We Ain't Gettin' No Stadium, by Tyler Savage

So…it appears like we might not get a new stadium after all. I can’t say that I didn’t see it coming, but I have to confess that I did not think that the dream would end over some lame land dispute. From day one I have been proclaiming that we would not get a stadium to anybody who would listen. However, I expected to loose our stadium in the end by a vintage Carl Pohlad bamboozlement. I just can’t accept this land dispute ending to the stadium, so I have come up with a better one…

Flashback to late May of last year. The evening was to be a historical one for the Minnesota Twins, that evening Tim Pawlenty was about to sign the new stadium bill that would get the Twins a new stadium. Their was a celebration feeling in the air that night, the fans crowding into the dome had an excited buzz, but little did they know that they would be witnesses to a massacre in a little under an hour.

The ceremony was quick and festive as Dave St. Peter talked about the victory that he and the Twins had won at the Capital. Unfortunately for him, the smile on Pawlenty’s face was sinister. It all had gone as planned until Pawlenty was about to sign the bill; as he was about to sign his name, he stopped and tore up the bill. While the shock was still on St. Peter’s face, Pawlenty picked up his folding chair and began phase two of the betrayal. Pawlenty’s swing was the only homerun hit that night, as the chair connected directly on St. Peter’s cranium.

St. Peter hit the ground fast, but nobody noticed, because the engines started up in-sync with the crack of the chair on St. Peter’s head. Before St. Peter even hit the floor, the storm troopers flourished onto the playing field. The engine noise came from the vehicles they were riding—half of the troops where riding carpet zambonis, while the other half flew in on snowmobiles. How many were there? God only knows, it was a sea of white that engulfed the field like a hamster attacking a pellet.

Lew Ford was the first one to be killed--there was no significance to his death; he was merely one of the many sacrifices that day. His throat was slight from ear to ear with the precision of a professional. The majority of the others where herded onto the pictures mound while the troopers trapped them like Indians circling the wagons. There where some players and personnel that fought, but in the end they all fell. I’d like to say that TC the Bear put up a good fight, god I would like to, but he actually cried and begged for his life like a bitch. His head was hung from the light rail for half a month after.

Shortly after the troopers had terminated most of the enemies, an explosion rang out by the third base dugout, and when the smoke cleared, Bud Selig and Carl Pohlad emerged (although we are not completely certain, because some witnesses still claim to this day that they saw Darth Vadder and Grand Mof Tarkin emerge). One of the troopers dragged Twin’s manager Ron Gardenhire over to Selig (or Vadder, whomever you believe). Selig grabbed Gardenhire by the neck and began screaming at him; Selig was demanding that Gardy hand over the plans for the new stadium, but Gardy insisted that he was on a diplomatic mission. Pohlad (Tarkin) and his goons soon dragged Gardy away…possibly to the spice mines of Kessel.

There where some survivors that day. The two most notable were Johan Santana and Joe Mauer. They would have suffered the same fate as their teammates without outside help. Nobody knows how or when George Steinbrenner entered the battlefield that day, and I still loose sleep wondering how he got that chopper into (and out of) a fully inflated indoor dome. But the facts are facts, and Steinbrenner, and the chopper, where right in center field. Steinbrenner swooped in just as Santana was about to take an axe to the heart. Mauer saw the two and ran to them, and Steinbrenner covered the two, with a high-powered assault rifle, while they ran to the chopper. The three of them got the fuck out of dodge and took the quickest path to the Bronx.

The crescendo came as the fans began to panic. The fans loved their Twins, but they wanted nothing to do with the troopers, so they ran towards the nearest exit. Security tried hard to stop the inevitable tragedy, but the fans were to panic stricken. Security blocked the nonrevolving doors as best as they could, but the fans had plenty of reasons to trample them. The reasons to trample the Dome Security included how they always made you leave the Dome after the game was over, they were heavily suspected as the culprits for roping off the first two rows in the “Home Run Porch”, and they never let anyone who was not a kid run the bases on Sundays. The fans had waited for this opportunity, and they took advantage of it. The guards where stomped and the fans bolted out of all of the doors in the Dome—big mistake. The Dome imploded with the force of two A-Bombs. No fans survived that day, but they died for a good cause.

In the end, Selig and Pohlad had Big Brother erase the existence of the Twins from all history books.

In summery…many died that day, and once again good lost to evil. Well, at least that was how I thought the new stadium would be defeated—not by this lame fat cat dispute over the cost of land.