I learned an important lesson tonight.
There is no night that is so bad that it can't be made just a little bit worse with a humiliating loss to the worst team in baseball.
I think the kiss of death came when I thought quietly and secretly inside my head "Well, at least the Twins are winning."
In hindsight, that was a very risky thought to think...even quietly and secretly. It did not turn out well, obviously. I am, however, very glad that I only thought "At least the Twins are winning" as opposed to "At least my hair isn't on fire," or "At least the Earth's crust hasn't cracked open and swallowed my house into the molten abyss." I'll count my blessings, I guess.
On the bright side, at least none of our pitchers got Prince Fieldered. Seriously, watching the footage of that fight, if Manny Parra didn't wet himself a little when 3-times-his-size Prince came at him, I lose my bet. Terrifying! (However, even if he DID wet himself, he could always write it off as "Manny peeing Manny.")
Dear Nick Punto,
I'm not joking around about this, and I'm not giving you a choice.
Just do it, OK?
You're creeping me out.