s bone-cold in late September.
“I will do something nice for my bike,” I tell myself in an absurd wave of emotion for an inanimate object. “A tune-up before the winter, perhaps.”
I am sucked back into reality when it occurs to me that I am screaming like a banshee. Joe Mauer has poked a long ball over the left field wall — just barely — in a bit of Hollywood heroics. I am jumping up and down. I turn to Ben and we perform a completely non-ironic double high-five that tops any seen in Miller Lite commercials. Twins tie, 1-1. We repeat the exercise an inning later, when Jason Barlett hits a ground-rule double that brings the winning run home. The place goes crazy. The dad in front of us remarks on how all those people who left must be crying in front of their car radios. On the way out, some college guys are cheering for “the Twinkies.” I think back to Roy Smalley’s brash remark following the 1987 World Series victory: We are no longer the Twinkies. We are the World Champion Minnesota Twins. I mist up as I unlock my bike, and I decide this will be my epitaph. Twins win, 2-1.
By the way, the new Homer Hanky is being unveiled today in St. Paul.