“It’s a long season, you know, and we’re going to right the ship,” millionaire Joe Mauer said today from a hot tub deep in the bowels of Target Field after Monday’s 7-1 season opening victory over the Kansas City Royals.
“Fans know what to expect from us; we’ve lost our last nine season openers. When we take the field, we want them to watch us and say ‘Wow, these guys play like a bunch of peglegs.’ What you saw yesterday was not Twins baseball. We’re going to get the schooner pointed in the correct direction.”
The Minnesota Twins return twenty of twenty five players from last year’s team, which lost 103 games.
“We’ve just got to focus. We’re like a clipper that is going sideways.”
Many in the locker room believe the club can replicate the massive failure of 2016, and then some.
“Talking to the guys on the ‘poop deck,’ which is what I call the locker room, we all came to a general agreement that, as professional ball players raking in all this booty—doubloons, pearls, golden chalices—we owe it to ourselves to really blow that 103 number out of the water. Many of us believe we could be mathematically eliminated from the playoffs just after the All-Star break. Yeeeaaarrrgh,” said Mauer.
When asked if catching the 1962 Mets, a team that lost 120 games, was possible, Mauer had this to say: “We’ve got all these parrots in here. And look, there’s a chest full of gold. While you’re at it, visit Mauer Chevrolet.”
Mauer’s brother has a car dealership.
“International waters, that’s where it’s at, man,” Mauer went on. “Nobody owns the ocean. You can do whatever you want out there,” he said, devilishly petting a parrot that he had corralled.
Mauer was then informed that this article sucked and had wandered hopelessly from any sort of cogent or sensible conclusion.
“I wish to be a pirate,” he said, holding a hand over his face, pretending it was an eye patch.
It’s been a rough week for perfect Minnesotans. The superior breed is really letting Blair Walsh have it after the Vikings kicker missed a 27-yard field goal near the end of the team’s 10-9 loss to the Seattle Seahawks. Here are thoughts on Blair Walsh from people who have never made a (televised) mistake in their lives:
“Kickers make that 27-yarder 99% of the time. People are going to remember this for years to come,” said a cow milker who one time couldn’t figure out how to open a condom wrapper, and instead of using the 99% effective rubber birth control device, decided to have unprotected sex and now has to make child support payments for years to come.
“I could have made that,” claimed a vending machine repairman, whose bathroom floor is puddled with urine that never made it into the toilet.
“He stinks,” said an out-of-work dog whisperer who never learned to wipe properly and is perpetually surrounded by a faint poopy smell.
“Little purple gnome miss point and I mad,” said a camouflage enthusiast who does not fully understand English, his first and only language.
“He didn’t focus,” observed a fast food connoisseur who bit her own finger off after thinking it was part of a batch of chicken fries.
“I like to drag my ass on the carpet. Like a dog,” said a guy who likes to drag his ass on the carpet like a dog.
From The Sports Desk—————-Over the weekend, a multitude of NFL teams drafted heterosexual men, franchises including the Houston Texans, St. Louis Rams, Jacksonville Jaguars, Buffalo Bills, Oakland Raiders, Atlanta Falcons, Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Cleveland Browns, Minnesota Vikings, Detroit Lions, Tennessee Titans, and New York Giants, as well as every other organization in the league.
After months of analyzing, speculating, and debating, each team looked at its personnel needs and took into account every available player’s potential, skills, knowledge of the rules and strategy related to American football, attitude, discipline, size, 40-yard dash time, bench press, vertical, personality, criminal record, mental health, vision, weight, height, body fat percentage, and collegiate performance, seemingly with little regard to the fact that the near majority of athletes chosen were sexually attracted to women.
Draft analysts are still searching for evidence as to whether preference for intercourse with female genitalia or a man’s rectum, or both, is of any relation to performance on an NFL gridiron. It takes a dedicated, mentally-tough individual to show up every Sunday, wriggle into skintight spandex pants and haul around a leather air sack reminiscent of an enlarged, sickly-looking testicle. Time will tell if the heteros can handle it.
When the 2014 season concludes, franchises will evaluate how the straights handled life on and off the field during the grueling 17 week work year, and possibly break down more barriers in the 2015 draft, where it is whispered that a white quarterback may be chosen, if the whole event doesn’t turn into a violent pansexual free-for-all first.
I hope the Vikings lose the rest of their games. Here’s why:
/1/ I don’t care (emotionally) about sports.
/2/ I derive a sick, twisted pleasure from observing sports fans get sad about millionaires losing at a game.
And, #/3/, the most interesting reason of all: The ‘1’ from the current 1-6 record came against the Pittsburgh Steelers at Wembley Stadium in London. So, this season, the Minnesota Vikings are undefeated outside America. Inside America, they are winless. Has any team ever been so dominant in one country and so impotent in another? That’s gotta be some sort of record.
From the Sports Desk:
This past Sunday, thousands of Minnesotans let the impotent performance of a man in tight purple clothing ruin their day. For some, the baffling emotional connection to fully mature adults toting a piece of dead animal over lines painted on grass is so strong that their mental health will be in jeopardy for the entire week, and most likely the next four months.
“Ponder will be lucky if he turns out to be an average quarterback. He’s inconsistent. He frequently underthrows receivers,” said Teddy Bloat, a man whose most recent job performance review contained the phrases “below average,” “inconsistent,” and “frequently underperforms.”
Roger Mexico, an obese man who resides in Minneapolis, believes he could do better. “Put me out there, even I could hit Jennings in stride,” he claimed. “Terry—think fast!” Mexico shouted as he threw a small rubber ball at his friend across the room, who was completely and utterly stationary in a recliner. The ball bounced off the wall four feet above Terry’s head, hit a plate of nachos on the coffee table, scattering the popular snack everywhere, and finally settled under the couch next to a similar sphere that had come to rest there two years ago when Mexico was comparing his abilities to those of Donovan McNabb’s.
“I thought they said he was smart. He’s no smarter than a steaming pile of octogenarian,” said Laszlo Jamf, who works as a low-level data entry clerk deep in the bowels of a large corporation. “It’s funny, because ‘octogenarian’ literally means ‘octopus shit.’ So what I’m saying is that Ponder has less intelligence than the fecal matter of a cephalopod.”
Kurt Mondaugen, a German mystic, had this to say: “I think what we learned from this article is that everyone, everywhere, is good at their job, and everyone who isn’t that person sucks at their job.”
In the first interview of this series, Joe Mauer professed his undying love of showering at a Major League level. The goal of this follow-up was to steer Mauer away from his hygiene habits, and attempt to talk about the actual game of baseball. The question posed: after showering, what is your second favorite part of life in the big leagues? Let’s see what happened.
“Well, showering is and always will be my favorite part of the game,” Mauer explained, “But you can’t shower all the time. You just can’t. Other things need to get done in order to have a winning season. That’s why I wax my bat three, four times a day.”
Again, fans were shocked to hear Mauer’s answer. “Are you kidding me? He’s a multi-millionaire. He can pay to have anyone do anything he wants, and he said he buffs his own stick?” said an astonished fan. Another replied, “He knows that Target Field is surrounded by bars and nightclubs, right? And he’s down there in the locker room after games, rubbing his rod raw, because he likes to? Get out of here.”
After hearing some of the reactions, Mauer clarified. “I don’t always do it myself,” he confessed. “When I first got into the league, yes, I would service it personally, because I was too modest and shy to ask anyone else to do it. And up until recently, my wife, Maddie, would give it a real nice once-over whenever I got home from the ballpark. Heck, when we first started dating, she couldn’t keep her hands off the darn thing. I almost forgot how to do it myself. But now that she’s pregnant, she’s never really in the mood to do it anymore, so guess who the responsibility falls on? Moi,” he said, pointing at himself.
When asked if he was actually talking about cleaning a bat, or if he was making a thinly-veiled reference to masturbation, Mauer, with a completely serious look on his face, said, “Mast…….mast..tur…..master what?” When it became clear he wasn’t joking, his reputation as one of the most wholesome figures in the world of sports became even further cemented.
*This article originally appeared on this blog in September of 2012. I’m airing it as a rerun in honor of the first game of the Twins season*
During a recent interview conducted in Target Field’s locker room shower, Joe Mauer, Minnesota’s veritable Golden Boy, revealed that his favorite part of being in the big leagues isn’t the money, fame, or even the fact that he plays a child’s game for a living.
“It’s definitely showering,” Mauer said with a devilish grin. “Taking a nice cold post-game shower is just as important as stretching pre-game. But not too cold, this guy knows what I’m talking about!” he exclaimed as he tickled Justin Morneau under the chin as if he were a cat.
This may come as a surprise to fans, many of whom often fantasize about life as a ball player.
“Really? He said showering?” replied one morbidly obese man who faithfully attends every home game at Target Field. “A guy I used to work with told me the players get as many left-over hot dogs from the night before as they want. It seems like that would be the best part. Hold on, hey! HEY!! Well thanks a pant-load, you made me miss the cotton candy man.”
The shower, not the field, according to Mauer, is where individuals truly become a team.
“The shower is where the team really comes together. Heck, just the other day I helped Gardy scrub a couple spots on his back that he couldn’t reach. Then I reminded him to eat plenty of Kemps dairy products to keep his bones strong. I wouldn’t want him slipping and breaking a wrist in there.”
Although not prompted to, Mauer continued to wax rhapsodic about his love of showering.
“Even on an off day I’ll call a team meeting, just to get everyone together. I learned as a rookie that no one feels the need to shower after a meeting, so now I get there a couple minutes early and really crank up the heat in the conference room. Half an hour in that sucker, and all the guys are dying to strip down and run some Head and Shoulders through their sweaty hair.”
When asked about the team’s prospects for next year, Mauer had this to say: “We’ve got some really talented guys coming up. But they’ve got a lot of things to learn, like discipline and patience. I recently drove my Chevrolet down to Rochester to scout them out. A lot of these guys are only spending five, six, seven minutes showering after the game. So I got in there and educated them on what it’s like in a real big league shower environment. You know, the importance of a good, frothy lather, keeping a nice wide stance to avoid slipping, and teamwork. It always comes back to teamwork.”
At the conclusion of the interview, Mauer turned off the water, slapped a few teammates on the ass, and yelled “Last one to the towel rack has to rub everyone else dry!”