Nobody cares about the Minnesota Twins anymore.
Okay, not literally nobody. There are still diehards watching every night. But compared to the Vikings, Wolves and Wild, the Twins have slowly become background noise in Minnesota sports.
And that’s strange, because I remember a Twins era when they weren’t winning World Series either.
Everybody Loved Them.
Gardy. Torii. Koskie. Mientkiewicz. Pierzynski. Guzmán. Jacque Jones. Luis Rivas. Brad Radke. Eric Milton. Everyday Eddie.
If you grew up watching those early-2000s Twins, just reading those names probably brings something back. That’s what the Twins need again.
Get To Know ’em
The Minnesota Twins actually used “Get to Know ’Em” as a marketing slogan. Looking back, it was perfect.
These weren’t superstars imported from around baseball. They were our guys.
Doug Mientkiewicz was vacuuming up everything at first. Cristian Guzmán seemed capable of turning any ball in the gap into a triple. Corey Koskie quietly hit bombs. A.J. Pierzynski annoyed everybody except Twins fans. Jacque Jones swung like every pitch might be the last one he ever saw. Brad Radke just kept taking the ball.
And then there was Torii Hunter.
Every kid wanted to be Torii. Climbing walls. Diving for baseballs. Smiling the entire time. Robbing Barry Bonds in the All-Star Game.
Those Twins had personality. You knew them. And because you knew them, you cared.
They Never Won A World Series
That’s kind of my point.
The 2002 Minnesota Twins won 94 games and beat the 103-win Oakland A’s in the playoffs. They reached the ALCS. They didn’t win the World Series. The next few Twins teams didn’t either.
And Minnesota absolutely loved them.
Going to the Dome felt like an event. Kids had favorite players. Families watched together. You knew when Radke was pitching, or when Everyday Eddie came into the game. You knew Gardy was eventually going to lose his mind at an umpire.
The Twins had an identity. They weren’t the Yankees because they didn’t need to be. They were fast, scrappy, homegrown, weird and fun, and they felt like Minnesota’s team.
Give The Kids Players To Care About Again
This might be the biggest thing the Twins are missing.
The next generation doesn’t need to understand WAR or payroll efficiency. They need somebody they want to pretend to be in the backyard.
I didn’t love Torii Hunter because I studied his advanced metrics. I loved Torii Hunter because he robbed home runs. Kids loved Guzmán because he was unbelievably fast. They loved A.J. because he was crazy. They loved Mientkiewicz because nothing got past him.
That’s fandom.
The Twins need a modern version of “Get to Know ’Em.” Put the players everywhere. Schools. Youth baseball tournaments. Commercials. Social media. State Fair. Baseball camps.
Make kids know Luke Keaschall and Walker Jenkins. Make them love somebody enough that they’re begging Mom and Dad to go to Target Field.
The Twins Don’t Just Need Good Players. They Need Players Fans Care About.
And When Fans Come Back, Don’t Punish Them
The frustrating part is that we already saw how quickly Minnesota can care again.
Remember 2023? The Twins finally ended the 18-game playoff losing streak. They beat Toronto. Target Field was rocking. For a moment, Twins baseball felt important again.
Then the organization cut payroll.
Maybe there were legitimate business reasons. Fans don’t care. The message felt like: Thanks for coming back. We’re pulling back now.
That’s how you lose people.
If this team develops another Torii Hunter, keep him. If the young core becomes good, add to it. If Target Field starts filling up, go for it. Make fans believe ownership wants it as badly as they do.
Become The Twins Again
The early-2000s Minnesota Twins weren’t a dynasty. That’s what makes this so important.
They didn’t need championships to make Minnesota care. They gave us players we knew. They kept a core together. They had personality. They had an identity. They gave kids favorite players. And they made baseball feel fun.
I want Target Field packed again. I want kids arguing about who gets to be Torii Hunter in the backyard. I want a starting pitcher to feel like an event. I want a closer whose entrance music makes everyone stand up. I want nine guys in the lineup Minnesota fans can name without checking their phones.
Twenty-five years ago, the Twins introduced Minnesota to a bunch of mostly unknown players with a simple message:
Get to know ’em.
We did.
And we loved them.
Maybe it’s time to do it again.
