It arrived yesterday afternoon, lovingly swaddled in a plastic protective covering. It left Indianapolis on Tuesday, making it's pilgrimage to my little town via the auspices of the US Postal Servce. Now I am the proud owner of a Minnesota Twins batting practice cap. If it is possible for perfection to rest securely on the crown of one's head, then it is surely sitting on mine. I love baseball caps, but I now have the PERFECT one. The perfect team, the perfect fit, the perfect look- it's, well, perfect. In fact, I may never wear another one. I may have to buy a few more so I can rotate my stock to keep them fresh.
This cap respresents the team I grew up worshipping, the team I would keep a scorecard for as I listened to games on the radio. I listened to the Twins on the radio while I fished with my father, living and dying with the description of each pitch. I can still remember watching the Twins play at old Metropolitan Stadium, watching Rod Carew amble along the base paths with the grace and bearing of a gazelle. Cesar Tovar, Tony Oliva, Bob Allison, Harmon Killebrew- ad infinitum, ad nauseum- they all fueled my imagination and my dreams as I played sandlot baseball with my friends. My 48 MPH fast ball and I never went as far as my dreams dictated, but I never lost my love for the Twins. Even during the Dark Ages of the mid and late 90s, when they were out of contention by May 1st and playing to not-exactly-SRO crowds, I supported them.
Now the Twins are at least competitive, and I can now wear when The Perfect Cap with pride. In fact, now that it's on my head, I may never remove it. Bad hair day? Who's going to notice? With my Perfect Cap, women will want me and men will fear me. I will not, however, abuse my new found sex appeal. Hey, I am, after all, a happily married man. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must put on my Perfect Cap. Stand back, ladies....
