Opening Day 2012

"Great is baseball, the national tonic, the revival of hope, the restorer of confidence."

- The Sporting News, c. 1930's


Well Timberwolves, it's been a fun winter. I'll catch you again in the fall, ACL's all healed, energy back up, the anticipation higher still, floppy haired Spaniards a'leaping and my BFF hitting the treys. Looking forward to my new perch in section 236, row K.

Wild - sorry, I just don't care, but do me a favor - try not to depress my girlfriend so much next year.

Vikings - yeah, I really don't care.

When you're a baseball fan, the seasons don't transition from summer to fall, winter to spring. They go from your team playing its last game, a period of anticipation, the first spring workout, and then tomorrow - opening day. It would be cliche to reference the old adage - this is our year, we're going to win the pennant for sure - but it's too accurate to pass up. Even for those teams with no hope of championship glory (quite realistically the 2012 Twins), opening day always references renewal.

No other sport, nay, no other social institution, embraces opening day with such conviction and meaning as baseball. Perhaps it is because, over the course of 162 games and over a century of tradition, baseball is woven into the fabric of our consciousness. For a baseball fan, opening day is more than a holiday, it's one of the best days of the year.

I find that the baseball fan, as pessimistic as one can be crunching sabermetrics or critiquing why the manager didn't put pull the starter in the 7th, the baseball fan is at heart an optimist. We always want to believe that the odds can be broken, that our team can put together a streak and do something special. And why not? There's no clock to inhibit the game, theoretically, if not for an arbitrarily fixed fence, the playing field goes on an infinite distance. Baseball lends itself to romanticism, to romantics.



Unquestionably, the best thing to do in Minneapolis in the summer is spend an afternoon or evening at Target Field, hotdog in one hand, beer in the other - even better now that the Twins have Surly and Fulton.... After all, as Humphrey Bogart wisely observed, a hot dog at the ballpark beats roast beef at the Ritz. I wholeheartedly agree. Sure, the modern ballpark has many wiles to distract you from the game (exhibit a - that acid trippy monstrosity in Miami and the electric green outfield walls), but the game never loses its fascination.

It may very well be a rough year - our pitching is terrifying, one of our two best players has been concussed for a year and a half - but that doesn't matter now. Right now, we're winning the World Series.

Sporting Life

Folks, I've had a rather sporting week. Last Monday, thanks to the generosity of a friend and his dad, I had the opportunity to go to a Minnesota Wild hockey game, in the club level no less. Although I can't claim to be much of a hockey fan, it was a great game, and the Wild came away with a win.



Today, I went with a few of my friends from law school to watch the Vikings play the Broncos at the Metrodome. I haven't gone to an NFL game since I was in 9th grade, and frankly, I haven't been much of a football fan since Gary Anderson missed that field goal in the NFC Championship Game back in 1998. However, I do feel loyalty toward the Vikings, and I've been watching them this year - perhaps after the disastrous Twins season, I needed something to fill my unconscious desire for sporting futility.



Truly though, I was especially excited to see the Vikings for this reason. Through the miracle of modern technology, I can show you the following photographs.







You'll notice the fellow in the hat and scarf - that's Hubert H. Humphrey, who is maybe Minnesota's most famous politician. In the second photograph, Humphrey is shaking hands with Bud Grant, who is the most famous Vikings coach ever - he led them to four Super Bowls. The next two photos are of Fran Tarkenton, who is in the Hall of Fame, and is probably one of the greatest Viking players. The final photo is of a cheerleader on a cold winter Sunday, her excitement undimmed by the ice and snow.

I found these photos maybe two years ago, after my grandma passed away. They were tucked away in her basement, along with a stack of many other photographs, which I also now have. I finally figured out that it was my grandpa that took all these photos.

He was a photographer, and he used to cover the Twins and Vikings for a local Bloomington paper when they both came to Minnesota in 1961. The Old Met, as it was called, was not too far away from their house. Because he was a photographer, my grandpa got to know all the players, and got to spend time in the clubhouse. When my dad was little, he took him to a game of the 1965 World Series between the Twins and the Dodgers. To this day, my prized possession is a baseball that my grandpa had signed by the entire 1965 American League Championship Twins, including Harmon Killebrew and Tony Oliva.

What I like about these photos, and what made me want to go to see the Vikings today, is that, to me, they represent all that is great about Minnesota, all that is great about family. I love seeing these people from a generation ago, watching the same game with people in the same helmets as are worn today - I bet they also sang the same words to "Skol Vikings" as folks did this afternoon. I like to see them out in the cold snow, and enjoying it. Most of all, perhaps I like seeing things get passed down through the ages.

As dismissive as I am sometimes about football, today I saw so many fathers/mothers bringing their young sons or daughters to the football game, paying an exorbitant price to get "Skol Vikings" facepainted on their faces, cheerfully buying the $12 souvenir popcorn bucket. It made me wonder what sort of silliness people in 1961 did to try and share a passion with a kid, to try and get them to understand something that was meaningful to them. One of the more poignant moments, was at the end when a father was trying to console his daughter, who was crying because the Vikings had lost. Dad, decked out in an Adrian Peterson jersey, had obviously purchased the same purple jersey for his daughter, who was also wearing a fluffy Viking helmet (maybe mom got that).

It reminded me of going with my dad to watch the Twins every summer at the Metrodome, no matter how terrible they were; of my parents buying me Twins shirts and hats; my mom waiting in line with me for five hours so I could get a real autographed Kirby Puckett card. That it turn made me think 50 years back, when my grandpa took my dad to the bleachers at Met Stadium to watch Harmon Killebrew hit home runs. Someone took my mom too - because she talked about seeing "Killer" too.

Then again, I don't often think in sepia tones of a drunken Broncos fan stumbling up to the Metrodome trough, looking down at the 8 year old Vikings fan peeing next to him, and slurring "nice stream little man." So maybe today's game wasn't all golden memories and souvenir buckets of popcorn...

My point being, I am no longer dismissive of the Vikings, or the people who are passionate about them. Maybe I will still think there is a certain level of insanity necessary to paint one's entire body purple and gold, but again, I am still planning on burning my Twins hat in a funeral pyre to put the 2011 campaign finally to rest. Maybe there isn't so much difference after all.

Sports are often criticized as being too hyped, as numbing people to issues that really matter. I'm guilty of this - often, I'd much rather talk about the Twins' starting rotation for next summer than people being oppressed in Syria. That's probably not awesome. Sometimes though, it's the relationships and memories that flow therefrom that are the most important thing.

Harmon Killebrew

It's a very sad day here in Minnesota, especially for us Twins fans. Harmon Killebrew passed away this morning from esophageal cancer.

I never had the privilege to see Mr. Killebrew play, but I heard stories from my parents about home runs at the Old Met. I saw him out and about the Metrodome and Target Field, always with a smile on his face, always looking happy to be there. He was a classy man who treated everyone with respect, a person who was humble, yet took pride in his accomplishments. No wonder Minnesotans love him.

The Twins haven't been very good this year, but I hope tonight, they can win a game for Harmon. I think that's the best way to honour a man who has meant so much to the players, the team as a whole, and the state.

RIP Mr. Killebrew - we'll miss you.

Oh Minnesota...

This only reaffirms my fervent belief that the rest of the world, in reality, wishes they were Minnesotans.

Falling Off

Hello folks, welcome back to the internet. Absent blogging from yours truly, I know it sometimes feels as if it doesn't exist. Sorry about that.

Honestly, I've had plenty of great Album of the Week ideas - I think I've been listening to a lot of good music lately. This Avett Brothers album is freaking me right out. I even went to the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra, two weeks in a row!

Some of you may recall that for the past, oh, eight months, I've been wearing a blue, orange, and black friendship bracelet thing on my right wrist. I'm somewhat disheartened to announce that tonight, of all nights, it finally fell off. In a most ignominious fashion too - in line at the Roseville McDonalds, waiting to buy coffee. Don't judge, do not judge - their coffee isn't all that bad. I feel as if I have the authority to make this determination, given the volume of coffee I consume weekly.

I had aspired for it to last until June, but alas, that is not to be. I was asked a few weeks ago what it meant - why I would keep such a tattered, raggedy thing on my person 24/7 for so long. I really didn't have a good answer. I suppose I wore it as a reminder. Like so many things though, you don't need a bracelet to remind you of bus trips and playing music.

I do think I need a new one though. Invitation to treat, anyone?

Anyways, to describe life as hectic as of late would be an understatement. Such is what you get though, when you agree to work two jobs while in law school, while spending a good six to seven hours a week honing one's int'l arbitration skills, while trying to not lose all your friends by being too busy, and while attempting desperately to finagle the ins and outs of a new relationship. And of course, who can forget the musical force that is the Minneapolis Trombone Choir. Needless to say, things are busy, and one always feels as if they might be on the brink of, just like an old bracelet, of falling off.

It's okay to be busy though.

I'm managing though, nay thriving. Although it's been hard to sync up, I've kept friends so far. Trombone choir, though perpetually awkward (as one would hope/expect/cherish), is going very well as of late. We had our best Vis practice yet tonight, and my (real!) int'l arbitration job is panning out quite alright. It's a bit unnerving to think that out of potentially <5 millions euros at stake, some tiny portion of that is riding on my nearly quarter century old brain and horn-rimmed glasses...

I won't complain though, and can't. I have a job(s) that I like, and successful homebrew at my side. Spring training has officially started, and although I can't go to Ft. Myers this year, I think it's going to be another fun summer. I like the way the team is shaping up. I have the fortuitous good luck of spending time with a girl that I like. I actually fancy her quite a bit. And to top off, I even got my trombone slide to stop sticking and making that annoying crunchy noise last week! I even got a new sack of cheesecloth to clear out the tubing with!

The world is certainly on a string...

Hope

People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring. - Rogers Hornsby

I concur. In the gloriously short span of 4 days, pitchers and catchers report to Fort Myers, and life will again be in equilibrium. The thing about baseball, the Minnesota Twins in particular, is that after 4 months of frigid temperatures, dome-busting blizzards, and slippery roads, we're all in the mood for a carefree, warm afternoon day in the sun.

From my perspective, as much as I love winter, it is to a certain extent, an endurance contest. One wonders how masochistic he must be to live in Minnesota in January. We escape the cold by streaming through a maze of skyways, skittering like rodents in a blind search for food pellets; we try to convince ourselves it's no big deal; we (I) ache from shoveling sidewalks and driveways. Undoubtedly, there must be some degree of collective insanity to subject oneself to such harsh elements, year after year. It's really quite incredible this entire state hasn't become delusional.

However friends, there is hope. It arrives with the anticipation of a 3-2 count, the crack of a bat, the collective attempt of 40,000 people trying to will a ball within the foul pole. The oft-ridiculed pride at seeing a St. Paul boy play for the hometown nine. It arrives with the patience of nine innings, preferably aided by a Summit and a polish. It arrives with sun - sometimes rain, but that's okay too. It arrives with family, friends, and memories, some that even span lifetimes. Most importantly, it arrives with the simple belief that no matter how tough the Yankees are, this is definitely going to be our year.

Yes friends, spring training can't come soon enough.

Winning

Well folks, in my super-secret government job, I had my first legal win today. A brief that I wrote, nay, crafted in its entirety, prevailed over the Defendant in court. Granted, it was pretty much a slam dunk argument, but that's besides the point.

The attorney I was working with was going to let me go on the record and give the oral argument in support of the State's motion, if the judge wanted it. However, since my legal arguments were so brilliant, that turned out to be unnecessary. But, just to be prepared, yesterday I went out and purchased a powerful red tie, in order to intimidate and subdue my adversary. Obviously, it worked.

Plus, the judge's law clerk came up to me and told me how well written she thought the State's brief was. So, score one for the evil government on that one, and I'm set up quite nicely to get taken down a few notches next time around.

You know, I like to think that I'm not a competitive person. I like to think that my super-chill demeanor usually extends to being above the pettiness of silly disputes...

But, that would be a lie. I can't tell you how pissed off I got playing Risk on family game night in college. I was playing with friends, but I genuinely think I was ready to turn to physical violence. Especially after some backstabbing "roommate" broke our alliance and invaded North America. Don't think I don't remember that.

In any event, my office-mate/coworker and I were having this discussion today, what we thought made a good trial attorney. We both agreed that being a super-competitive, nasty, killer bitch/asshole was not a good strategy. So, in effect, we both agreed you didn't have to be a TV lawyer to be effective.

But, at work and in my upcoming fake litigation practice trial, it's apparent that having a competitive streak is a good thing. In the fake case I have for my fake trial, I'm representing the plaintiff in a Title VII sex discrimination suit. And in all reality, the likelihood of us winning is very, very slim. It's a flawed case, and not enough good facts to prove the things we need to prove. But I'm definitely convincing myself that I can overcome that and win this case, as slim as that may be.

We had a fake motion hearing on Monday, and I made motions to admit certain evidence against the Defendant at trial. And, there is really no way this evidence would ever come in. But I convinced myself I could get it in, and I argued as well as I could to do so. When it inevitably was denied, I left the law school feeling quite distressed. Well, that's a misnomer. I was pretty pissed off.

I don't think I have any anger management issues, but if nothing else, the past few years have taught me that as much as I don't like to admit it, losing sucks. I'd rather not lose. Don't like losing when it comes to law school, don't like losing when it comes to relationships, don't like losing when it comes to Risk.

And especially, above nearly everything else, I don't like losing to the Yankees.

Not Blogging

Folks, I started a new job today. A new legal job. That's right, for the first time ever, I'm being effectively paid to do the sorts of things that people in law school expect to be effectively paid for. It was an illuminating experience. Definitely need to stake a claim on my shared desk with a Michael Cuddyer bobblehead.

Unfortunately, literally per the terms of my employment, I'm prohibited from doing any "blogging" about my job. I wish I could say it's because I'm a BFD, but I think it's moreso just the nature of public employment. Which is a shame, because I foresee my particular division as being incredibly ripe for blogging adventure. But, nary a word shall you see. . . I don't want to get fired.

Anyways, yeah, it should be a good time.

Speaking of the opposite of good times... oh Twins. I read somewhere that you really have to man up in order to be a baseball fan, because there are 162+ opportunities for utter devastation and heartbreak. Given the travesty that unfolded before my eyes the past weekend, I'm pretty sure I subscribe to that.

Oh yeah, and should anyone have any procedural questions about an arbitral tribunal's authority to issue ex parte interim relief, feel free to shoot me an email.

Open Letter

Dear Twins,

Now, I can hardly be considered a fair-weather fan, and am naturally optimistic by nature.

But this inability to beat the Yankees, is getting pretty tiresome.

I've spent a good chunk of my disposable income at your ballpark. I've worn my victory socks, drank my Grain Belt, and sat in even-numbered seats all season long. Hell, last night, I even sat in Seat 12.

As a result of these and innumerable other sacrifices, I don't think I ask so much. Just win three effing games. I'd be much happier if you'd oblige.

Very truly yours,




The Author

L'Octobre

I'm quite excited. Tomorrow night, for the first time since 2002, I'm going to go watch the Twins in playoff baseball. Sure, I'd be lying if I didn't say there was some element of dread to it; after all, we are playing the Yankees, who have had our number for quite some time. But that's the beauty of this game - hope always springs eternal.

After all, after you get knocked down or out so many times, your luck is bound to turn around, right? We've all had bad things happen to us, and sometimes, it feels like we'll never recover. But eventually, we do. I have the same hopes for the local nine tomorrow night. I'll expect mediocrity, but I'm going to dream for greatness.

In any event, it's going to be a great night in a gorgeous ballpark.

My victory socks are ready to go, I have plenty of warm weather Twins gear, my hat bill is curved just right, and homer hanky is at the ready. So tomorrow night, I'll sit down with a hot dog along the third-base line, raise a Summit to Joe Mauer, Michael Cuddyer, and the rest of the gang, and hope for a charmed Minnesota fall.

Win Twins!


P.S. Craig Finn of the Hold Steady, and noted Twins fan, penned this recent song to help our boys to the World Series. For a baseball song, it is quite fantastic.

Talking Dinosaurs + Twins Baseball = Good

Opening Day 2010

One last post. I was there!



Harmon Killebrew, still swinging for the fences



Can't get enough of this pedestrian plaza/green space (Target Plaza). Really cool place to check out, even when the Twins aren't playing.



Center field gate (appropriately named). Also, can't get enough of this Piece of Public Art that covers the ugly-ass parking garage.



View approaching the first baseline entrance



First regular season Kramarczuk's polish outside - ever.



Somewhere, a Perkins is wondering where their flag went.



Highway to the danger zone, anyone? Maverick? Iceman?



Doesn't even seem real. Is this Minneapolis?



Organist sitting in a bar. Great idea, or a terrible idea...



If you look real close, you can see my new glasses. Damn sun; wait, what's the sun?

Simple Pleasures

Folks, I've had very few things to say lately. It's just been a black hole of a week, or two weeks, for blogging and otherwise intelligent writing. Spring break will do that to you - destroy any ounce of motivation to do anything.

My lack of blogging shouldn't indicate that I haven't been thinking about interesting things. I have - all manner of interesting things, actually. Just, for the life of me, I haven't quite been able to put them down into words. I had a very eye-opening bike ride into suburban blight, aka my boyhood neighborhood, the other day. The whole time, I just kept thinking about what a great blog entry it would make, but alas, the aforementioned black hole.

I've even had a new album of the week fermenting about in my brain - multiple ones, in fact. But again, it's like someone uncorked something in the back of my head, and all those brilliant ideas came gushing out, never to be read again.

Dead before even getting a chance to realize their potential - that's always the saddest sort of end. It's always a lot better to tolerate failure, to tolerate disappointment, if there's an explicit basis for said failure. You can point to something and say, "Look, that didn't work!" But alas, when there is nothing to point to, 'tis a bitter pill to swallow.

In any event, why the sad mood? Well, of course you know the reason. Some things just seem to take a lot of time.

However, such things shouldn't stand in the way of all that is good. I witnessed with my own eyes last night, the first professional outdoor ballgame I've ever seen here in the great state of Minnesota. Sure, the Twins lost, but who the hell cares? It was just so pleasant to be outside, to be in a real ballpark. I can't believe it's for us. Everything seems so superlative as to almost be a mirage.

It's pleasant to be able to wear shorts and moccasins again; it's pleasant to roll down the windows and pop the sunroof. I've been on a Phoenix rampage the past month or so, and it's nice to play "Liztomania" at a high volume whilst speeding down the freeway. It's nice to have it be Easter, and to be able to eat chocolate rabbits without concern for one's well-being. It's pleasant to listen to the intelligentsia at Minnesota Public Radio, in their attempt to connect with the common folk through their coverage of Target Field's opening, try and pronounce "Cuddyer." Yes folks, simple pleasures are the greatest pleasures.



Like I said, simple pleasures.

Anticipation

Anticipation, my friends, can be a dangerous thing. When you anticipate something, I feel there's a tendency to build up unrealistic expectations; ones that cannot possibly be met. Now, some of you may know that I'm a bit of a baseball fan, and consequently, I have been eagerly anticipating this season's opening of Target Field. For someone who has grown up watching my favourite team play in a concrete bunker with a garbage bag for an outfield fence, the prospect of afternoons and evenings spent under the summer Minnesota sky is superlatively tantalizing.

Anyways, the weather has been unseasonably gorgeous here in the Twin Cities as of late. No need for a coat!

With the aforementioned beautiful weather, I couldn't resist but to leave my clerkship at the federal courthouse today just a titch early, and take a stroll across downtown to examine the new ballpark. Just last week, the pedestrian plaza which connects the ballpark to the rest of downtown was opened, so you can now walk right up to the gates and peer inside at the field. Also, the ticket offices are open, and the team store.


I've been lucky enough to see a few other major league ballparks, other than the dearly departed H.H.H. Metrodome. Safeco Field in Seattle probably tops my list, followed by Miller Park in Milwaukee, and then U.S. Cellular in Chicago. I can only vaguely remember the place where the Florida Marlins play, but it changes names every other week anyways. But folks, believe me when I say this, even with my bias and my rudimentary inspection, Target Field in Minneapolis is truly a baseball cathedral of the highest circle. I daresay, the highest circle.

What I think is best about the new park, at least from outward appearances, is it recognizes the fact that Minnesotans are an incredibly nativist people, and seizes upon it with force. Admittedly, most of us are convinced of our own superiority, from our ability to survive the harshest of winters to the number of theatre seats per capita; the quiet self-confidence of our Scandinavian heritage to our lake dabbled northwoods.

So it only makes sense that the Twins, who arguably are the state's most beloved sports team, would seek to sheathe their new home in limestone quarried from Mankato, and have native fir trees in the batter's eye. The handles on the gates are shaped in the outline of the state, and giant "TC" emblems are fixated above them. One of the restaurants is named after Bloomington's own Kent Hrbek, and apparently, inside the bowels of the upper levels, there is an immense wooden mural of Kirby Puckett. I'm sure that inside, there have to be countless odes to our current heroic figure, that being a certain Joseph Patrick Mauer. And even to capture the inherent pretentious side of our state, there is this absolutely stunning piece of public art, that takes up an entire side of a parking garage on the plaza. It's a "wind veil," and it's comprised of thousands of little hinged pieces of metal, which shimmer and sway (with utter silence) whenever the wind hits them. It was absolutely transfixing.

Anyways, point being, I walked around the whole damn thing, standing on my tippy toes at every window, trying to stick my head inside every gate, and otherwise doing nearly everything I could to catch glimpses of the field, short of committing a misdemeanor. I stood outside of the right field gate, and I even pinpointed the location of my season ticket seats, way, way up in the upper deck along the third baseline. The field, just recently cleared of snow, is a glorious, vibrant, shocking hue of green. The permanency of the whole structure is what took the most adjustment. At the Metrodome, since it was shared by so many teams and groups, everything was artificial. All the decorations and banners were temporary, so they could be moved. Now, everything is opposite. There are Twins logos etched in stone, there are metal banners commemorating every season of the team's history, and apparently, in the near future, there are going to be bronze statues of the team's greatest players. All in all, there's a much more regal element to the whole experience, like something important and institutional is afoot.






I'm going to get to go inside said ballpark this coming Sunday. I'll try to get some good shots.

Metrodome Memories

It's not really common knowledge, but as it turns out, I am actually quite the fan of my hometown Minnesota Twins baseball team. And for as long as I can remember, nay, the entirety of the 23 years which I've walked this earth, I've been watching my beloved Twins play underneath the teflon sky of the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome.

Of course, I knew the demise of the Metrodome has been coming. In fact, I've been cheerleading it, ever since the construction of a new outdoor ballpark became reality in 2006. I've been poring over photos of the rapidly rising Target Field almost daily for at least two years now, and awaiting with bated breath for that "countdown to outdoor baseball" sign in left field to reach zero. I can count on one hand the number of outdoor major league baseball games I've seen, but I don't think you need any special gnosis to know that baseball isn't meant to be played in a concrete warehouse with plastic grass, a garbage bag for an outfield wall, and a dull roof that looks kind of like something I pulled out of my grandma's basement.



But now, shockingly, against all odds, it's here. Barring a miracle, there are only two more games of Twins baseball to be played inside the dome. I'm happy to say that I'm attending the final regular season game on Sunday afternoon. I can only hope that the Twins are still playing for something, but even if they aren't, something good is going to happen.

In my retrospection, I've been reading a lot of these "farewell to the Metrodome" articles, where these out of town sportswriters wax eloquent about the quirky playing atmosphere, the jet-engine decibel crowds, and the beautiful moments that were had. Which is all well and good, but it all seems somewhat prosaic to me. Everyone knows about the '91 World Series, the ball that never came down, the superball bounces, etc. But there are some things that are unknowable to the average person, because they run much deeper.

Next year, sitting outside at Target Field, I don't think I'll give much of a second thought to the Metrodome as a field, as the mundane fusion of astroturf and dirt into a diamond shape. But what I will think of are the games my parents took me to as a kid, always preceded by a visit to Matt's for a jucy lucy. I'll think about wanting nothing else in the world but to see Kirby Puckett hit a home run, and then screaming wildly as he made a young boy's wish come true. I'll think about having a Dome Dog, and trying to convince my dad that I really needed the pop in the souvenir cup. I'll remember waiting in line with my mom for two hours in order to be one of the 15,000 people to get the autographed Kirby Puckett retirement card (yes, he actually signed 15,000). I'll remember when my letter of encouragement was posted in the Twins' locker room. I was pretty young, but I can remember watching the 1991 World Series on TV, and seeing the sea of typically mundane midwesterners going euphoric with Homer Hankies. In my more recent years, I'll remember stretching out in the cheap seats with a Summit, squinting to see the field while still watching out for beach balls. I'll remember going to the 2004 ALCS. Who can forget the trough, or getting blasted out of the Dome by the air pressure? And surely, I'll remember the Hormel Row of Fame song.

Musical Interlude: Now that you are at the game, are you in Hormel's Row of Fame? If you're in a lucky seat, you'll win a Hormel hot dog treat! Great for lunch, great for dinner, you will be a wiener winner in the Hormel Rowwwwww offff Faaaaaammmmmmeeeee!

Now, I can only hope to everything that is good on this earth that the Hormel Row of Fame will be transplanted out under the sun. I can only hope that the Twins play with as much joy as they have (at times) in the Dome. I'm a believer though, I know they will.

But as I've intimated, what I will miss about the Metrodome, is the connection it gives me to myself. For an entire generation of people like me, watching the Twins has meant going to the Dome. We don't know anything else. But, I suppose, why should we, when it's been such a ride? To paraphrase Torii Hunter, it wasn't a great place to play baseball, but there sure was some great baseball played there.

So Metrodome, it's been fun, and I really do mean that. Your passing is going to be bittersweet. It's always hard to say goodbye to an old friend, maybe even harder when they're the kind that no one else appreciates.



Hell, let's go win the division. I think the Metrodome deserves it.