soft hands.

A child who was 8 years old back in 1987 is 25 now, and probably in law school or driving a truck, beginning to understand how miraculous were the championship seasons of his youth. But pity today's 8-year-old Twins fans: Crushed and in mourning, experimenting with the power of curse words and questioning the love of the parents who brought them into a world in which mighty multimillionaires beat the home team.[star tribune]

this kind of woe-is-us mentality, and not some east coast sneering elitism, is what makes me wonder if them small market types really are losers. you have the joy of watching cy young incarnate every five days, a centerfielder dripping with charisma giving balls-out hustle every day at the expense of his own body, a grieving right fielder who gives all he has despite his sadness, a team full of hungry young guys who obviously love playing together and doing what they do, and you're saying pity the children? fuck you. tell the children exactly what they have, to love it, to appreciate it for what it is, and not what could have been.

i was 8 years old in 1987, and in my elementary school, it was minnesota twins hangers-on and leftover mets frontrunners as far as the eye could see. my team? a laughingstock. 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1992: losing, losing, and more losing. but i had rags, i had donnie baseball, i had dave winfield, and rickey. i had baby bernie, i had scooter (no, not that fucking fox talking baseball travesty) the ever optimistic homer, i had "HOOOLLLY COW!"

93 - things started to shift. 94 - baseball stood still. 95 - fucking edgar. 96 - yall know what happened in 96, and after that. but until then, i knew nothing but losing, which perhaps is the reason i marvel at this ridiculous run, never stop being amazed by the unlikeliness of it knowing the temporal nature of winning (where are the marlins now? those diamondbacks? those blue jays? remember when the indians were actually scary? sure you do!). i know this can't be forever. but should they revert back to the general comedic awfulness of the yankees of my youth i won't be shaking my fist at the big bad world. and i sure as hell i won't be questioning, even sarcastically, the love of my parents. they taught me the value of loyalty.


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