Random Thought #7123

My longtime friend, Matt , in fact he may be my oldest friend (in terms of number of years we've been friends, not because he's eight days older than me), posted this comment on a previous post about me...

By the way you were in my dream last night and the night before. In the one last night we were hanging out and you were relaxing by doing gymnastics with those hanging-down strap things, whatever they're called. I was wondering if you were into golf and you said you were but wanted to do something more challenging while you were still young.

I think you mean I was doing the rings, Matt. Anyway, this is very funny to me. I continue to laugh outloud as I think about it.

And this got me thinking about dreams. My dreams are not very funny. They're weird of course, but not noteworthy. I mean me doing the rings and/or playing golf is funny shit, especially given my comment about challenging myself while I'm young.

My last dream that I remember involved a bunch of people I know showing up late for a race. The only twist being that usually I dream that I am the one who is late for the race or hasn't trained. Now I'm dreaming it's other people with this problem. Not all that funny or interesting of dream, even with the lame twist.

So now I wonder, just like some people are funnier than other people. Are some people innately funnier dreamers. Do serious people have really silly Animal House-type dreams? Or does it go the other the way? The funnier you are, the funnier your dreams? Matt is one funny guy. My dreams are run-of-the-mill. I guess I'll hang up my career as class clown and become an archivist or something.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF

Bonser.

Twins rule.

That's Mr. Fart Face to You

When I see kids at work with articulation disorders, the goal is to make them intelligible, right? But after a conversation I had on Friday with a completely intelligible eight year-old, I'm not sure if this is a great idea.

On Friday I am the only person at work, besides our office manager. This makes for a quiet waiting room. So at 2 p.m. I went down the hall to get a kid we'll call Little Johnnie (because that is the name every speech therapist uses to describe a generic kid, or to not reveal a kid's identity). There was no one in the waiting room except for Little Johnnie, who is three and some kid I'd never seen before, but looked to be about eight. He was playing with a Rescue Hero. This was our conversation:

Me: Hey Little Johnnie, where's your mom?

Little Johnnie: Dahtare. (translation: "She is downstairs with my older brother, parking the van.")

Me: Oh. And who'd you bring with you?

Little Johnnie: Dit ded pen kjajbihbbassjb (translation: "This is my older brother's friend, kjajbihbbassjb")

kjajbihbbassjb: "Are you the speech teacher?"

Me: "Yes I am."

kjajbihbbassjb: "Fart face!!"

At this point kjajbihbbassjb spiked the rescue hero and ran out of the waiting room, crashed into the main door to the suite on his way out, and then sprinted down the hall. I could hear him laughing as he ran off.

I never did find out what kjajbihbbassjb's real name was (the close reader will have noted that Little Johnnie has some articulation issues), and apparently kjajbihbbassjb never found out what mine was.

Twins Rule

Open letter to all the crazed Spurs fans back home who read this: Jump on the Twins bandwagon. You will like the Twins for every reason you think the Spurs rule (small town market, classy organization, likeable players who give great efforts, they win a lot, they're super scrappy...)

If you need to do some research, begin with Eric Neel's story about the Mojo Index. It is so very funny, even if you're not a baseball fan. At the very least, scroll down to read about the Twins' mojo. Specifically the "Boof" factor is funny. And Neel's praise for Brad Radke is right on the money. Click here to read the article.

And no wonder the Twins couldn't win tonight. It looks like the Sports Illustrated cover jinx is in effect. Even so, it's a good read. Click here to check it out. It's about Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau's downtown condo. Other than an odd use of the bold face type, it's a pretty good read.

I have never ever seen a regular season like this by any team I have ever followed in any sport. And I have followed a lot of sports for a lot of years.

My earliest memory of baseball goes back to watching the Texas Rangers play the Toronto Blue Jays when I was six years old on a black and white TV in my bedroom. I'm sure I watched other games before that, but this is the earliest I recall.

The first football game I remember was the Cowboys victory over the Denver Broncos in Super Bowl XII (1978). I was still six. I remember being very confused. Were those robots playing or real people? The shoulder pads and helmets really threw me for a loop. I think I finally decided the players were people until they put their helmets on, and then they became robots. And those weird red thingies that were in the end zone were freaking me out (now I know they are called pylons and they're really nothing to be freaked out by).

Rumor has it I was born with my face painted silver and black, but that is not true. I do remember watching my first Spurs game on TV. I was quite young. This game predates any other sport I watched. I don't remember much, but I can tell you the Spurs lost to the Phoenix Suns (shit or was it the hated Houston Rockets?). My mom let me know a week in advance the game would be on, and I was so excited. And then I was crestfallen. I couldn't believe the good guys could actually lose. That's now how it went down on Mighty Mouse. My only other memory of the game was wanting to pretend like I was one of the Spurs on TV. I really had a hard time doing this though, because all the players were either black or were white guys with long hair and mustaches. I think I finally settled on Billy "The Whopper" Paultz. He was clean shaven.

That's many years of sports viewing. That includes three NBA titles by the Spurs and four Super Bowl titles for the Cowboys (I was too young--as in four months old--to notice their first Super Bowl title). And in all those years wasted watching sports, this year's Twins have the most amazing regular season I have ever followed. Let me summarize.

Here is their pitching staff right now. A Cy Young/MVP candidate for pitcher followed by four big question marks. One big questions is a veteran who pulls himself out of games when his tummy hurts and who, until two starts ago, was having his worst year ever. The other three startes are all rookies who are learning as they go.

Their other rookie pitcher was a Rookie of the Year and a Cy Young candidate, until a still undiagnosed elbow injury knocked him out for the season (paging Tommy John to the OR).

They have a guy named Boof Bonser.

The local hometown hero is leading the majors in batting as a freaking catcher. The last time a catcher won the AL batting title was like 1903 or something. Or maybe it some catcher named Org or Captain Caveman hitting rocks out of the cave back in the days of Neandrathal Baseball.

Their shortstop and third baseman were thrust into the staring line-up halfway through the season.

They might end up with a) the Cy Young award winner b) an MVP, c) three guys with 100+ RBIs, and d) two guys with 30+ homers. All on one of the tiniest budgets in major league baseball.

Brad Radke.

The ghost of Kirby Puckett.

Two months ago everyone in this town had written them off as done for the season. Was it just five weeks ago they were 11 back of Detroit?

How many lives does this team have? How many story lines? It is extraordinary. Can anyone name a team that has a season that matches this? Has anyone read this all the way to the end?

Currently Residing In the "Where Are They Now?" File

If anyone asks you, "Whatever happened to that band Quiet Riot?" you can tell them "They're stuck in Mike N's head."

Let me explain. Autumn has settled in quite quickly here in Minnesota, and we have had lows in the 40s (I think) and highs in the 60s. It is great weather. I truly believe this weather stimulates the adreneline gland. People are at their happiest, liveliest, and most alert when the weather is like this, even when I was growing up in Texas.

But unfortunately for me (or fortunately, depending on how much you like Quiet Riot's hit/cover of "Cum on Feel the Noize"), this weather brings specific memories back. In sixth grade I went to the high school football games with my friend from up the block. To get us pumped enough to face the prospect of talking to girls for the next three hours at the football game, we'd listen to some tapes.

As an aside, what this really meant was I ended up going to the game and watched my friend talk to girls for three hours. Meanwhile I sat there quietly and awkwardly. I was completely lost in terms of knowing how to act cool, as up to that point, my only models of "cool" were Snoopy (Joe Cool) and Fonzie. So I bored quickly of watching girls dote on my friend, and ended up being the only kid in the stands who was actually watching the game. Woe is me.

But back to the music. My friend tolerated my pre-game selection of "Tom Sawyer" by Rush and grew to like KISS' "Detroit Rock City." But what really got him fired up (and me too, I must admit) was to crank up "Cum On Feel the Noize." That was the last song we'd listen to before one of our mom's drove us to the game.

So we must have had a particuarly cold fall that year, because now whenever the weather hits 60 degrees, I feel like I am 12 years-old again, meaning I'm even bonier and even more gangly than I am now. I have wavy shoulder length hair, making strangers wonder if I am an awkward pre-pubescent boy or a really ugly girl. I am in my friend's bedroom, and that godawful song "Cum On the Feel the Noize" is blaring out of his boombox. I am wearing my sister's hand-me-down concert tee from The Who's "It's Hard" tour. I am the only person in south Texas who thinks this is a cool t-shirt.

I can't say these are bad memories. But they're not fond memories, either. I wouldn't mind having to relive them as much as I do, except for one thing: For as long as I live in Minnesota, "Cum On Feel the Noize" will pretty much be stuck in my head 24/7 from mid-Septemeber to late November.

Having Your Statistical Cake and Eating It Too

Tonight New York Yankee's shortstop Derek Jeter extended his hitting streak to 23 games. What that means to you non-baseball rubes is he has at least one in each of the last 23 games that got him to first base and beyond.

Or does it? A few nights ago he went to bat three times and walked all three times. He technically never got a hit. But he also technically never had an at-bat. He had three plate appearances, yes, but walks don't count statistically as an at-bat (I don't think errors or sacrifice flies count either). So his hitting streak continues even though he never had a hit in that game because he technically never had an at-bat.

Lame.

And now for lamer than lame. Beloved Twin Michael Cuddeyer "hit" his 100th run batted in (RBI) tonight in the Twins over the Cleveland Indian. Way to go Cuddy! He truly is having the kind of year we Twins fans have been waiting for him to have the last three years. So how did he get this landmark RBI? He drew a bases-loaded walk. In baseball statistics a bases-loaded walk counts as an run BATTED in.

And now for the lamest. Let's say a batter is riding a 30 game hitting streak and has 99 RBIs going into the next game. It is possible for him to draw three walks and not get a hit, but still keep his 30 game hitting streak alive. Lame. And if one of those three walks happens to be a bases-loaded walk, he gets his 100th RBI. And lamest of all: this means he gets credit for batting in a run even though he also gets credit for never being at bat.

Open letter to Emily: Try and explain this logic and you pass the Mike Nawrocki PhD. Prelims.