Earlier this year, while writing a blog post about a long-remembered 1970 game between the Atlanta Braves and Pittsburgh Pirates, which the Pirates won by the football-like score of 20-10, I checked to see how other teams did that day. How did those 30 combined runs compare with the rest of the Majors? I was assuming there weren't other high-scoring games, but I was wrong. There was even another football-like score: St. Louis over Houston, 14-7.

Anyway, that's how I stumbled upon this high-scoring game between my team, the Twins, and a Detroit Tigers team only two years removed from winning the World Series. Twins won 12-4. Then I noticed the oddity. Wait, in 10 innings? The Twins scored eight runs in the top of the 10th? 

Yes. Yes, they did.

Wow. So how many homers did they hit?

None. Three doubles, though.

That's it?

That's it. This is how they did it. 

FRED SCHERMAN PITCHING

• Bob Allison: K
• Cesar Tovar: 1B
• Danny Thompson: 2B (Tovar scores)
• Harmon Killebrew: IBB
• Tony Oliva: 2B (Thompson scores)

TOM TIMMERMAN REPLACES SCHERMAN 

• Rick Renick: 2B (Killebrew, Oliva score)
• Rich Reese: IBB
• Leo Cardenas: 6-3
• Paul Ratliff: IBB
• Bob Allison: BB (Renick scores)
• Cesar Tovar: 1B (Reese, Ratliff score)

MIKE KILKENNY REPLACES TIMMERMAN

• Danny Thompson: 1B (Allison scores)
• Harmon Killebrew: K

Notice the three intentional walks? I immediately thought of Joe Posnanski, a longtime sportswriter who has long railed against the intentional walk. He thinks it's bad for the game for two reasons: it's 1) stupid and 2) not exactly sporting or fun. A good hitter like Harmon Killebrew comes to the plate, you want to see him swing. It's no fun seeing him not get the chance. Imagine if every time LeBron James got the ball, the other side did something so we couldn't see him play. No fun. 

The Twins' 8-run 10th is both testament to Poz's philosophy and a refutation of it. It was obviously stupid, since it didn't help the Tigers at all. Everyone intentionally walked came around to score. At the same time, Detroit manager Mayo Smith's use of the intentional walk was so idiotic it must‘ve been fun to watch. “Really? You’re going to walk another one? Sure, have at.”

A lot of people might agree with Mayo's first free pass. At this point in the game, you‘re down by one, there’s one out, you‘ve got a not-very-fast guy, Danny Thompson, on second base, and last year’s MVP and the greatest homerun hitter of the 1960s, Harmon Killebrew, at the plate. Plus he's slow and the guy on deck has knee issues. A ground ball and you get out of the inning. 

The trouble: The guy on deck is Tony Oliva, who was one of the best hitters of the ‘60s, and the only man to win the battle title his first two years in the Majors. And at that point in the 1970 season, he was hitting .325. (He’d wind up leading the league in hits and doubles.) So walking Killebrew to get to Oliva was like walking Ken Griffey Jr. to get to Edgar Martinez. Pick your poison. The only argument in favor of it is the lefty-right thing. Detroit's pitcher, Fred Scherman, was a lefty. That's why Mayo did it. Why you shouldn't do it? Oliva doubled.  

Mayo rewards Scherman by yanking him for Tom Timmerman, a righty, to face the right-handed Rick Renick. Renick doubles, too. (BTW: The Renick at-bat is the only time during that long, long inning that first base was open with men in scoring position and Mayo didn‘t go for the IBB.) 

That brings up another Double-R, Rich Reese. He’d had a good season the year before (.322/.362/.513 in 132 games), but had fallen off a bit in ‘70. At this point, he was .271/.339/.374. But he was also a lefty and now Mayo had a righty on the mound. So he intentionally walks Reese to get to Leo Cardenas, a former four-time All-Star who was hitting .281. But it kinda worked. He got the grounder he wanted, but no double play. And now two men were in scoring position. 

Which brings up my favorite intentional pass of the evening. 

At this point, remember, the double play is meaningless. There are two outs. A grounder and you get out of the inning. Plus you’re down by 4 anyway, in a game in August, for a team that's going nowhere. Pitch away. Go for it. 

Nope. Mayo had Timmerman issue the Tigers' third intentional pass of the inning. To Paul Ratliff. 

My immediate reaction upon seeing the name was “Who?” That's most people's reactions. Except that's probably their reaction to Rick Renick, Rich Reese and Danny Thompson, too, but I knew all those guys. In 1970, I was a 7-year-old with a mind like a sponge who was ga-ga over the Minnesota Twins. I collected baseball cards, I went to games, I knew them. I knew them all: Brant Alyea, Jim Holt, George Mitterwald. They were legends to me.

But Paul Ratliff? Nothing.

Turns out he was a back-up catcher who came up in ‘63 for a cup of coffe, then not again until 1970. As of August 1, he was hitting .243 with a .706 OPS. Not exactly an intentional-pass candidate. But the lefty-righty thing. So Mayo, for the third time that half inning, played the percentages. He assumed the next guy up, a guy hitting .170, and who had started the inning with a K, would get him his out.

Except the next guy up was former All-Star Bob Allison, who, with Killebrew and Oliva, had been part of that Murderers Row Twins Club of the mid-1960s. And while he was on his last legs, and his batting average was way, way down, his OBP wasn’t: .333. He couldn't hit but he could still draw a walk. Which is exactly what he did. With the bases loaded. Another run.

Then Tovar singled to plate Reese and Ratliff, the two most recent IBBs, and then Thompson singled to plate Allison. The final out of the inning was made by Killebrew, the first IBB.

Anyway, that's how you get a 12-4 score in 10 innings: two singles, three doubles, and four walks—three intentional. Those IBBs weren't smart, they weren't sporting, but I bet they were a lot of fun.

Me and my brother with Rich Reese on Camera Day, 1970, a few weeks after the above game. And is the guy in the background the elulsive Paul Ratliff? Anyone know?