Postseason baseball and Hef death, and new places and new protests, make for pair of doubleheaders on this site

It’s this kind of commentary on current events that just might get this web site a Pulitzer, since hey, it can’t be used as a fish wrapper since its not on paper. And for more on Husker Du than what’s in the paper, including local tie-ins, see this site’s Notes From The Beat department:
— On the night that the Twins officially made the playoffs, as a wild card, for what seems the first time since prohibition, a friend of mine was bartending and at the same time teasing a fan of another team: See, I told you (the berth) would happen. That night he was making it a point to check out the Twins game, even though still in regular season, in as full a way as possible. And he made it abundantly clear he didn’t give a damn what happened with the Packers on the same night. All this reminds me what transpired the last time the Twins won the World Series, when I was essentially a Hudson bureau writer for the St. Paul Pioneer Press, and western Wisconsin really got behind — finally — the dreaded Minnesota team late in the process. A women accidentally rammed into me with her cart while grocery shopping, and said “Oh sorry, I was thinking about the Twins game!” But this was the days before blogging, and you were not supposed to interject yourself into the story. So my editor said to simply tell this anecdote in the third person. These days, it’s what I specialize in.
— So Hugh Hefner has died at age 91, and he still was not considered creepy. Being a middle-aged man who hangs out way too much, I’m wondering how he pulled that of. Let me explain. Over time, since I say brief hellos to people I enjoy, but don’t make an overt attempt at all to pick up women, or hang out with a particular wingman (at least on most nights) or a certain crowd, I am thought by some people to be, take your pick, gay, a cop, a drug informant, or — and yes I’ll invoke the C word — creepy. I do get that thrown in my face occasionally by some insecure young punks. To which I will offer two things: (1) A bouncer I respect at Dick’s said that if every guy that was ever accused of being creepy, and it was asked of him to throw out that guy, was not allowed in the bar, there would be no guys ever left in the bar; and (2) as far as the allegedly gay thing, a couple of my gorgeous friends have said that if it was OK with me, they would put on a show of affection and dispell any doubt. But Hef managed to pull off not being creepy. So I look at it this way, hmm, do the math. He got to be 91 and I am currently 56, so that gives me 35 years to work toward living up to his standard. (What was I saying about not introducing myself into the story?)
— The place that is to be the new Ellie’s has been gaining traction with its remodel, as is judged by the numb er of construction workers I saw worked on the front facade, three and counting. That is only rivaled by the pace of the redo being done just down the block on what was the Negret urban winery building, now to be called Hop ‘n Barrel. In both cases, continue to hop to it.
— When The Pres called out The NFL about its protests related to Blacks Lives Matter, it seemed that — go figure — the only sports figures who weren’t backing the pro football players were those in NASCAR. As Richard Petty began to say, and I quote, somewhat accurately: “The NFL don’t …” Hey, if he can’t be grammatical … But go figure.