Renegade Chef: Waiting for the red wings
I am the quintessential Twins fan. I have evolved appropriately, slowly, like a deep-sea diver who has been rising to the surface since 1961, decompressing a little at a time so my head doesn’t explode.
I am resilient. Scar tissue, formed from enduring thousands of losses, covers me like protective platelets. I have become immune to mediocrity, impervious to putrid and un-phased by three consecutive seasons of sucking.
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