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Even Twins DQ promotional cap looks depressed

Ben Revere steps to the plate and looks out into the stands. Empty blue seats line the bleachers, despite it only being the fourth inning. The only semblance of “fans” is a nude homeless man touching himself in the center field bleachers. Welcome to Minnesota Twins 2012 baseball, where the team is 15 games under .500 and their best player is Trevor Plouffe, a man whose last name sounds like an exquisite fart.

As Revere takes strike one, the nude homeless man saunters to the edge of the center field wall and quietly excretes on an unsuspecting Alex Rios.

Behind home plate sits one man, Frankles Duncan. He’s wearing a Twins Dairy Queen promotional cap. Even the hat looks depressed. Beaten and worn, its stitching unraveling, this cap has seen nothing but failure in its life. Back when the Twins were mediocre instead of terrible, it was given away for free like a young girl from a Taiwanese whore factory. Against its will, it’s now forced to accompany Duncan to every Twins game, just like the girl Duncan purchased from the Taiwanese whore factory. The cap hates the Twins. The cap especially hates Duncan. The girl also hates Duncan, but not as much as the cap hates him. The cap is undecided about Duncan’s prostitute, but is a big fan of Rick Moranis. Rick Moranis is unaware of the hat, enjoys smooth jazz, and doesn’t care for Reese Witherspoon’s cousin or the name “Marvis” when applied to a cat.

Revere tries to bunt but pops it up to the pitcher for an easy out. A considerable improvement over his last bunting attempt. Nearby, a drunken Kent Hrbek loudly berates a small child for having the audacity to ask for his autograph.

Caps have a natural unhappy look, being that their brims are curved downward like a frown, but Duncan’s cap is especially unhappy. It’s stained with beer and tears of sadness. The Twins are behind in so many games that the cap is almost always turned inside out and made into a rally cap. Being turned inside out is a hat’s version of being nude. Imagine if you had to be nude every time the Twins were losing. Your mom wouldn’t let you live in her shed anymore.

Third base coach Steve Liddle suddenly doubles over. He’s been Backwards Groined, a term coined by the children in the stands behind him. One of them threw a frozen malt cup at him, bashing his testicles from behind. Those things are rock hard, man. Ask anyone who’s been hit in the rear groin with a frozen malt cup. It hurts, and often leaves a bruise that only your mom will see when she bathes you every Saturday evening.

Sometimes when the stadium gets deathly quiet – for instance, when Justin Morneau’s batting average is displayed on the scoreboard as he walks to the plate – the cap closes its non-existent eyes and dreams of being someone else’s hat. Maybe Justin Bieber’s pink fedora, or Wilford Brimley’s novelty mesh boobs hat, or the beer dispenser hat Meryl Streep uses to drink Old Style in bed before she falls asleep. Such pedigree, such grace in the owners of these hats. Duncan doesn’t have grace or class. He keeps a nude photo of Tila Tequila in his wallet for jacking purposes.

Infielder Jamie Carroll swings and misses, striking out. He gets in the umpire’s face, arguing that if a player farts while swinging, that player earns a “do-over”. The umpire disagrees, and Carroll’s batting average sinks to .001. On the walk back to the dugout, Carroll accidentally poops his pants.

Duncan stands up and walks toward the restrooms. The incident with Jamie Carroll reminded him that he had to poop as well. Duncan’s cap knows this is his one chance for escape. It’s now or never. Duncan enters the stall and bends over to apply the toilet seat cover. The cap makes its move, sliding off Duncan’s head and into the icy water below.

Three drunks have a slap fight in the left field bleachers. The epic battle ends 17 minutes later when they are attacked by a pack of wild dogs that have overtaken the US Bank Home Run Porch and made it their home. Once the drunks are dead, the dogs mark them with their scent.

“AAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE!” screams the cap as it splashes into the pool of murky toilet water, succeeding in its suicide attempt. Duncan curses his luck. He won’t be able to bring that Twins cap back to life. This is the restroom Kent Hrbek uses after eating at his own restaurant. Duncan prays for the hat and flushes, sending the cap to its poopy grave.

As the bottom of the ninth wraps up with a standard Brian Dozier groundout, Ron Gardenhire jolts awake from his nap on the bench. “What!? What’s happening?! Do we have real pitchers yet?” “No, not this year,” says catcher Joe Mauer, comforting Gardenhire. “Go back to sleep.”

 One Response to “Even Twins DQ promotional cap looks depressed”

  1. mnwookie says:

    Someone should have told the cap it was just going to the poop-party under the house.

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