I was all set to write about Sin Shoo Choo and the difficult choice he may face in a few months, when I got the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad news (h/t to Over the Baggy).  For as long as I can remember, when I attended Twins games, during an early mid-inning break, I would hear a jaunty tune over the Metrodome P.A.

“Now that you are at the game.”

Yes, yes I am, that’s me! I AM at the game! I’d think.

"Are you in Hormel's Row of Fame?"

I don't know!  Am I?  Oh please let me be in the Row of Fame!  What wonders does this entail?

"If you're in a lucky seat, you'll win a Hormel Hot Dog treat!"

Oh, oh, oh!  Am I one of the lucky few who receives a free hot dog (never mind the fact that I'm more of a brat guy)?  Oh, tra-loo-tra-lay, is it my lucky day?

"Great for lunch!  Great for dinner!"
And, you know, I am pretty hungry.  I guess a free hot dog would be pretty awesome right now.  Or later.  Or whenever, apparently.  My son would eat a hot dog every hour on the hour if I let him, by the way.

"YOU COULD BE A WIENER WINNER!"
Yes!  Oh God, YES!  Let me be that wiener winner!  All my life, I've wanted nothing more!

"In the HORMEL...ROW...OF...FAME!!!!!!!!"
Drats, once again my row was not chosen for the delicious free hot dog (made all the more alluring for its freeness) and my visage did not appear on the JumboTron (except that one time it caught me doing the sprinkler to YMCA).  Still, I am hungry.  TO THE CONCESSION STAND!

Of course, invariably, the inning would be about to start and Wally the Beer Man would saunter by hawking his sudsy wares and I would instead remain bolted to my seat and fork over my $6.00 to the legendary vendor in exchange for some suds and an autographed Wally baseball card.  Eventually, however, I would steal away to the concrete bunker that was the Metrodome concession stand and purchase a fine Hormel product, return to my seat, and proceed to get mustard on my jeans.  Ritual complete.

I can't tell you how inexplicably happy singing along with the Hormel Hot Dog song has made me for the past 20 years or so, particularly during the lean years from 1993-2000 when there wasn't much else to cheer about.  It's a hilarious unironic production of a bygone era in advertising when you could excitedly declare that someone could be a wiener winner and that person would get excited.  I, of course, love it entirely for ironic reasons.  The song's bouncy polka melody and earnestness is so out of place with today's ballgame (and the larger world in general).  And it's prize, a hot dog, was distributed to the entire row, regardless of whether or not the people in that row wanted a hot dog.  Damn it, they would get a fresh dog with all the fixins whether they wanted it or not.  And if you didn't want it, what was wrong with you?  You some kind of Commy?

Anyway, while I'm ridiculously excited for the Twins' new stadium and its prospects for 2010 after a terrific offseason, I am sad that some of the more unique features of playing at the Dome are not being exported.  We Minnesotans love our comfort food and atmosphere; we love the familiar.  It would be a shame if some of the homier facets of Twins games are not exported to the new home.  I understand that the economics of the game demand that teams squeeze additional money from every source they can find.  And I get that moving to a new park means additional national exposure for the Twins and their advertisers.  And I know that the demand for tickets will be higher in these initial seasons, leading to more fans in the stands.  Naturally, this will lead to higher advertising prices.  But I can't help but feel that, if there isn't room in the Twins' new home for old traditions, we will all lose a little something.  Even if the Hormel Row of Fame can't make the trip across town, I hope other distinctive in-game touches are moving with the Twins, and others are in development.  What we don't need is more of that damn T.C. Bear and his super happy fun squad shooting T-shirts into the crowd.

Yes, I realize I'm getting nostalgic over a hot dog commercial.  That's what baseball does to me.

You can read Mike at The Common Man three days a week and follow him on Twitter.