Three Reasons I'm a Twins Fan

The reason that most Minnesotans are fans of the Twins is much the same reason they are the same religion as their parents. Since 1961, every new Minnesotan was born a Twins fan.

I am a convert. On my parent’s 25th wedding anniversary, my father converted to Catholicism from Missouri Synod Lutheran. Father Weiss, our priest said that converts make the best Catholics. They also make the best Twins fans.

 I was not born in Minnesota. I was born in Milwaukee. I was born one year after a lowly bottom-feeding team from Boston packed their athletic bags (I don’t know if athletic bags existed in 1953) and became the first team to follow the advice of Horace Greely.

The Boston Braves headed west. They ended up in Milwaukee.

To say that I was a Braves fan as a child is like saying that Minnesotans love coupons. I was obsessed with baseball and my Milwaukee Braves. I lived to listen watch and play the greatest game ever invented.

 When I was just a year old my parents moved to a suburb of Milwaukee. The township of Brookfield was just beginning to form. The cozy modern homes of Brookfield became the homes of many Braves. Henry Aaron almost bought the house across the street from us. Joe Adcock and Warren Spahn could be seen shopping for groceries at the local IGA. My sister babysat for Eddie Matthews.

 The Braves were my team. A month before my third birthday father took me to game three of the 1957 World Series. My parents would let me stay up late as we listened to games together in pajamas. The players that lived in Brookfield used to drive by our house to get to Milwaukee County Stadium. I used to sit in a red wagon in our front yard and wave to the Braves as they drove past. One day, when I was only four, Eddie Matthews stopped his car, came out and gave me an autographed post card, which I still have.

 As a game was broadcast I would listen on a portable radio and act out the game in our yard. I made a field where a tree was first base, a rock was second and a garden stake was third. Home plate was a white piece of wood I found by the train track.

 I was a right-hander when Aaron was at bat and a left-hander when Matthews was up. I threw a ball in the air, hit it and ran the bases exactly the way the announcers called the game. When Spahn pitched I emulated his high kick and tried to throw with my left to imaginary hitters.

At the age of 11 the Milwaukee Braves broke my heart. The team that had set attendance records and never had a losing season headed for Atlanta. My heroes were gone. My childhood dreams were shattered. I remember crying as I tore down my make shift scoreboard which bore my hand titled Milwaukee Braves logo.

 The following summer good news came to Milwaukee. The Chicago White Sox and the Minnesota Twins were going to play a mid-summer exhibition game at County Stadium. The teams were battling for a pennant. The city wanted to prove it deserved a major league team. Over 51,000 tickets were sold for a stadium that normally held 48,000. The outfield-warning track was used for standing room tickets. My cousin Forrest and I had two tickets near the third base dugout.

 It was announced before the game that the stars of both teams would probably not play. The game did not count and there was a very close pennant race. Forrest and I didn’t care. We were at a baseball game.

The Twins were taking batting practice when we sneaked closer to the field. We knew every player, every statistic and every record. A few years earlier, in 1965, we cheered for the Twins because we hated the Dodgers. We both inched closer because we both wanted to see just one thing at this game: Harmon Killebrew.

In 1968 my father lost his job. He got a job in Minnesota in 1969. That May I attended my first Minnesota Twins home game. Harmon played first base. My dad played first base in the minor leagues. I had just made my high school team and was playing first base. The bond was building.

 I analyzed every move Harmon made. That big man with a pointed mitt made stretch after lunging stretch for throws to set down runners. His footwork matched the fundamentals my father was teaching me to use. He spoke to players in the dugout after they had struck out and made them laugh. When a coach spoke to him he listened respectfully. When he struck out he returned to the dugout without a whimper or complaint.

 When Harmon was at bat I cheered every swing of his massive lumber. I was impressed with his towering pop fouls, his wind generating misses and a home run that seemed to never land.

 I was hooked. Harmon Killebrew had made me a Twins Fan.  The despair of losing my childhood heroes was gone. I had a new hero. A great man that loved the game as much as I loved it and played it the way it was designed to be played

 I have been able to meet some great baseball players in my life. In one night in Milwaukee I shook hands with Warren Spahn, Stan Musial, Henry Aaron and Eddie Matthews. I got to say “Hey” to Willie Mays and got an autograph from Juan Marichal. I watched Sandy Koufax, Roberto Clemente and Bob Gibson as a kid. But no baseball star has ever impressed me more than when I got to meet Harmon Killebrew.

 I was asked to perform for the Killebrew Foundation. The comedy show was on the field of the Metrodome. It was what a comedian calls a potential “hell gig”. The sound system was causing troubles. The audience was eating. There were kids. The expanse of the Metrodome dwarfed the 250 people seated next to the dugout that seemed to be ignoring every speaker.

 I was nervously pacing the first base line when I was tapped on the shoulder. It was Harmon.

 “How do you want me to introduce you, Scott?”

 “Anyway you want, Mr. Killebrew,” I answered.

“I'm Harmon. I really was glad to see you were able to do this event. I am a big fan of your comedy....”

 I know Harmon kept talking but I was trying to process what he had already said. Harmon knew who I was?

 Within a few moments Harmon extracted my entire baseball history. I told him about the Braves, Eddie Matthews, the first time I saw him play and my dad being a convert.  I almost forgot I had to do a show.

 Before I knew it Harmon was introducing me. He politely asked the audience to stop eating. He told them that they did not want to miss a moment of my act. He listed every credit on my resume but added one.

 “And besides being very funny, Scott Hansen was born in Milwaukee and is one of the Twins biggest fans. A convert!”

 Harmon Killebrew proved to be a man of the game and a man for the game.  He also proved to be a man above the game. As impressed as I was with his powerful swing I was doubly impressed with his human compassion and understanding.

 I am a Twins fan. I am a Harmon KIllebrew fan. I am a convert. And converts make the best fans.

May God hold you in His heart, Harmon Killebrew. I always will.