PLEASE NOTE: Batgirl is away until September 10th. Until then, we'll be featuring an exciting roster of special guest bloggers.

URGENT COMMUNIQUE

Twins 8, Rangers 5, 11 innings

--TOP SECRET--

--FOR YOUR EYES ONLY--

This is a TOP SECRET cover sheet.

The RD Report

This is so cool! Before she left town, Batgirl left a set of keys to the blog under the side doormat and gave ol' RD a 10-day gift card for free postings. There was something on the back, in reallllllllly tiny print, about not mentioning Doug Mientkiew... so we'll live within the spirit of said guideline. DID YOU SEE JUSTIN CREDIBLE SMACK THAT THING OVER THE WALL IN THE FIRST INNING!?! (And did you hear Blyleven's speech afterward? For a hot moment, I thought I could close my eyes and see Sen. McCain.)

RD likes three things from tonight's 8-to-5'er over the Rangers:

1. Boo picked up Joe Closer after the VP-to-be got that 11th-inning boo-boo on his finger. Didja see that, Adam Kennedy?
2. Torii Hunter's walk-off homer. (I've never said 'walk-off homer' before and it feels good.) Those are the at-bats when some cynics expect Torii to go wand-waving at sliders in the dirt. For some darn reason, his swing selection has certainly improved since being moved to the No. 3 spot in Gardy's "let's-try-THIS-to-break-the-damn-losing-streak batting order" he created on Mulholland Day back in Cleveland.
3. Augie Ojeda. It's just a cool name. RD knew a guy named Augie once, whose distinguishing characteristic was that he frequently wore an orange sportcoat.

RD also likes catcher Pat Borders coming to town. It's nice to have another Borders in town and not have it take away from the remaining independent booksellers. As Twins fans, we liked Borders during the 1991 playoffs against the Jays, where he was their catcher, because he seemed to have a problem with blocking the plate -- and the Twins exploited that several times. Then, in 1992, those of us who like Things Canadian liked Borders because he batted .996 or something in the World Series and was the MVP. So what if he's 82 years old. We're only renting him.

One final question: Didja think it was worth it for the Clevelanders to keep pace with the Twins since the 'Toons did it by beating the Yankees 22-nil? (For the record, YoungRD played in a soccer game over the weekend in which the final score was 16-nil.)

Enjoy!

Adieu! Adieu!

My dearest Batlings,

Team Batgirl has been called suddenly to a remote village in Newfoundland which is entirely devoid of sass. We hate to leave, but our work is needed. We will be gone until Sept 10, but Batgirl has arranged for her brilliant and beloved associate el diablo to take over the Bat-reins while she is gone. Also guest blogging will be some of the dear BatLings (Skorch, frightwig, arrScott, bubblemint, and mmmarkiep) who have been with Batgirl since her humble origins--when she blogged from a log cabin, using an internet connection powered by the BatKitties and an exercise wheel. Be good to them, and to each other. You will be in Batgirl's heart, every moment.

Love,
Batgirl

Santana/Nathan Goes Negative!

Santana/Nathan Rally

We have a few readers confirmed for Friday's campaign rally in section 141 (Lower General Admission) during the game. Please attend, wear your campaign gear, and show your support for Victory '04!

What Kind of America Do YOU Want?

Beloved and talented reader Randall susses out some of the other tickets that might be popping up as campaign season heats up...and finds them wanting...:

I guess I would have to note that the Jeter-led Yankee ticket, with its policies of tax cuts for the rich, deportation of non-elite members of society, and Hussein-like stacked deck elections veer so far to the right as to approach despotism.

The Red Sox seem to espouse a brand of Stalinism though, since they are really making a grab for totalitarian government as well, yet are posing as righteous have-nots trying to overthrow the established capitalists.

The As and their left-wing Beaneball approach...overly intellectual government just can't work. Plus I get this image of Stephen Hawking in the White House and even though that's not really precisely analogous, it kind of makes me want to leap from a moving vehicle.

Santana-Nathan, however, is a feel-good embodiment of the American dream, committed to the future in the minor leagues, and devoted to giving the Nicky Puntos of the world a voice. Perhaps they are the only ones who can make the world safe for democracy?

Caption Contest!

Batgirl found these pictures from the website of a Minnesota school; it's obviously a Twins school visit with Dazzle, Supernatural, and TC.

Readers, what on earth is TC saying to Johan to make him laugh so?

"Excuse Me, Haven't We Fragged Somewhere Before?"

From the Strib:

Gardenhire was eating dinner with his wife in an Anaheim restaurant Saturday night when he saw outfielder Lew Ford dining with two guys.

Gardenhire assumed they were former teammates, but Ford introduced them as "guys I met on the Internet."

Gardenhire quickly left.

Sunday, Gardenhire brought Ford into the coaches' room to explain. Ford said he met the guys playing the video game "Doom" on the Internet.

"Lew's always entertaining," Gardenhire said.

Team Batgirl, of course, knew it all along.

Dance Fever

Twins at Anaheim. Angels 4, Twins 2.

Okay, there's a school dance, right? And there are three buddies going to the dance together in a Ford Focus, bragging to each other about all the pretty girls they're going to pick up tonight. In truth, their record has been spotty lately. One of them has had great potential as a ladies' man coming up through school and was really expected to break out this year. The other recently moved here from another state and, as the new kid, seemed like he might really be something at first, but then his luster faded as he proved to be just as inept as the rest of the boys. The third has been forced to repeat grades any number of times and is now as old as some of the teachers, with more facial hair. He's logged more dating hours than anyone in the history of the school, but his age is starting to show.

So the guys have all primped and zhuzhed. They smell fantastic; they're young (two of them, anyway), their cocky, they haven't a care in the world, and they're ready to get their groove on. They burst through the gym doors and pose in the doorway for a moment, announcing their arrival with authority. All the girls look them up and down and wonder what kind of stuff they have. For the girls are lonely; it must be said. It's fall, and they're ready to meet somebody. All they want is someone with maturity, perseverance, and three solid pitches.

So the trio struts into the room sizing up all the fine ladies, talking about how studly they are, yadda yadda, while in the center of the room a beautiful junior dances all by herself. She looks pointedly at the boys, but they just don't seem to notice her; instead they saunter over to the refreshment table, grab some fruit punch, and lean against the wall.

The girl, let's call her Minnie, is still watching them, grooving to some Kelis, and waiting for one of them to ask her to dance already. For we are getting so close to the Big Dance, and she has two really great dates for it—but you need three for the Big Dance.

The boys have certainly noticed her. "She's hot," says Kyle who once had promise. "Smokin'," agrees Carlos the new kid. "That's one foxy lady," adds Terry the geezer.

And then one of them says, "Do you think one of us should ask her to dance?"

They stand there, frozen. I mean, it's one thing to get all zhuzhed and to smell good and stuff, but it's something all together different to step up and ask a girl to dance. Right there! In front of everyone! And they've tried it before, each of them, and sometimes they danced all right for a little while, and then the next time they'd fall on their face and all the girls would point and laugh. But not Batgirl. Batgirl would only weep.

So here we are, just a few dances left before the Big Dance, waiting pointedly for either Kyle, Carlos, or Terence to step up and say, "Dammit, lady, let's groove."

And today, I dare say Carlos stepped up. He was no MC Hammer, mind you, but he didn't embarrass anybody by doing the robot or anything. Now, we mustn’t get too excited; he's stepped up before, only to split his pants the next time to reveal Batman Underoos. And generally, with these guys, each time we go through the rotation, one of them busts a move while the others basically let out a big fart on the pitching mound—so if all holds to form, things might get pretty stinky the next couple of days.

Silva pitched five reasonably solid innings, allowing one run and four hits. He was greatly helped by some fine defense—particularly that of Octavio "Augie" Ojeda—and his abbreviated start allowed the bullpen to give up three runs, but look, we're basically just looking for adequate at this point. Won't someone give me adequate? Please? That's all I ask.

The Twins are off tomorrow, and Batgirl, for one, could use an off-day. On Tuesday, they return to the Dome to play the Rangers, who really like to hit the ball lots and lots. So we'll have a chance to see whether Kyle or Terry wants to dance, or whether they're content to sit on the sidelines wearing a fruit punch mustache, zhuzhing in the shadows.

You Wouldn't Like Batgirl When She's Angry

Twins at Angels. Twins 7, Angels 1.

I have no idea why anyone ever let the Fox network get their hands on baseball. I mean, despite the best efforts of Bud Selig, baseball is still basically an understated game, full of tradition and, dare I say, dignity. Fox wants football, that's fine with me; take the pituitary cases ramming into each other and put as many lasers and sound effects and computer animated football-playing robots as you want on the broadcast. I don't care. But can't you leave Batgirl's pastime alone? Fox has already turned the All-Star Game into something akin to the Miss America pageant, minus the swimsuits and breast amplification, and every time I watch one of their Game of the Week broadcasts I transform into the Incredible BatHulk and start swearing violently and throwing things around the BatQuarters. Batgirl smash!

Like, for instance, Scooter. Have you seen Scooter? Scooter is an animated baseball that explains to us that a slider is a pitch that slides. And while Batgirl greatly believes in making the game accessible, does it really have to be with a f----in' smiling animated baseball? And why is it called Scooter? Why not Zippy or Booger or Billy or, for that matter, Goober? Or how about Ass-face? Ass-face the animated baseball. Want to know what a change-up is? Just ask Ass-face! Hello Ass-face! (Batgirl makes high squeaky voice) Hello Batgirl! Would you like to learn about a split-finger? Thank you, Ass-face! No problem, Batgirl, it's my job to teach alllllll the childrens about baseball.

But it's not even Ass-face, nor the relentless, shameless advertising—which Batgirl, alas, has become used to thanks to Fox Sport Net's visionary whoring of every aspect of the game. Pretty soon, they're going to start sponsoring the sponsoring, so the next Dodge Game Reset will be brought to you by Cambria countertops—that really bothers Batgirl.

No, the real problem is that the Fox national announcers are just utter and complete boobs. I mean they seem to have a sense of the basic principles of baseball, undoubtedly thanks to Ass-face, and really, they should be commended for that. But still—call Batgirl crazy—she believes that if you are going to cover a baseball team on national television, it is incumbent on you to spend ten minutes before said game reviewing the basics of how to pronounce the names of at least the starting line-up. I mean, no one's expecting you to do the whole twenty-five man roster—that's crazy talk.

I mean, yes, we're the Minnesota Twins and most national announcers don't know anything about the team beyond "Torii Hunter catch good." And why should they, really? We're in the Midwest, flyover country, a small-market team, destined to go back into baseball oblivion just as soon as we stop winning so much. And could we cut that out, please, because Frank Thomas sure makes good copy.

Yes, Batgirl is irritated. First they kept referring to Johan K. Santana as "Joanne." Then they informed us that "Crist-yan" Guzman's nickname was "Goozy." They actually had it written out. And I just wanted to ask, "Hey, Fox Sports guys, this guy's last name is Guzman. G-U-Z. So if you hear the nickname Guzie, how do you think it's spelled? When Jacque Jones made a spectacular catch in the second inning, one of the announcers called him Shannon Stewart. Later, they referred to Hunter as Jones. Now I know it's hard, but if you're confused, try looking at the names on the back of the uniforms. That will help. We were also treated to a game's worth of Henry "Blank-o," which is fine because it's not like he's been in the major leagues for any amount of time.

And this is when they talked about the Twins at all. Mostly we got a very informed and impassioned lesson on the Angels, on their history and influence, their agony and their ecstasy. We heard about ten minutes of orgiastic discourse on the fielding of converted first baseman Darin Erstad. Apparently, he's a shoo-in for the gold glove, because nobody's ever seen a first baseman who can field! It's like a miracle! Can you name another first baseman who really can field? I sure can't.

Anyway, Batgirl started smashing things at about the third inning, and could be heard screaming things at the television like, "If you call Johan Santana 'Joanne' one more time, I'm going to come over there!"

Well, they called my bluff, that's for sure. Later the announcers started talking about Mr. Santana's first name, about the unusual nature of the hard "J" in a Latino name, and one guy said, "It's just one of those universal names! Joanne is Joanne is Joanne, wherever you're at!"

I guess the bright side is Batgirl had time to focus on smashing things and announcer-related rage because of the terrific performance of Johan Santana and his merry band of ballsmashers. Santana pitched seven complete innings, only allowing four hits and one run. Bartolo Colon didn't fare nearly as well, giving up four runs in the third inning, thanks to an RBI single by Stewart, and a 3 run homer by Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones also distinguished himself admirably in the field, making two dazzling catches, one of which he was actually given credit for.

The Angels' win streak has stopped at nine, which is probably a good thing, inertia wise, while the Twins' has started at one. We remain at least 7 games up on our nearest rivals, and Johan Santana continues to motor toward his Cy-season. Now, if we could just get someone to pay attention…

Batgirl Shows You Her Scrapbook

Twins at Anaheim. Angels 9, Twins 6.

It's 12:00 am. Do you know where your kitties are?

Mine are sleeping. BatKitty One is curled up in a chair, drooling happy, and BatKitty Two is passed out on the bed like a cheap whore after too much malt liquor. I mention this because it is the last West Coast road trip of the season, and the very last day Batgirl has to be up well past her bedtime trying to digest and synthesize the baseball-related program activities of the evening for her beloved Batlings, and Batgirl just doesn't have anything to say tonight. I mean, we lost. Radke went all Lyle Koshe (that's Kyle Lohse's evil twin) on us, Shannon Stewart went all t-ball, and Justin Morneau had about as much success in his final at bat as Justin Guarini did in his post-Idol career. What's more to say than that? But instead of helping Batgirl, the kitties have retired for the evening. Bastards.

Batkitties, flaking out.

Tonight, Batgirl is attempting to do said synthesizing while watching a re-broadcast of the Olympic Tae Kwon Do women's flyweight competition. A very small Spanish woman is trying to kick the ass-crap out of a very small Thai woman, and the announcers keep calling them the "Spanish fighter" and the "Thai fighter." Batgirl finds the latter extremely amusing, and keeps breaking out in giggles each and every time he says that. She expects said Thai fighter to start making laser-blaster noises at any moment. Pitoo! Pitoo! Pwoom! Pwoom!

I have you now, Spanish fighter.

None of which has anything to do with baseball. But the truth is, Batgirl's been off all day. Not off to the extent Brad Radke was off tonight, but, off nonetheless. Food didn't taste right, babies looked at her askance, and she referred to her beloved BatKitties as cheap whores. Was it general ennui or yesterday's loss that enervated Batgirl so? Batgirl thinks it was the latter; there was something about the nature of the ass-kicking that seemed particularly harsh, as if the Texas Rangers were just trying to get Batgirl back for implying that their home state doesn't have good public transportation. Don't mess with Texas. 'Cuz it'll come back and kick your ass.

"Who's got maple leaves coming out of their ass now?"

Usually, when your team has chances early, as the Twins did yesterday, if they don't convert you think it's just a harbinger of offense to come. Like if you get the bases loaded in the first inning with one out, you don't then expect to spend the rest of the game watching your batters go down one, two, three, one, two, three, like a really sad scoreless waltz.

"My love, perhaps next time we should try hitting into a double play!"

And you certainly don't expect it to happen two games in a row. Batgirl returned from her evening visit to the multiplex to find the game tied 2-2, but the Twins had the bases loaded with just one out and Corey Koskie was at the plate. Oh, Aaron Sele, Corey Koskie's going to hit the ball so hard that you're going to need to borrow an appendix from Chan Ho Park's sister, and… Oh, you get the drill. Suffice to say Koskie lined the ball to Adam Kennedy, and the rest was silence.

You couldn't score, either?

Except of course for the expletives muttered by Cordel when Curtis Pride slid into third—or rather slid into Corey's leg, which was placed handily between the oncoming Pride and the base. Dick and Bert then played a montage of Koskie's various injuries over the season, set to "The Way We Were."

There's not much else to say, except that if I were a betting person, I would place a good deal of money on Ron Gardenhire having a little talk with Justin Guarini after the game about striking out on three pitches with two outs in the ninth inning.

Sorry, Skip!

Oh, and one more thing:

See you tomorrow!

Justin Timberlake?

The Strib delves into the Twins' musical tastes. The results may surprise and disturb you:

We asked several famous folks at the Metrodome to name their dream double-bill for a concert in a ballpark:

"Incubus and Audioslave. Because everything they do doesn't sound the same. They have heavier stuff and more mellow stuff. They have variation."
Justin Morneau,Twins first baseman

"Eric B & Rakim. I like old-school music. And 2Pac. That's my dream. I don't like the music today."
Torii Hunter, Twins centerfielder

"I don't listen to much mainstream. I listen to some Christian. Mercy Me -- and Bon Jovi. Mix 'em up."
Lew Ford, Twins outfielder/designated hitter

"Stevie Wonder. He's my favorite what-do-you-call it? -- musician. Of the new age stuff, [Justin] Timberlake. I like the way he dances and entertains."
Matthew LeCroy, Twins catcher/designated hitter

"I'd have to say Mr. [Bernie] Williams of the Yankees, and bring back Count Basie with Sinatra. That's major league. Sinatra was my favorite of all time. Nobody brought America together like he did. I bought Bernie Williams' album. I was really surprised he was that good. Good rhythm, good tone. I do like that kind of music."
Bob Casey, Twins stadium announcer

"Willie Nelson and [the cast of the musical] 'Cats.' That's a good combination. And Mickey and Minnie, too. George Strait. Pure country. Him instead of Willie."
Bert Blyleven, Twins TV announcer

"You have to have the Rolling Stones. And Dylan. And Elton John. Only two? Give me all three and I'll take the rest of the year off."
Chris Berman, ESPN broadcaster

Medical Investigation.

Twins at Texas. Texas 8, Twins 3.

Okay, the bad news is that the Twins lost. Well, that's not really the bad news. The bad news, really, is that our starters numbered "three," "four," and "five," are continuing their seaon-long pattern of being as consistent as Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Sucky-Pitcher Pants. I mean, if you're going to ingest some scary drug that transforms you into a completely different person, can't you become, like, Tim Hudson? Please? I mean, look at Chan Ho Park; whatever part of the season he hasn't spent in Triple A he's spent in various emergency rooms and other medical care facilities. And it sure looked like he might have to go quickly back to one of those in first inning today, what with loading the bases with one out. Sure, he then struck Lew Ford out, but then he was about to get a taste of something I like to call Corey Koskie. How do you like them apples, Chan Ho? Parlez-Vous Canadian? You're going to wish you did! Koskie's going to hit the ball so far you’re going to be put on last year's disabled list! He's going to hit the ball so hard it's going to give your mother whiplash! He's going to burst your other appendix and then you won't have any left and your sister's going to have to donate an appendix to you, and then she'll be missing an appendix, and it'll be your fault! He's going to stuff your mouth so full of maple leaves they're going to start coming out of your ass! And then you're going to have to go to the emergency room, and they'll say, "What happened this time, Chan Ho?" And you'll have to say, "I have maple leaves coming out of my ass!" And they'll say, "Oh, because Corey Koskie hit the ball so far it hired a pilot and two flight attendants?" And you'll say, "Yeah, that's right, ha ha, now can we stop talking about it so you can get these maple leaves out of my ass?" And they'll say, "I'm sorry, we just don't have that kind of technology. There really hasn't been much progress in the field of maple-leaf-ass-removal since Wayne Gretzky scored five goals off the Flyers in '82. We operated for two weeks on goalie Pete Peeters." And you'll say, "You fixed him?" And they'll say, "Well, let's just say Mrs. Peeters always knows when it's fall." And you'll say, "You mean I'm supposed to just walk around with maple leaves coming out my ass? I'm a major league pitcher!" And they'll say, "No, actually, you're not. You've been put on the DL again until someone can stop those maple leaves from coming out of your ass." And you'll say, "What? That's not fair! I can still pitch." And they'll say, "Yeah, but Buck Showalter doesn't want any pitcher of his walking around with maple leaves coming out of his ass." And you'll say, "That's patently absurd. Let me talk to Buck." And they'll say, "That's not wise, Chan Ho. I don't think you'll want to leave this room. We're in Texas, and you don't want to walk around with maple leaves coming out of your ass. People here don't truck with that Frenchie shit." And you'll say, "Well, what am I supposed to do now? I have maple leaves coming out of my ass!" And they say, "I suggest learning some Canadian, Mr. Park. I think you might be very popular in Canada."

Or else Corey would fly out on the second pitch to deep left field to end the Twins' last scoring chance for six innings, and then Terence John Mulholland would pitch like he had maple leaves coming out of his ass. Either way.

Batgirl isn't concerned about the loss, really, and she's glad that Mr. Park doesn't have to suffer the same fate of Mr. Peeters, really, she is. And the Twins have managed to build up a commanding division lead even with a rotation of Radke, Supernatural, Mr. Sucky Pitcher, Mr. Sucky Pitcher, Dr. Jeckyll, Radke, Supernatual, Mr. Sucky Pitcher, Dr. Jeckyll, Mr. Sucky Pitcher. God knows how. And if we knew who exactly was drinking the sucky juice at any particular time, then we could plan accordingly. But, assuming this triumvirate of trepidation doesn't all drink the Kool-aid at once and drop us to .475, we'll be heading to the playoffs. I'm not asking for five good starters, or even four. I'm just asking one of you—yes, that's you Carlos, and you Kyle, and you Terence John, to put a string of good starts together so we can count on you for October, otherwise Batgirl's going to have to stuff maple leaves in her own mouth just to stop the pain, and we know where that leads.

League of Nations

Twins at Texas. Twins 8, Rangers 5.

There was a time when things were all very globalist in the Twins dugout. You had Dominicans and Canadians playing cards, Venezuelans and guys from wherever the hell Matt LeCroy's from sitting side by side. It was a whole pan-American love fest, a model UN, North America and South America holding each other close, whispering about NAFTA and other indoor sports.

That was before the Olympics started, and keyed off a patriotic frenzy in the Twins clubhouse. Somewhere between synchronized diving and the handball tournament, the whispers started. "Hey, nice Dressage, Canada; you sure pissed all over your piaffs," chuckled a voice in the clubhouse. "Oh, yeah?" came the retort. "Your rowing eight sucks coxswain."

Clearly, the harmony had ended. The global bonhomie had been replaced by separatist acrimony that threatened to tear the Twins apart. Flags started popping up in sections of the clubhouse, from Venezuela, the Dominican Republic, Australia, Canada, and wherever the hell Matt LeCroy's from. Pointed notes were left in lockers with the results of the previous night's competition. Looks like you blew it again in handball, blared a message on Corey Koskie's locker. Was that your mother weightlifting yesterday? inquired a missive scrawled on Juan Rincon's jock strap.

No longer are the Minnesota Twins playing as a team. The roster has now devolved into a lose collection nationalist factions determined to garner glory for their home nations. No longer are the games about the Twins versus their opponents, or about the standings in the AL Central; no, now they are an intra-western hemisphere battle between the forces of Canada and the forces of Venezuela. Only one will survive. That's right, today it's time for the first edition of:

Now, all the Americans are caught in the middle, forced to either take sides or, like Shannon Stewart and Michael Cuddyer, don a beret and try to become a humanoid Switzerland. Then, of course, they all started rooting for the Swiss team in synchronized swimming, and matters got totally out of control.

In today's game, it seemed the Canadians were going to prevail early. The undynamic duo were responsible for two of the first inning's four RBIs, an inning which ended on a Henry "Mango Face" Blanco double play. Then in the 4th, Dr. Morneau gave Kyle Lohse an insurance run, which he sorely needed, by hitting the ball in the general direction of Venezuela. His point was clear.

Meanwhile, one Venezuelan was quietly hitting his way into national folklore. In the second inning, Luis Rivas led off with a double, then in his next at bat he hustled for a triple, shouting as he rounded second base, Victoria para la gente! In the 8th, Rivas added a homer to the mix, causing Carlos Silva and Johan Santana to wrap themselves in the Venezuelan flag and jog around the bases with him.

By the time Juan Rincon came in to pitch, tensions were higher than when Carly Patterson accidentally sat down next to Svetlana Khorkina on the Olympic shuttle. Boo's job was to get the last out in the eighth—which he did, after giving up a double and a walk. Call it a draw.

In fact, no country had clear supremacy until the ninth inning, when Joe Nathan looked as if he were going to continue his week-long meltdown. Nathan walked the lead-off runner, then gave up a single to David Dellucci, then proceeded to strike out two, then walk the bases loaded. Two outs, Laynce Nix up to bat, and Henry Blanco approaches the mound and says one word to Joe Nathan. What that word was, I do not know, but it caused Nix to fly out to deep center for the game's third out. And that gave Team Venezuela the win—in addition to the Minnesota Twins. La Victoria!

B.O.D.

B.O.D.-worthy performances from lots of quarters, tonight, with Luis Rivas going a single short of the cycle. (Typical of Rivas to miss the easy one.) Shouts out, too, to Joe Nathan for putting himself back together again after putting the first two on. Lew Ford for being his huggable hustling self. 3rd base coach Steve Smith for teaching Batgirl some new words in the ninth inning. And all the boyfriends, who comported themselves quite nicely, with Justin Morneau getting his daily dinger and Corey Koskie switching things up with a run-scoring double. (And I'm sure Joe Mauer helped, too, by sitting on the bench and looking cute.) And then there's Shannon Stewart, so easy to forget what with his constant and steady hitting. He got another lead-off hit today, smashing the 3rd pitch of the game for a single and setting the table for our four-run first inning. He hit another single in the second, and another in the eighth for a 3-5 day, giving the Twins what they missed for so much of the season—runners on base. He only got hit in once, but he kept the pressure on the pitchers and gave us ample opportunity to expand the lead. And that, Shannon Stewart, makes you the Boyfriend of the Day

Field/Readers 16, Corey/Jeb 12, Shannon/ Sooz 10, Dr. Morneau/Goober 9, Chairman Mauer/Batgirl 6.