“I don’t know, TK. It doesn’t look good.”
TK, Tom Kelly for those of you unfortunate enough not to have been inalterably moved by the 1987 and 1991 Minnesota Twins world championships, looks at my with that same inalterably immovable stoicism that has served him over the last 75 years.
I dare you to say the phrase inalterably immovable 7 times fast.
I also dare you to fact check me. Unlike the current administration, I welcome it when you speak truth to power. A quick Google search confirms that TK is 75 and very much still alive. Whew.
I wish I could say the same about these Minnesota Twins. I wish I could say the things about democracy in the United States. I wish I could say these things are very much still alive.
I fear the 2026 Minnesota Twins, like our crumbling institutions, are dead on arrival.
***
My friend Andrew sent me a signed Tom Kelly baseball card a few years ago. This was during a pandemic in which half the country didn’t believe there was a pandemic. Since then, TK has eyed me from his perch atop the plastic drawers that sit in the corner of the wall on my desk. These drawers contain pens, my checkbook, and old flash drives. Relics from another age.
I’m afraid, TK, you are a relic from another age. A long ago time before the advent of the internet, the demise of democracy in these United States, and the collapse of the Minnesota Twins. Following their lone playoff series victory in 2023, our beloved team has been in free fall. A slashed payroll. Underwhelming veterans. The failure to develop prospects. These Twins pale in the comparison to their forerunners in the 80’s and 90’s. Those were ancient times, TK, and you are ancient of days.
And there I’ve just used a biblical reference to put you in comparison with the creator. This heretical blog gets away from me. Words always get away from me. The same way that institutions fail in the face of a strengthening and unhinged executive branch. The same way that victories allude our Minnesota Twins.
I turn to TK as opening day comes upon. The Twins fall 2-1 to the Baltimore Orioles. The bullpen gives up the lead after sweet baby Joe Ryan gives the Twins 5 innings of scorched earth pitching. And the lineup, as has been the case for the past three years, can’t come through when it matters. Royce Lewis hits in the 8-hole and is benched for mediocre pinch hitting in the late innings.
Oh, TK, what to do in such an age?
***
TK hawks a loogie the size of Al Newmann on the ground beneath his powerful feet. He puts a mound of chew in his grizzled mouth. TK lights up a cigar and places it between his cracked lips. He chews on the cigar, smacks on his chaw, and sets his yellowing gaze upon me.
“We’re all in this boat together, Sam,” TK says, “so grab an oar.”
A quick Google search informs me that TK was rowing the boat long before PJ Fleck’s Golden Gophers were underachieving.
“We run out everything, Sam,” TK tells me through a wall of tobacco. “There is no dogging it, no jaking, no half-speed.”
I am too afraid to ask TK what the word jaking means, so I nod and smile instead.
TK eyes me up and down one final time. He looks into the past. He looks into the future. TK takes a deep breath, inhaling chew, tobacco, and the pain of this present age.
“Try not to take a bad step,” he finally says. “And take it one game at a time.”
TK disappears, I close my laptop, and take a good step into one more day at a time.
Samuel Jaye Tanner 