Sunday, December 19, 2010

My Biggest Fan

          The holidays are always a time for me to stop and acknowledge how lucky I am and with 2010 coming to an end, I can't help but look back on the last 12 months a little out of breathe.  Every day has been one step closer to my dream, an aspiration that was passed along from my dad.  Meet Jim.

           Everything I know and love about baseball I learned from my dad.  A farm boy who grew up playing in the fields of southern Minnesota, my dad spent his adolescence hitting home runs and winning batting championships for the Waterville Buccaneers.  When I was a child he tried his hand at coaching, spending countless hours teaching me how to play the game in the shade of our backyard.  He showed me how to catch the ball, field a grounder, follow through on my swing, the same skills his father had taught to him years before on their family farm. 
            Baseball became our sport.  The youngest of four daughters, I was his last chance at having someone to share his passion with.  My older sisters had already turned him down and in a way I became the son he never had.  He truly loved everything about America’s pastime and he made sure that I loved it, too.  As I grew up, my Barbie dolls were slowly moved off their shelves in favor of Homer Hankies and autographed baseballs, my storybooks replaced by a baseball card collection.  Even through my teenage angst when my dad just seemed to be an embarrassment in my life, baseball was the one thing that kept us connected.
         This last year has been a crazy one for me -- internships at WCCO and KFAN and a sportswriting position at the Minnesota Daily have thrown me into crazy situations, opportunities that I dreamt about when I first considered pursuing a job in sports.  Through it all, though, one thing has been constant: my dad cheering me along from the sidelines.   His support has given me the confidence to pursue what can only be described as my dream job and if it were all taken away tomorrow, I would be satisfied simply because I know he is proud of me.  
          Jim and I will be busy in the next couple of weeks.  I'm taking him down to Madison for the Big Ten opener at the Kohl Center, followed by as many Gopher basketball games at Williams Arena before he and my mom jet off for Mexico for the winter.  Then in March we're heading down to Fort Myers for our first Twins' spring training, a fitting celebration of my 25th birthday.  I'm just waiting for news that Jim Thome has been resigned so I can start working on Jim's 72nd birthday present -- an autographed baseball from a player he admires.  A small request in exchange for all I've been given over the years.
             
           

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Becoming a runner... again.

I woke up this morning with the intent to go to the gym.  I had even packed my gym bag and set aside my workout clothes before bed last night to help motivate me for when my clock radio started blaring.  Nothing like walking up to KFAN's The Power Trip, right?  Well, see I had this bright idea to watch AMC's The Walking Dead right before bed last night and had dreams about sports-writing and zombies all night long, leaving me less than amped when it was time to get up this morning.  A few too many snoozes and suddenly my time at the gym was gone.

Luckily, when I finally rolled out of bed, weather-dot-com informed me that it was a balmy 52 degrees outside leaving me with no excuse but to throw on my running shoes and head out to the nature conservatory down the road.

I've never been a runner.  When I was in high school, I decided on numerous occasions that I wanted to really get in shape and would take up running--I'd last a mile before I would be walking home, defeated by something that seemed so easy in my head.

Two years ago, I convinced my older sister that we should run our hometown's annual half-marathon.  She spent three months training for the 13-plus miles.  I, on the other hand, ran six miles two days before the race, deciding that I would just be extra-motivated on race day.  See, runners were alloted 3 hours on the course and if you didn't finish, a truck came by and drove you back into town-- and I truly believed that in order to avoid the pure embarrassment that came with getting picked up by the truck, I'd get my butt across that finish line well within the 3-hour limit.

My sister and I both completed the race, something I'm sure my parents were surprised by.  It wasn't exactly fun but it wasn't torture.  Once I got passed mile 8 (the farthest I'd ever run), this competitive inkling popped into my head and for the first time during the whole day, I really wanted to finish the race.

In January, my best friend convinced me to run the half-marathon again.  Like me, she wasn't a runner but--being the most type-A control freak I know--she promised she'd push me to train for the race, considering she knew how my last attempt at race preparation had gone.

Ironically, it ended up being the other way around.  She got me out running but it was me that had to push her on our long runs--hitting 8, 10, 12 mile jaunts up and down Summit Avenue in St. Paul--when she wanted to quite after two.  We trained through ran and snow, gave up Twins tickets to get in long runs--even stayed in on Friday nights to ensure successful Saturday a.m. runs.

We had made a pact that on that April race day we'd stay with each other and even when the hail started pounding us and the wind nearly blew us over, we pushed along crossing the finish line in 2:15.26--almost ten minutes faster than my time the year before.

Of course, I stop running immediately after the half.  The weather got nice, I got busy, and when I had time, I wanted to be on patio with a drink in hand or enjoying the new Target Field.  Over the summer, I ran here and there--mostly when I was at the cabin and needed to get away from my family for a bit.

That's why this morning was such a challenge.  It was only four miles but it may have been the hardest four miles I've ever run.  And as I stretched in my driveway--underneath the heavenly November sun--I was so mad at myself for basically losing everything I had spent last winter training so hard for.  For the first time in my life, I had become a runner and I had just let it go.

My life doesn't leave much room for free time right now.  And while I wouldn't have it any other way, I'm recommitting myself to my 'running'--even if it means 10 p.m. trips to the gym to score a little treadmill time.  And while I'm sure I'll run my third half-marathon this April, I'm thinking I might even push myself to try a full--as long as there is a truck willing to pick me up mid-course if I want.  For 26 miles, I think it's okay.

 

Monday, September 20, 2010

Bleeding maroon and gold isn't easy.


            For anyone who woke up in Minneapolis this morning, you can relate to the ‘ho-hum’ I initially felt.  It was gross.  Glum, foggy, misty day.  Heading to the Twins game tonight, it was exactly the weather I had not wanted to wake up to.  But—and I can only thank karma or a higher power for this—the sun has come out and it’s actually insanely beautiful out.  Which is why this will be a short-short blog.  I’ve got a baseball game to enjoy.
            So… anyone who knows me knows I love the Gophers.  In fact, last night I threw on some sweats to run some errands only to have the cashier at Holiday question my fashion choices.  “You’re awfully brave to wear Minnesota stuff after their embarrassing loss on Saturday.”
            Yes, it was embarrassing.  So embarrassing that I should have retired my maroon and gold for a while.  But—it’s been an embarrassing last couple of years. Forget losing to South Dakota and USC—those are just the most recent examples of the Gophers’—and Brewster’s—failures.  The program has been slumping since Glen Mason and the 2005 Gophers lost to Wisconsin on a blocked punt in the Metrodome.  Granted, we weren’t an exceptional program even then.  But we were decent.  We had just beat Michigan at the Big House and were ranked in the top 25—something a Gopher fan would remember five years later because it’s not a regular status for the mediocre Minnesota team.
            My point is, Minnesota is my team. Yes, losing sucks.  Being at the bottom of the Big Ten sucks.  But I went to Minnesota for a reason.  And I’d like to consider myself a true Gopher fan.  Am I kinda ‘over’ it?  You bet.  But does that mean I’m going to stop going to games and cheering on the team, even though it’s pretty likely that we are going to lose?  No.  Not a chance.  The Cubs—who are having a very sub-par season—have the highest tickets prices in the MLB because their fans go to games no matter what—a lesson Minnesota fans could take to heart.
            Minnesota is my team.  Even after I graduate and move away, maroon and gold will be two colors that regularly appear in my wardrobe.  Because at some point—and I pray this is true—the Gophers will get it together and I’ll be able to truthfully say I supported them the entire way.  We all have a choice when it comes to cheering on a team.  You don’t like the way Brewster does it?  Buy some red and cheer for the Badgers.  You wouldn’t be the first fair-weather fan to jump ship when things got rough.

Paul DeBettignies (@MNHeadhunter)--the only Gopher fan who loves the team more than me.


Introducing the besties to TCF Stadium.  You know they are true friends when they buy maroon and gold to support your team.  Love you, ladies.  :)

Monday, September 6, 2010

Bon voyage, summer. You were great.


            Summer’s officially over.  School starts tomorrow.  Sigh.  Giant sigh. 
            Don’t get me wrong—I’m really excited for fall.  Fall means college football is in full swing—road trips, tailgating, cold days and hot drinks at TCF Stadium.  It means our first play-off race in an outdoor stadium—Twins hoodies and blankets replacing flip-flops and tank tops.  It means Sunday Fundays and Vikings games—and good old Brett Favre in the sacred purple and gold.  Basically, fall is a sport fan’s dream.
            Summer 2010 was my dream.  Now that it’s officially in the books, I can confidently look back and say it was awesome.  Opening Target Field, following the Twins on the road, saying goodbye to Rosenblatt at the College World Series—it was a baseball fan’s dream summer.  And these are my some of my top moments.

1.  Rosen’s Sports Sunday @ Target Field.
            Last semester, I interned at WCCO-TV in the sports department and had the pleasure to work with Mark Rosen and Carry Clancy on the Rosen’s Sports Sunday show every week.  The night before the Twins’ home opener, we broadcasted the show from first base—I lucked out and was able to come along and help out.  I got dropped off at the player gates and was buzzed in, only I couldn’t find anyone to help me get out to the field.  I searched the back concourses for a sign of life and finally found someone in the Red Sox’s clubhouse, getting it ready for the next day’s big game.  He walked me to the Twins’ clubhouse, buzzed me, and directed me towards the field.  Then he left me alone in the Twins’ clubhouse the night before the home opener.
            It was amazing.  Plain and simple.  The Twins’ throw-back jerseys were all hanging up in the laundry room, just waiting for the players to come to the stadium the next day and pick them up.  I passed the infamous batting cage and pushed open the double doors—like I was instructed—and walked out into the Twins’ dugout.  It.  Was.  Amazing.  Absolutely breathtaking.  I honestly didn’t do anything.  Basically, I stood around and held a jersey that Kevin Smith had brought along—but it was still the coolest thing I’ve ever gotten to experience!  Besides Smith, Frank Quilici was along as a guest and getting to meet him was the icing on the already delicious Twins cake.  I didn’t get to go to the opening game and I was actually okay with it—because what I got to do was ten times better than just getting to see the game. 



2.  Meeting Harmon Killebrew
            My last day at WCCO was a Sunday.  I came in to help train in my replacement and help on Rosen’s Sports Sunday, like I usually did.  Carry hadn’t told me about our guest yet—finally, at about 9pm she broke the news.  “Oh Lindsay, you’ll need to print a form… we need one for Harmon.”
            Gulp.  That could only mean one thing.  Harmon Killebrew was going to be our guest on RSS that night.  No big deal.  My job all semester had been taking care of the guests—I had debated the SEC and Pac-10 with Ron Coomer and Henry Lake, talked Finland with Niklas Backstrom, and reminisced on the Missota Conference with Lindsay Whalen.   It was a sweet gig—and I mean this with no disrespect, but meeting Harmon trumped my entire semester of work.  He’s a class act and not only took pictures with everyone who asked but also gave me some sweet material to use for my sports trivia questions.  The highlight to my semester, it was the perfect way to go out—especially after I got to call my dad and tell him I met his childhood idol.

3.  College World Series in Omaha
            Read my last post.  Best sporting event I’ve ever been to.

4.  Kansas City Royals vs. Chicago White Sox
            You probably read that and went huh?  Trust me, I felt weird writing it.  But it’s true.  In the middle of August when it had been decided that either the Twins or the White Sox would be winning the AL Central, my friend and I went down to KC to visit a friend for a weekend.  Worked out well because the White Sox were in town to play the Royals at Kauffman and our friend scored us amazing tickets to all three games.  Friday’s game was rained out—okay, it was really a tsunami—so we were able to see a crazy double-header on Saturday.  Game one—11 innings of crazy baseball, including the 7th when Yuniesky Betancourt hit a 2-out grand slam to tie the game 5-5.  He brought in the winning run in the bottom of the 11th on a walk-off single, sending the entire stadium into hysterics.  Game one, Royals 6—White Sox 5.
            Game two didn’t start until around 10:30.  It went back and forth all game with Betancourt bringing in the tying run in the bottom of the ninth to send it into extra innings.  White Sox scored in the top of the 10th and the Royals couldn’t answer back—Chicago took game two 7-6. 
            Sunday was hot.  Excruciatingly hot.  But it didn’t matter.  We were smack dab behind home plate for game three of the craziest baseball series I have ever witnessed first hand.  The best part of the whole situation—the only clean clothes we had were Twins gear.  Yup, we wore Twins gear to Kauffman stadium sitting just twenty feet from the White Sox dugout.  And it was noticed.  Several times.  By not only Ozzie and his coaching staff but by actual players as well.  It was awesome—almost as awesome as the game, which went into extra innings with the Sox and the Royals tied 2-2.  Three baseball games, 31 innings, and two wins by the Royals—the last coming on a walk-off single by Jason Kendall in the bottom of the tenth.  

(I by no mean take credit for the Royals’ awesome wins that weekend, but I’ve got to think that our Twins spirit helped them out.   You can still send me a thank you note after the Twinks win the AL Central.)



5.  Minnesota Twins vs. Detroit Tigers (June 28)
            Not only did the Twins 11-4 win over the Tigers put us back in first place, it also happened to be the game when Denard Span showed Minnesota—and Major League Baseball—what he can do.  5 RBIs on 4 hits, including three crazy triples.  It was a game we needed to win and we did it in grand fashion.  Ironically, the team were battling for first was the Tigers—the team that’s currently 13 games out of the first place.


Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Dear Johnny, I love you.



            Everyone has things in life that they want to accomplish someday.  Mine includes traveling throughout Europe with my best friend, getting my dream job, and someday settling down with a hot, loving husband and some cute kids.  It’s the list I made when my biggest concern in life was whether I wanted to spend my afternoons playing dress-up or Barbies—cut me some slack people, I was eight. 
            When I started becoming a sports fan, I made another list.  A bucket list, if you will, of things or places I wanted to see or do—all pertaining to sports, of course.  See the Twins take on the Yankees in New York.  Head down to Arrowhead for the Mizzou-KU matchup in the fall.  Watch Gopher football at all the Big Ten stadiums.  Typical things that most sports fans tend to want to do.
            This past June, I crossed a big one off of my ‘grown-up’ list.  Attend the NCAA College World Series in Omaha, Nebraska.  Started in 1947, the CWS moved to Omaha in 1950 where it made its home in the ‘house that Johnny built’—Rosenblatt Stadium.  Next year, the series will be moved to the TD Ameritrade Park, a $143 million stadium currently being built in downtown Omaha.  So as the city—and baseball fans—prepared to say goodbye to the stadium on the hill, my friend and I decided that this would be the perfect year to make the trek.  Here are some of my highlights…


1) Choosing a team to cheer for.
             After the Gophers lost those heartbreaking games to Cal State-Fullerton in the Regionals, it was hard for me to pick a team to cheer for at the CWS.  As a college football fan, South Carolina, Florida, Florida State, and Oklahoma were out strictly on principle.  I couldn’t cheer for any of those teams.  The number one seed going into the tourney, Arizona State was also out because I was not about to jump on the #1 team’s bandwagon my first year at the CWS.  Just didn’t seem right. 
            Leaving Clemson, Texas Christian, and UCLA, I kicked off Clemson because I wasn’t too excited about wearing purple or orange for the whole weekend.  Yes, a girlie decision-making process but when you have no alliances, anything goes.  With just TCU and UCLA left, I was torn.  Choose the Horned Frogs and have Jesus on my side or go with my childhood dream school and be a Bruin for the weekend.  Ultimately, UCLA won out with us and lost the tournament to the Gamecocks—can’t win everything, right? 

2) Unsuccessfully stalking Dave Winfield.
            I’m slightly embarrassed to admit this but I stalked Dave Winfield in Omaha.  Unsuccessfully, of course but I did stalk him none-the-less.  Before the tournament started the NCAA put together a CWS Legends Team of college-athletes who had some of the best performances over the last 60 years and good old Davey was one of the 28 athletes chosen.  To be honest, I don’t even know if he was down in Omaha but I insisted on trying to find him (Barry Bonds made the trek, I found it hard to believe that Winfield wouldn’t show up).  Like I said, I never did find Dave.  But by asking every single person if they had seen him, I got to talk about my two favorite things—the Golden Gophers and the Minnesota Twins.  A successful addition to any baseball road trip!

3) Learning what a Sooner was.
            When the games got delayed because of weather—something we experienced everyday—Katie and I retreated to the comfort of our favorite beer tent right across the street from the stadium.  We made friends with fans from everywhere—a group of married UCLA guys in customized jerseys, a couple of middle-aged dads from Texas, a grandpa-father-son trio from Chicago (in White Sox jerseys, nonetheless).  Our favorite group, by far, were the three new dads from Texas who came to cheer on the Oklahoma Sooners and one of their brothers, closer Ryan Duke. 
            At some point during our conversation, I quietly admitted that I didn’t know what a Sooner was.  This did not go over well with our new Boomer Sooner fans and Katie and I were quickly enrolled in an OU education class.  A Sooner—as they bluntly put it—is a cheater.  When the west was being settled, a Sooner was someone who went out before they were supposed to and claimed land that they wanted before anyone else had the opportunity.  It doesn’t seem to be the most positive choice for a mascot but everyone we met from Oklahoma seemed to like it.  I mean, I cheer for a Golden Gopher.  Anything goes in college sports, I guess.
            In a way, my weekend in Omaha was perfect—fans from across the country all in one place to watch college baseball and at the same time say goodbye to one of sports’ greatest treasures.  Katie and I became ‘the girls from Minnesota’— we took our roll seriously and trash-talked every White Sox fan we saw and gave hugs and high-fives to everyone in a TC hat.  Yes, I will admit I never understood the appeal of the College World Series and Rosenblatt stadium until I went there and experienced it myself.  It really is a baseball-lover’s paradise.  And while I am sure that next year will be a different experience away from Rosenblatt, I plan on being there to soak in every crazy moment.  Maybe I’ll even try and stalk Dave Winfield again—I’ll just find out if he’s going to be there ahead of time. 


Friday, May 14, 2010

My Jersey-Chasing Rant


            People always give me weird looks when I start talking sports, my family included.  I’m not sure really sure why.  Maybe it’s simply because I’m a girl.  Or maybe it’s because I’m usually rocking heels and pageant hair—you know, the quintessential girlie-girl—when I start spouting of Twins history at the bar.  But stereotypes aside, I’m getting beyond frustrated at the idea that a girl can’t possibly know sports.
            It happened again today.  I was at the chiropractor nursing an injury I aggravated during my half-marathon last weekend.  My doctor and I started talking Twins baseball—how great the new stadium is, how we actually have a team that could take us pretty far this year if everyone stays healthy.  We joked about how signing Jacque was a smart move because most of our players are capable of backing up a different position so we could throw him anywhere in the outfield and be okay.  I commented that we would be in picture-perfect shape if we could convince Ramos to try-out third base, our seemingly only weak spot this year.  My doctor sighed and said that it was a real disappointment that we couldn’t get Crede off the DL—he had the potential to be a good player for us.
            But Crede isn’t on the DL.  He’s not even a Twin anymore.  As I explained what had happened to the former White Sox, I saw the look.  It wasn’t just from my doctor.  It was from the other patients in the rehab room as well.  I continued on about what had happened in the off-season, where he was now, etc. etc.—the whole time knowing full well that everyone in the room was listening to me.
            I know sports—more importantly, Twins baseball—and I’ve been called a jersey chaser more times than I’d like to count because of it.  To me, it’s probably the biggest insult I could get.  Criticize my hair or my outfit but call me a jersey chaser and you’re likely to make it on my shit list right away.  For people that know me, they know it’s the farthest thing from the truth.  Did I get excited when I saw Dan Gladden in the elevator in Kansas City?  Heck, yes.  That will never change.  But does that make me a jersey chaser?  Not a bit.  I’ll always be a girlie-girl and I’ll always know more about sports than most guys—it’s just who I am.  But watch it.  If you call me a jersey chaser, I may just have to embarrass you by proving how little you actually know about the Twins.  It’s happened before.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Returning the Favor

            Everything I know and love about baseball I learned from my dad.  A farm boy who grew up playing in the fields of southern Minnesota, my dad spent his adolescence hitting home runs and winning batting championships for the Waterville Buccaneers.  When I was a child he tried his hand at coaching, spending countless hours teaching me how to play the game in the shade of our backyard.  He showed me how to catch the ball, field a grounder, follow through on my swing, the same skills his father had taught to him years before on their family farm. 
            Baseball became our sport.  The youngest of four daughters, I was his last chance at having someone to share his passion with.  My older sisters had already turned him down and in a way I became the son he never had.  He truly loved everything about America’s pastime and he made sure that I loved it, too.  As I grew up, my Barbie dolls were slowly moved off their shelves in favor of Homer Hankies and autographed baseballs, my storybooks replaced by a baseball card collection.  Even through my teenage angst when my dad just seemed to be an embarrassment in my life, baseball was the one thing that kept us connected.
            Baseball is where my heart is.  As a Minnesota Twins fan, there was nothing better than the enchantment of the 1991 World Series, watching Kirby Puckett hit a walk-off home run in the bottom of the 11th to send the series to seven games.  The next night getting to see Jack Morris—quite possibly one of the best acquisitions Minnesota has ever made—throw a shut-out in Game 7 to help the Twins win their second world championship in five years.
            Of course being a fan comes with its share of disappointments.  This past season I watched in disbelief as umpire Phil Cuzzi stole an important hit from Joe Mauer during Game 2 of the ALDS, only to have Joe Nathan blow the save in the top of the ninth with a two-run homer by Alex Rodriguez.  It was a painful loss, ending the season with a sweep by the Yankees.  But it still had been a great year for the Twins, one of those keep-you-on-the-edge-of-your-seat seasons that every fan—and sportswriter—lives for.
            Retiring the Metrodome and moving outside to beautiful Target Field definitely helped ease the pain from last season’s early exit.  Today I got to take my dad to his first game at the new ballpark, something I’ve been waiting to do since the season opened on April 12th.  See, everything that my dad loves about baseball he learned from his dad.  They used to make the two-hour drive up to the cities a couple times a summer to watch the Minneapolis Miller play at Nicollet Park, the same field my grandpa played on during the high school state championships.  When the Millers moved down to Metropolitan Field, my grandpa and my dad followed—welcoming the Minnesota Twins with open arms the day Calvin Griffith announced he was moving the team to the cities.  My grandpa only made it through a few years at the Metrodome before he passed away in 1986.  As I walked my dad around the stadium today, it made me realize how lucky I was to be able to share that moment with him.
            To be honest, I think he was most impressed by the limestone—I could barely get him inside the gate, he was so mesmerized.  We walked around the outside of the ballpark for a while so he get a good look at the construction—I’m pretty sure he was hoping to run into someone who knew how they had gotten the stone textured.  That’s just how my dad is.  As we were exploring, we passed a wall displaying the baseball cards of all the players past and present.  He knew everyone, every detail.  This guy had a no-hitter, this guy died of cancer.  It was like walking back in time throughout my dad’s entire life, the whole thing on display right in front of him. 
            The Twins ended up beating the White Sox 3-2.  It wasn’t the most exciting game—Alex Rios stole a homerun from Michael Cuddyer and Denard Span had some good at bats.  Typical day in baseball.  Luckily for me, none of that mattered.  I had gotten to take my dad to his first game at Target Field, keeping it all in the family.  Because if you hadn’t guessed, my dad was the one who took me to my first game at the Metrodome.  It was time for me to return the favor.


Friday, April 9, 2010

Chicago or Bust....




          My morning started off fine.  Up at 5:15, ready to go at 6… but then I started forgetting things and couldn’t figure out how to pack up my suitcase and before I knew it, it was 6:35 and I had a seven o’clock bus to catch downtown.  Yup, you guessed right.  I missed it.  Literally a block away as I see the bus pulling away from the sidewalk.  I didn’t panic or start to cry, which honestly surprised me—it’s a typical emotion for me when things start to fall apart.  But I must have put my big girl pants on this morning because I just turned around, walked back to my car, and sat there until I figured out what I was going to do.
            A quick check on Southwest Airline’s website and I had my game plan set—a 10:40 flight out of Minneapolis to Midway for as cheap as I could get it.  I was prepared to beg the counter lady at the airport if need be.  My friend Katie had already sent me a text, asking if I had made the bus okay.  The mom in her, she said.  I laughed, because while that was true I tend to be the most irresponsible one in the group so check-ups are a must when we are all traveling together.  No, I responded quickly, adding that she shouldn’t worry and that I will be there to meet her in Chicago. 
            The train was actually pretty quick and before I knew it, I was at Lindbergh Terminal.  Lindbergh, big.  Humphrey, little, I reminded myself as I stepped off onto the platform.  I hurried through the tram and up to ticketing where I stood for a good five minutes trying to find Southwest’s counter.  Delta, United, US Airways, I read over and over again.  No Southwest, seriously?  A quick check at the Information Booth and I was redirected over to Humphrey Terminal—the little one—by a very sweet white-haired lady who never once made me feel like a failure for going to wrong airport, bless her heart.
            I had plenty of time to kill, since my bus left at 7 and my plane didn’t leave until 10:40 so I stopped in the ladies room.  Found $23 on the floor.  No lie.  I thought it was just a dollar bill folded up, but when I picked it up it was actually a huge wad of cash.   So it’s only 8 o’clock in the morning and so far I’ve missed my bus, gone to the wrong airport, and found $23.  Seriously?
            I made it to Humphrey, which is not nearly as fun as going to the big terminal.  There’s no hustle-and-bustle or bad fast-food places to enjoy.  In fact, it was so quiet I was actually able to take a nap in the hard metal seats.  My alarm went off right before they started boarding so I quickly got in line right as my dad started calling me.
            Whatcha doing, he wanted to know.  I whispered that I was on my way to Chicago and that I would call him when I got there.  Are you driving, he continued unaware that I was trying to keep the call short and to the point.  Yes, I lied.  How was I going to explain to my parents that I missed my bus and was now taking a one-way flight to Chicago just so I could make it to the Twins series?  Well, be careful, he cautioned.  My mom quickly got on the phone and reminded me of all the things I shouldn’t do when I’m down there.  Don’t walk alone, don’t go anywhere with strangers, don’t get arrested because you know your father will not drive down to Chicago to bail you out.  Check, check, and check I assured her.
            Unaware that Southwest now has what I like to call ‘general admission seating’, I spent a good five minutes looking over my ticket again and again trying to find my seat number.  You just sit anywhere, a guy behind me offered as I expressed my concern for not finding a seat number.  Oh.  Another red mark to add to what was supposed to be a pretty uneventful day.  So now it’s 11:40.  I’m sitting next to a couple sporting University of Michigan attire and a nun.  In full dress.  The flight attendant is being extra nice to her, no doubt trying to score some extra points with the big guy.
            We’re starting to descend.  I’m being told to put my computer away.  But don’t worry, I’ll be able to finish this at Midway.  I’ve got about nine hours to kill until Katie’s plane arrives in Chicago.  At O’Hare.  Yup, that will be the fourth airport I’ve visited today.  But it’s all in the name of love.  For the Twins, of course.  All of this will be a distant memory when Big Jim hits a home-run on his old turf this weekend—sort of a little ‘hi, I’ve missed you’ present for Ozzie.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Bienvenidos, Jaime!

I’ve already bestowed a nickname on our new acquisition Jim Thome. Jaime. It’s the Spanish equivalent of James and it’s what my family calls my dad after he has a few too many margaritas. Yes, I’m welcoming Jaime like he’s a part of my own family. Why, you ask? Well, don’t get me wrong, I fully appreciate Jason Kubel and his accomplishments this past season. But when I’m given the opportunity to add even more power to a somewhat lacking bench, I’m going to go along with it. Jaime has 57 home runs against the Twins and with the majority of the closers in the American League being right-handers, it can’t hurt to add one more lefty to our roster.

And let’s be honest, watching the Sox fans squirm uncomfortably in their seats as Jaime steps up to bat in a Twins jersey will definitely be a highlight this season. And even though I nearly cried when Thome hit a homer to knock the Twins out of the play-offs in 2008, I think I will be able to forgive-and-forget that little upset if Thome can deliver while on the road in Chicago .

Ironically as I’m writing this FSN is replaying Game 163—it’s as if the baseball gods decided to grant Minnesota a few hours of reprieve from mourning by blessing us with an encore of one of the decades best games. And even though I know what I happens, I can’t help but get excited. It’s a little embarrassing, sitting here in the WCCO newsroom hyped up about a game that already happened. But I feel like I never got a chance to celebrate—the Twins left the next day for New York and well, we all know how that turned out. So this is my celebration. And now I’ve got it DVR’ed in case I need to watch it after the Gophers fail to make NCAA tournament. Here’s hoping I don’t need it.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Goodbye 2009, Hello 2010.

I know it isn’t healthy to live in the past but 2009 went by way too quickly.  I still haven’t grasped the idea that it is nearly the end of January and since I don’t write checks, I haven’t even written out the new year yet.  Yes, I’m still living like it’s last year.  And why not?  It was a good year.  I celebrated my 23rd birthday on the beach in Mazatlan, ran my first half-marathon, watched the Twins win at Wrigley, and was genuinely pretty happy.  Yup, looking back 2009 was a pretty decent year.

2010 is off to a rocky start, mostly because of the Vikings.  Yes, like the majority of Minnesotans I drank the purple kool-aid this season and was rather devastated yesterday when we lost to the Saints in overtime.  We practically handed them the win—the last minute of the game was the worst.  I have never had more emotions rage through me in such a short period of time.  But I think I’m going to be okay—as long as I can avoid ESPN until after the Super Bowl.  Win or lose, it still was a good season—something the Vikings haven’t had in a while.

Now that the Vikings are done for the year, I’m already looking forward to spring and the start of the Twins’ season.  It’s been a pretty quiet off-season so I’m hoping something comes up here in the next few weeks—an extension on Joe Mauer, perhaps?  I know that would make the mourning Vikings fans a lot happier.  And if things go the way I have them planned out, I’ll get to watch the boys get ready for the new stadium at spring training in Fort Myers.  I haven’t worked out the details yet but my piggy bank has already been designated towards the trip.  I’ll get there, even if its one penny at a time. 



My sister and me up bright and early for our first half-marathon.