Insomnia Report Sports Edition: The sinister and ill-mannered Minnesota Twins have been given a sound thrashing by the doughty Oakland Athletics...

Above: one of the villians being cheered on by the Mongol hordes...


Here in my humble corner of North America, we are in the early stages of an epic sporting contest. On one side we have arrayed what I like to call “The Forces Of Evil”; a band of brigands so lowly and amoral that I quail at even mentioning their name. Ladies of sound character read this site, after all, and my conscience would be troubled if I knew that I was the one who first exposed these delicate creatures to the sinkhole of beastliness sometimes known as “the Minnesota Twins”. So if you are reading this and you happen to be of the womanish persuasion, please cover your eyes. For it is my fear that the corrupt perniciousness of these dismal blue-clad ne’er-do-wells is such that it threatens your chastity and heavenly goodness even when discussed in a purely expository manner. Heed my words, she-readers, and shield your precious and pure essences from the rudeness of these purveyors of gutter baseball.

Now, allow me to appraise the men-folk of the nature of the problem. There is Joe Mauer, a pretty boy and a master of the dark, ancient and forbidden art of “Tai Bo”. There is Brad Radke, a frightening figure of unprecedented malice who has long been rumored to be a brain-sucking space alien from the planet Xyraxxx. As if this wasn’t enough horror, these sociopathic fiends are led by one Ron Gardenhire, a man-eating yeti who has somehow mastered the rudiments of the English tongue. The one member of their uncouth alliance who a gentleman can play a civilized game of chess with, Johan Santana, is actually a dread overlord in the mold of Darth Vader. You see, there was much good in Johan once, way back before he was lured to the dark side by the ancient, withered, unspeakably foul Emperor Pohlad. Now, however, he is the most formidable opponent we face, and we cannot afford to let ourselves be cowed by a sentimental concern that he may, in fact, be our father.

Luckily for the future of humanity, there stands a team of noble warriors willing to say “no” to these knaves and their unholy plot to run roughshod over America’s pastime. These “Athletics”, as they are known, hail from the beautiful city of Oakland, on California’s sunny shores, and they are widely-heralded for their decency and fine manners. Among their sterling ranks is the debonair pitcher Barry “The Barrister” Zito, a fellow who doesn’t let his sports-playing obligations interfere with his quest to find a cure for cancer. Also on the side of valor is second baseman Eric Chavez, who I’m told has been shortlisted for this year’s Nobel Peace Prize for his work bringing an end to the hostilities in the Congo. Finally, I would be remiss if I neglected to mention Marco Sucaro, whose batting ability is matched only by the beauty of his lyric poetry. Together they form a plucky bunch, totally unpretentious and wholesome, although they do from time to time indulge in practical jokes and amusing pratfalls.

Earlier today was the first sortie in the grudge-match between these two adversaries. And what a chilling exhibition it was! Seldom in the history of human affairs have the stakes of a baseball series been so high. For if the angelic “Athletics” win, history will truly enter into a stage of universal peace and goodwill. However, if the victory belongs to the despicable “Twins”, we will be plunged into a second Dark Age of superstition, violence and random cruelty. Much like Mad Max, only a million times worse, if you can even imagine that. So, predictably, I was on the edge of my seat through the entire contest, which—distressingly enough—took place in the nightmarish white bubble of noise and fatty pig products that the “Twins” claim as their “home field”. Until the good guys carried the hour and seized an unquestionable win from the jaws of despair, I was filled with dread visions that one awful day, not so far in the future, the whole world will look like this so-called “Metrodome”, and puppies will be outlawed, and kindness will be punishable by a stiff fine, and ladies will behave in an unladylike manner, and chocolate will start to taste like witches’ poo, and Joe Mauer will be on the one dollar bill, and I can’t get a loan as easily as my credit score would indicate.

But, fortunately, this awful scenario did not come to pass. The wretched “Twins” were helpless against the virtue and ball-playing skills of their righteous West Coast foes. And so my soul sings like a hummingbird until their next face-off, at which point I will become all piggly-wiggly with emotion once more...