Special to Page 2
Editor's note: In her alter ego as Batgirl, Anne Ursu chronicles the wins and the losses and the comings and the goings of the Minnesota Twins. Since her team trails the White Sox by nine games, she is naturally quite excited about the acquisition of Bret Boone.
Oh, there is much rejoicing throughout Minnesotaland, for Bret Boone is on his way to town and is here to save us. Yes, Bret Boone will saunter into the Minnesota Twins clubhouse (where light-hitting second basepeople can feel at home!TM) with his mighty bat and his trusty glove and he will save us -- not just from the gaping maw of our nine-game division deficit, but from ourselves.
Bret Boone will make it all better. He will provide a veteran's presence to a struggling team. He will be a soothing influence on our absentminded, emotionally fragile, easily-startled infielders. He will add a seasoned bat to a lineup comprised of Triple-A refugees, braces-mouthed barely-legals, and free-swinging spaz monkeys.
Bret Boone will show us the way. He will awaken the long-dormant seeds of promise inside Luis Rivas. He will help Matt LeCroy with his base-stealing techniques. He will teach Justin Morneau how to stare blankly at pitches outside of the strike zone. He will find who slipped the steroids into Juan Rincon's strawberry milkshake. He will get Joe Mauer a better haircut. He will give twitchy closer Joe Nathan a hug and tell him it's all going to be OK.
With his help, the Minnesota Twins will receive the people's ovation and fame forever!
Bret Boone will bring down our enemies! With one squinty-eyed stare, he will destroy the fragile egos of Mark Buehrle and Jon Garland, turning them into quivering masses of self-doubt. He will send the larcenous Scott Podsednik into a devastating shame spiral. He will convince Ken Williams to bring Roberto Alomar out of retirement to help his old team. He will motivate Frank Thomas to leave baseball for a career in conflict resolution.
Yes, my friends, Bret Boone will bring the White Sox to their knees!
Bret Boone will change things around here! He'll swoop into the Minnesota legislature and negotiate a stadium bill that enlivens the community, feeds disadvantaged puppies and gives us a ballpark that doesn't completely suck. He'll make the Kansas City Royals get real baseball uniforms. He'll lock Lou Piniella, Frank Robinson and Kenny Rogers up in a room with an anger management therapist and won't let them out till they're holding hands and singing "You Can Call Me Al."
He'll stuff Tom Cruise in a burlap sack and leave him in Tropicana Field for the buzzards to eat. He'll bring the Valerie Plame leaker to justice. He'll make Lindsay Lohan dye her hair back to the way it was and maybe even eat a sandwich. He'll unite humanity in love and harmony. He'll remove all recollections of "Bewitched" from the public's consciousness.
And when the aliens come -- oh! When the aliens come with their big scary robot tripods with the pea-green claws and evapo-rays and indestructo-shields, when the aliens and their tripods hunt us all down in our basements one by one, taking us into their evil tripod lair and harvesting our blood and turning us into fertilizer, because that's the kind of sick creeps these aliens are -- Bret Boone will take his mighty bat and hit a grenade square into the tripod's noggin -- POW! Right in the kisser! And the tripod will explode, and then Bret Boone will pick us up in his big strong (though not quite as strong as they used to be) Bret Boone arms and carry us off into the bright new tomorrow, where we will watch the tripods fall while Morgan Freeman tells us the aliens all got killed off by, like, bad sushi.