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. 

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.

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 11^th 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 12^th.  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.

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.

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.

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 23^rd 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.

'Tis the season to be thankful...

            I've never a big Thanksgiving person.  I'm just not a big fan of the holiday.  I mean, I love the family time and the football but the food just doesn't do it for me--which is surprising because that seems to be everyone else's favorite part.  I mean, I love cranberries but that's about it.  Even pumpkin pie doesn't excite me that much. 
            But even though I'm not a big fan of the holiday, I’ve still been spending a lot of time lately making a mental list of things I’m thankful for in life.  I’m not sure if it is because so many things have changed in the last year or because I feel like I’m finally on the right path… but for whatever reason, the list is there.
            It, of course, starts with my families.  Yes, my families.  I have two.  I have my family-family... my mom and dad, my three older sisters and my brother-in-law.  That's my family, the one I grew up with and celebrate holidays with.  Then I have my second family.  The Bollettieris.  Joe, Jill, and my two adorable little brothers who never get themselves into trouble.  Ha.  
            Just a short step behind my family is my friends.  Well, more specifically my girlfriends because they are quite possibly the most amazing group of ladies I've ever gotten a chance to spend time with.  Somehow we are all completely different but when we are together, the differences are hardly noticeable.  They are my lifers, the girls I can call in the middle of the night when the dreams seem too real and I can't take it anymore.  They are also the ones who will close down the bar on any given night just because we are young and we can.  Yes, they are amazing.
            Thirdly, I'm thankful for the Twins.  This summer was one of the best and worst of my life and when things started to go downhill, I had the Twins to keep me distracted.  My life revolves around baseball season and I cannot wait for March for it to all start over again.
            Obviously, there is more in my life that I'm thankful for.  I'm thankful that I can jump on the treadmill and run five miles whenever I feel like it.  I'm thankful that I dream big and have high expectations for myself.  Yes, life is good--mostly because of the people in my life.
So tomorrow when you are sitting around the table with the people you love most make your own mental list.  It doesn't matter how long or how short it is--it just matters that you are thankful for something.

Iowa... The Land of Mullets and Hawkeye Football

        On Thursday night, I did something I’ve never done before.   I cut a mullet.  No, not on myself.  It was my friend Ryan.  He had decided that he wanted a mullet in honor of our road trip to Iowa City and somehow I became the one holding the clippers. 

         I did… okay.  There was one minor slip-up on his sideburn but other than that, it turned out looking pretty good.  I mean, as good as a mullet can look.  It’s funny because he didn’t even stand out in Iowa.  No one—except the Minnesota fans—even commented on his hair.  I guess that’s just how it is in Iowa—mullets and Hawkeye football.

         There was a moment during the drive down Friday night when I thought, maybe the Gophers could pull this off.  Brewster hadn’t produced a big win yet and Iowa had just lost to Northwestern and Ohio State.  There was a chance.  Granted, it was a very slim chance but if Adam Weber could pull it together we may be able to do something offensively.  Ha.

         Obviously, by now you know we got shut out.  In fact, the only good thing we did the entire game was block a field goal.  It was still cool to get inside of Kinnick Stadium, the third Big Ten stadium I’ve been to.  Somehow my best friend and I ended up with sweet seats—just five rows up from the 20-yard line—right in the midst of all of the Gopher fans.  And even though the game itself was awful, we still had a great time.

         It looks like next year I’ll be able to hit up Purdue, Michigan State, and Illinois—three more stadiums to cross of the my list.  That just leaves Ohio State, Northwestern, Penn State, and Indiana—meaning I will have visited all of the Big Ten stadiums by the end of the 2012 season.  Yikes. 

        I added in a few photos from the trips… Halfsies—two Gopher fans and two Iowa fans—up with the sun for some Saturday football… Lil Nigel II and his warning sign…  Mr. Ryan Kelly and the infamous mullet.  Some of us also made the local news... KCRG Iowa Football Video  Yes, that is me talking a mean game to some Iowa fans.  My mom must be so proud.

Hometown Hero Turns AL MVP

           I was having a serious case of the Mondays until I was reminded that the American League MVP was going to be announced today.  Honestly I have been waiting for this day since the Yankees won the World Series and it’s just like to me to completely forget once the day finally gets here.  Thankfully, a quick stop on Facebook this morning reminded me of the day’s importance (thanks, Andrea) and suddenly my day didn’t look so dreary.  It was as if the clouds parted and the sun came streaming down.  Well, not really but it kind of felt that way. 

            See, I’m still recovering from my weekend in Iowa City—outdoor football in November equals running nose, watery eyes, lots of sneezing.  Pretty much the start to my yearly ‘Thanksgiving weekend cold’.  Like clockwork, every November I get sick.  And this morning was especially bad.  No sleep, an 8 a.m. meeting with my advisor, dreary sky.  Thankfully, my day turned around after a certain hometown boy was announced as the AL MVP—the fifth Minnesota Twin to win the honor.

            Catcher Joe Mauer now shares the honor with Minnesota Twins shortstop Zoilo Versalles and first basemen Harmon Killebrew, Rod Carew, and Justin Morneau—not too shabby, if you ask me.  Unfortunately, there hasn’t been much time to celebrate his accomplishment because it seems all anyone can focus on is how long he’ll stay in a Twins uniform.  Granted, I’m as desperate for a contract extension as the next fan but how ‘bout a little time to celebrate, to brag about the fact that we have MVPs batting third and fourth in our line-up? 

            After tomorrow’s National League MVP announcement, the 2009 baseball season will truly be over.  Then it is under four months until spring training—I just wish the Twins organization would hurry up and release their Grapefruit League schedule.  Gotta start planning my spring break down in Fort Myers.  J

Off-Season Blues

         I’m starting to think that baseball off-season is harder for fans than it is for the players.  See, last week after the excitement of the World Series had died down one of my favorite Twins players was outrighted to Triple A-Rochester after clearing waivers.  Honestly, I had no idea what this meant but I knew it couldn’t be good.  A quick Google search and I soon realized my assumptions were right—the Twins were letting Justin Huber go.  Sigh.

         To be honest, I’ve never paid that much attention to what happens during the off-season.  But after leaving Minnesota to play winter ball in Venezuela, I decided to keep tabs on Justin in hopes that his progress down south would gain him a permanent spot on the Twins 40-man.  He was called up in September after Justin Morneau’s back injury pulled him off first base but due to his own injury hadn’t seen very much playing time making this winter league very important.  Sink or swim time, I suppose you could say. 

         I guess I was just under the assumption that he would go back to Rochester, wait until the Twins needed him, and then head back to Minneapolis to slug away at the new Target Field.  Obviously, my understanding of baseball transactions was way off.  Justin won’t be back to play for the Twins this year, in Minnesota or in Rochester.  His contract was sold to another team—the Hiroshima Carp.  Yup, that’s right.  Japan.

         Justin isn’t the only player who won’t be back to break-in the new stadium and I’m sure we’ll lose a few more in the months to come.  It is just hard to lose players after the amazing season we had.  It truly was one I’ll always remember.  I just wish the next few months would fly by so it would be time for spring training to start and I could head down to Fort Myers to cheer on my favorite team.  Baseball in Florida in the middle of March?  Yes, please.

--The other night when I needed a Twins fix I found some awesome videos of the Twins on mlb.com.  This is Alexi Casilla's winning hit in the bottom of the 12th.  Try and not get excited for next year while watching it, I dare you.

http://mlb.mlb.com/media/video.jsp?content_id=7017837