"Let us go forth a while, and get better air in our lungs. Let us leave our closed rooms...
The game of ball is glorious."

--Walt Whitman

Monday, October 02, 2006

Oh. My. Deities.

There are words to describe this season. There are. And they will come to me eventually. But right now, oh, I just have to wrap all the wonder around me and hug it to myself like a warm sweater on a cold night.

And it was a very cold night--do you remember May? I am no longer young enough to think of four months as a long time. I remember May. I remember trudging up to Gate F and handing my ticket to the nice lady who's been there longer than I have, feeling like I was being punished for something I didn't do. And the game hadn't even started yet. But I went.


Because I'm an unrepentant baseball addict.

Because I love my Twins.

Because I paid so freakin' much to sit in a plastic bubble gnawing on a congealing veggie burger while Tony Batista and Juan Castro played endless rounds of "Lot's Wife" in the infield.

Because even in the darkest days Johan Santana and Justin Morneau and Joe Mauer and Juan Rincón had the power to make me giddy with joy.

Because I was not-so-patiently waiting for the return of Jason Bartlett and the day (presumably soon afterwards) when I could point to him and, with my other hand, thumb my nose at the Twins management.

And because that tiny little optimist inside me, of whose very existence I am constantly resentful, kept saying they can't suck forever.

The tiny little optimist was right. Bartlett stormed back to the big leagues and joined Nick Punto and 'Cisco Liriano and Pat "What the Heck Was THAT?" Neshek and a bunch of other faces both new and old in making me ever more giddy with joy. There were wins upon wins upon wins. There was crash-bang-BOOM to every field and Radke throwing the ball with his left ventricle because his heart was all he had left and holy crap we're in third, we're in second, we're the wild card, we're the AL Central champions.

We are. Those 25 guys on the field, I love 'em, and they did all that running and hitting and pitching and smelling 'em and yes, they are the pirahnas, but we the fans are the river. This is our party, too.

And I know it's trite, and I know it's overused, but it's so true I have to say it:

This was magic.

1 rejoinders:

Fourth pew, center sounded off...

Magic is what baseball is all about. Which is why I so pity those who don't get it.

We get it. Hooray for us. Hooray for the Twins. And hooray for The Game.

P.S. Dear Cubbies -- next year!!!!!