PK's Song

To death do us part, in sickness and health, and for better or for worse. These statements are the backbone of any marriage. I personally took these vows when I was 6 years old and my father took me to my first Twins game. Stuck in the prime of their disastrous run of the 90's (editors note: let's proclaim this the "Jeff Reboulet" era), the Twins became my one true love. Regardless of result, the way they played the game with hustle desire and passion capitivated me and won my respect and my heart.

I stuck with them through the contraction era, where on more than one occasion there were more promotional giveaways than fans to give them to, nonetheless I stood by my floundering team with steadfast adoration. Then, finally, in 2002 my beloved losers made the playoffs and made believers out of a state that had rejected them for nearly a decade. They became a true team at the hands of the "Soul Patrol" and the undying arm of Brad Radke only to fall to the (Editor's censor...involves coitus except with the the anus.... and a few expletives) clutches of the rally monkey and eventual world series champion Angels. For the next seven years I watched the Twins continue to be built around fundamentals and a never-say -die attitude that gave them national accolades. I have never once questioned the attitude or desire of the men in the "Twin Stripes" until last night.

After a thrilling (thankfully only) 162 game season in which they lost an MVP and still battled their way to 90+ wins and a division title, the Twins I have grown to love faltered. After losing two hard fought games at the new Target Field, the Twins ran out one of the most embarassing and gutless performances I have ever witnessed. At Yankee Stadium, one of the most hostile stadiums known to sport, the Twins failed to rise to the challenge of not only representing the State they call home but also themselves. I, like many of you, watched as each Twin complacently took uninspired plate appearances that led to minimal productivity throughout the night.

After Jorge Posada singled in the first run on a (very) poorly located pitch by Brian Duensing, the already deflated dugout collapsed for good. That one run might as well have been ten the way they were carrying themselves the rest of the evening. Every single one of those players should be embarassed for the way they approached that game.

As it were, this love of mine for the Twins can't be broken by another tragic postseason meltdown. The beauty of baseball is that in several months players will report to spring training and that endless pursuit for a title will begin again. But until then each fan in Twins Territory will be left with a sour taste in their mouths, repeating the mantra made famous by the Chicago Cubs, "There is always next year."

-Peter Kelly

If you've seen this man, ask him where he goes during the Postseason