We’re already doing the thing where every at-bat feels like a test. Not panic exactly, just constant scanning. Who looks loose. Who looks stiff. Who’s jogging a little too carefully out of the box. That’s where the Twins are right now, early but not carefree, because we’ve learned what early can turn into.

The conversations keep looping. Can Correa stay on the field long enough for the lineup to actually settle into something recognizable. Is Buxton going to look explosive tonight or tentative, and how long before you stop holding your breath on every sprint. And then there’s Royce Lewis, because of course there is. When he’s right, the whole thing hums. When he’s not, you can feel the air leak out of Target Field a little at a time.

Pitching-wise it’s the usual Minnesota balancing act. Some nights the starters look calm and in control, like they’ve got a plan. Other nights it’s pitch counts climbing early and the bullpen phone lighting up faster than anyone wants. You start memorizing which reliever warms first in tight spots, because patterns matter even when people pretend they don’t.

The games creep into your week like muscle memory. An early evening start you rearrange dinner for. A cold night you talk yourself into because you know the crowd will be smaller and sharper. You listen for the sound after a big strikeout, that specific roar that only shows up when everyone’s nervous but hopeful at the same time.

Being there now is about catching the shape of it before it hardens. Seeing who looks confident, who’s still searching, who the crowd is already willing to forgive. It’s not settled yet. That’s kind of the point.