Minnesota Twins fans ride a wave of emotions on a do-or-die night at Target Field

Of course they were optimistic.

How could they not have been?

They had talent on the field, azure October heavens above, and tickets granting admission into a stadium built for such a spectacle.

From grayed veterans hardened by heartbreak to neophyte lads who carried fielder's gloves as agape as their mouths, the throngs who paraded into Target Field at the start of Wednesday night arrived with an unshakable belief that the Twins would prevail over the Houston Astros and live to play another playoff game.

Within one run into the bottom of the ninth inning, who could say it was unwarranted? The Twins got that close before losing 3-2 to end their season.

"Bummer. Just a bummer," said Jillian Welty of La Crosse, Wis., as she left the stadium with her new husband, Jacob. "And now we go on our honeymoon."

Adam Kirkoff of Rochester walked out of Target Field extolling words of wisdom to his son Cameron, 5, who was up well past his bedtime: "We're Minnesotans."

But that came later. Ahead of the game, fans ran the gamut of emotions: from the skeptical, to the cautiously optimistic, to the bound-to-be-hurt. "I feel like a 12-year-old in 1987," said a giddy Randy Bork, who traveled from Luverne with a contingent that included fellow fans Shane Palmquist and Helmet ("yep, like the batting helmet") Nath.

In October 1987, Bork was a 12-year-old following the Twins' march of glory to their first World Series title.

"I was helping my dad on the farm," he said. "He put a radio on the tractor so we could listen to every game."

But … facing elimination … after losing ingloriously the day before?

Palmquist didn't hesitate. "You have to be optimistic if you bother coming here," he said.

Of course, optimism is a state of being, an anticipation of something one wants to happen, not the result of what actually happened.

Before the game, outside the stadium, the optimism sprang from the laws of physics.

"Yesterday can't happen today," observed Kris Berntson, part of an extended family of 12 that hailed from as close as the metro and as far as Indiana.

Optimism sprang from the less-scientific interplay between history and probability.

"History is on our side after the playoff losing streak," declared Michael Wolf, the elder statesman of a three-generation crew of devoted fans from Bismarck, N.D., that included his grandchildren, 3-year-old Barrett Larson and 2-year-old Gabby Larson.

Optimism sprang from superstition.

"I wore the right shirt and I made sure I ate at the right restaurant tonight," pledged Mark Iverson of Rochester, who took full responsibility for the previous night's loss, which he attended. "I apologize."

The season ticket holder took his wife, Renata, to a "different restaurant" Tuesday, he said, a mistake that became apparent only after that game's disastrous first inning. "The Loon or Gluek's, we've always had good luck when we go there."

And optimism sprang from the certainty of youth.

Caleb and Curtis Allen, both 11 and actual twins, spoke over each other as they hopped around the Harmon Killebrew statue outside Gate 34 and prognosticated the evening's results.

"It'll be a clutch home run and one run," one said.

"It'll be a grand slam," the other one-upped. "We're gonna win, no matter what."

There was however, a quieter sentiment lurking among some fans, especially those of learned years.

Hope may spring eternal, but seasons are not, they knew.

Mark Ensign, 61, a season ticket holder from Circle Pines whose love of the Twins began during a doubleheader with the Orioles at Metropolitan Stadium in 1969, described being at a Twins home game — any Twins game — as "my safe place."

But he was bracing for the unspeakable. "Even if they lose, it was the best season," he said.

Grant Berson of Algona, Iowa, was born in 1991 — the last year the Twins won the World Series. He said he was prepared for any outcome.

"I'm just glad to be here," he said as he and several relatives from multiple generations prepared to enter the stadium. "If you told me at the beginning of the season we'd be standing here today, I'd have said, 'That's a success.'"

A few sullen fans walked through the gates.

"I'm a little pessimistic," said Jim Walton, who splits his time between Madison Lake and Florida. "How long have you lived here?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"Then you know about the Twins: They lose."