Twins 6, Yankees 3

I know some people who aren't much into baseball. And they marvel at the change in me when the Yankees play my Twins. What's the big deal, they wonder. Isn't it just another series? And why are you so angry when the Yankees win? Shouldn't they win, when they pay so much for the privilege?

No. No, they shouldn't. Not so often, not so utterly. And that's why it makes me so angry.

But sometimes, my friends, sometimes...

Sometimes the baseball gods yawn and stretch and realize that things have gone horribly awry whilst they napped, and go about setting things right. They see aging, overpaid, defensively inept clubs and declare that there shall be wins for them in direct proportion to their drive and heart and hustle. And suddenly evil empires are getting swept by the Royals.

And then with the Twins are down by two early all you can do is scream "LEWWWWWWWW!" when Ford legs a double into a triple while Gary Sheffield hobbles after the ball on his walker, and again when Lew scores on a Hunter single. Then you must pause to rain curses upon the heads of inept third basemen as they kill the rally by hitting into their second double play in as many at-bats. But soon you're happy again, for in the very next inning Stewart hits a double and Brent Abernathy walks and it's "LEWWWWWWWW!" for the three-run homer deep into the left-field stands and at that point it's all over except the crying in the visitor's dugout.

Joe Mauer? Groin pull, benched.
Justin Morneau? Hyperextended left elbow, benched.
Nick Punto? Pulled hamstring, disabled list.
Substitutes at first, second and catcher, with the Yankees in town? Win.

Sometimes there's justice in baseball. Sometimes the best team wins. And sometimes the best payroll gets exactly what it deserves.