2026-07-22

Metaphor #11: Twins Attendance / St. Paul Streets

[Target Field at minimal capacity, early summer 2026.]

I grew up on sparsely attended Twins games, spending a good percentage of my childhood being blown out of the Metronome with my dad and siblings. This was a time that spanned the Twins’ window of playoff success, but thinking back on it, most of the time the place seemed half empty (or half full, I suppose). Kids like myself had free reign to the building, wandering through the deserted upper deck, running around row after row of empty blue folding seats. 

Fast toward a decade or two into my 20s, not much had changed. The Twins had many lean seasons. Even when they were winning division championships, you could still find $5 tickets and dollar hot dogs. 

This year, too, Twins attendance is once again scraping the bottom of the AL Central's barrel. In a way, I like it! I wish they were winning, but I've been to a handful of games this year and tickets were cheaper than the beer. Once inside, I sit wherever I like outside of the luxury moat. Stadium lines were rare: not the ticket gate, the concessions, the bathrooms, the beer stands, nor even Kramarczuk’s delectable sausages.  

In a way, it’s amazing to move freely around a giant MLB stadium. What luxury! If it rains, go under an overhang. If it’s hot, move into the shade. If it’s cold, do the opposite. It’s nice to spread out, never sitting to next to someone unless you really want to. Being a fan of an unpopular team feels like the world is made just for you.

[Have a seat, anywhere you like.]
Of course, this isn’t the end of the story. If you’ve ever been to a playoff game, you know. The flip side of this life of half-full leisure is that sporting events are actually about shared experiences. Crowds intensity pay off exponentially. 

There’s nothing like a playoff baseball game. The stadium is sold out, and the crowd is electrics. Every pitch is a moment, alive with anticipation or crushing defeat. I remember the ‘23 playoffs, the '91 World Series, and a dozen other games packed to standing room. It doesn't compare to watching the Twins play the Royals in early May in 2026.

Cities are like going to a Twins game. A half-empty city is nice in lots of ways: it’s easy to park, there’s not much traffic, it’s relatively quiet, it’s affordable to be there in the first place. 

And yet...

Living St. Paul often feels like going to a Twins game during a losing season. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone to a playground in the middle of the day with my kid, and we’re the only ones there. Quite often, it’s a very nice playground, too: new equipment, well maintained, reflecting one of the best park systems in the country. 

On another day, I walk down a street where I’m the only one around. Downtown St. Paul often feels this way, deserted half the time. I take my kid to the downtown library at least once a month; more often than not, we have the place to ourselves. She likes it that way, but it’s the city’s main library branch. It shouldn’t be empty! 

Even if being in a half-empty stadium or city is comfortable, it ain’t good. Visit an urban playground in New York, Los Angeles, or Chicago as I have in the last few years, and it’s wild to see how much use a see-saw receives in an average day. At any given moment, there are more kids playing in Brooklyn's Sunset Park than at every playground in St. Paul combined.  


[Sunset Park, Brooklyn, 2024.]

Dense cities brim with serendipity. Playgrounds and libraries are noisy, never boring. Likewise, other cites’ ball clubs sell out homestands against their division rivals. In other cities, stadia are crowded with people cheering, crackling with energy. There’s nothing like this feeling! 

Nobody wants the Twins to suck, but half the time it seems like locals are rooting for an empty city. It seems to me that there’s a vibe in the air: it’s worth the Twins losing, if it means people can save time on parking. Keep St. Paul Boring, after all. 

It isn’t worth it. Whether it's a ballpark or a downtown, it’s better to embrace crowds and excitement than to luxuriate in emptiness. I wish it was hard to get a Twins ticket! I wish St. Paul’s amazing playgrounds were well used, and our streets weren’t lined with vacant buildings. 

In short, I miss the crowds and the playoffs. 


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