Uncle Jumbo's Playground

–Illustration by James Dankert

I’ve decided I’m not going to have squat to say about the Twins until they a) start scoring some stinking runs on a consistent basis; b) get some wins from somebody besides Joe Mays and Kyle Lohse; and c) get close enough to the White Sox that Shannon Stewart could hit them in the numbers with a throw from left field.

Okay, I’d take either a) or b) right now, and I’m sure, actually, that I’ll have something to say about the Twins before any or all of those things happen. Right now, though, I don’t actually have anything to say and I’m getting tired of being ragged for not saying anything, so I’ll say something nonetheless.

This is the time of the year when I almost always need a little rehab stint to heal my aching hammies, my sore feet, my bad back, and my general lousy attitude. Between Memorial Day and the Fourth of July is the toughest stretch in the season for me. There’s so much other stuff going on, at least compared to the rest of the year when there’s absolutely nothing else going on. (And I’m talking about my life here, of course, so when I say “so much other stuff going on” I mean, umm…oh, the occasional high school graduation, wedding, or funeral, and…lots of potato salad. My potato salad consumption during that stretch of the summer would kill a normal man.)

Anyway, since I don’t really have anything to say about the Twins, and since I’m supposed to say something anyway because Zellar is off having a goiter removed or his tubes tied or something, I’ll tell you about my holiday weekend, in detail:

I blew up a Ron Karkovice bobblehead doll.

I ate a boatload of potato salad.

I sweated so much that my nephews could see my man breasts through my threadbare tee-shirt, which delighted them no end. My sister-in-law begged me to put on a darker shirt, and I refused.

I don’t have any kids of my own, thank God, but there’s little –perhaps nothing– I enjoy more than serving as a bad example to my nephews. I’m absolutely certain my brother and his wife would tell you that so far I’ve done a bang-job at this ongoing project.

“Don’t go putting big ideas in their heads,” my brother will say to me all the time.

Now it all depends, of course, on what you mean by the phrase “big ideas,” but I don’t suppose my brother has much to worry about on that count. Bad ideas, however, well, that’s another story.

I consider putting bad ideas in my nephews’ heads to be my one true purpose in life.

Also, I should say, this weekend I noticed this: Matthew LeCroy was leading the Twins in OPS (on base plus slugging) at .861. Go figure.

Let’s all give it up for the fat guys of the world.