Byron Buxton, Joe Ryan, and Pablo López: Minnesota's Offseason Power Play Revealed

Mia Reynolds, 12/6/2025The Minnesota Twins resist offseason dismantling, opting to keep core players like Byron Buxton, Joe Ryan, and Pablo López. Amid past disappointments, the focus shifts to stability and healing rather than new acquisitions, offering fans a flicker of hope for the upcoming season.

This year, though, as rumors swirled and trade winds threatened to sweep away the heart of the roster, a different sort of chill filled the Twin Cities. Less panic. More stubborn resilience. The front office—long known for hitting the reset button the moment hope frays—put their foot down. No more dismantling, apparently. Not this time.

The Athletic’s Dan Hayes recently dropped the kind of update that tends to settle nerves, at least for a couple months: Byron Buxton, Joe Ryan, and Pablo López? Staying put. There are no plans to wheel and deal the remaining stars out of town. Considering the midseason purge—eight players shipped off, Correa included—that’s almost shocking. Minnesota, so often a farm for bigger markets, is drawing a line.

Byron Buxton, first and foremost, earned it. Looking at his 2025, it’s hard to argue otherwise: 35 home runs, 83 RBIs, a batting line that sizzled in the dog days (.264/.327/.551), and another All-Star trip to polish the mantle. He’s not just the face of the franchise—he’s the pulse. With $15 million a year on the books until 2027, he’s finally being treated not like a trade chip but a tent pole. That’s not nothing, especially in a market forever wary of its stars drifting south or east.

Joe Ryan, too, brought his own flash of defiance. He’s not the headline act, maybe—not in New York, not in Los Angeles—but in Minnesota he’s a wish answered. A 13-10 record and a 3.42 ERA over 171 innings? Feels like the sort of numbers that earn a permanent place in the rotation. That local affection is real; so’s the subtext—Ryan’s only under control for two more years, and talk of an extension is already taking root, perhaps out of hope, perhaps out of fear of letting the next good one get away.

Now, Pablo López presents more of a riddle. An ace by payroll—over $21 million annually—but last year’s ledger tells a harder story: only 14 starts, not even reaching the century mark in innings. Some memories linger from his Miami days—dependable, if not dazzling—but injuries have begun to shadow that reliability. Will 2025 be the campaign he puts it back together, or merely another lesson in patience? No one knows, and few are pretending otherwise.

Of course, the bleeding hasn’t quite stopped from last year’s exodus. Carlos Correa, once the centerpiece, finds himself elsewhere, likely fielding grounders in a playoff chase yet again. Louis Varland—a young gun, shipped out—managed to set a postseason record in Toronto, the kind of stat that prompts both a wince and a nod of respect back home. These aren’t just transactions; they’re fissures, the kind fans feel long after the box scores fade.

So the pause, this decision not to pursue another teardown—it isn’t just a numbers game. Sure, the AL Central offers its annual mirage: attainable, if a bit blurry around the edges. Yet there’s a sense that the fanbase, raw after so many sell-offs, can’t take another cold spring stripped of hope. In an industry that prizes assets, potential, and payroll flexibility, the Twins are doing something unfashionable. They’re standing by their core. Maybe it is wishful thinking. Or maybe, just maybe, there’s power in letting a team heal and try again—creases, scars, and all.

That isn’t to say it’s safe ground. Injuries remain a threat. There’s no guarantee Buxton will stay upright, nor that Ryan and López will hold their form, nor that even the best-case scenario matches up to the relentless aspirations found elsewhere in the American League. On second thought, certainty’s a rare commodity anywhere outside Vegas—especially in baseball. But there’s something quietly radical about building rather than blowing up; about betting on history over hype.

Sports don’t operate according to spreadsheets alone. There’s room for heartbreak, habit, stubbornness. What’s true in life, strangely enough, seems truer every April: sometimes the best shot at the impossible comes not from trading for the next would-be savior, but from trusting the hands already on the tiller.

So, the Twins head into 2025 not with a parade of shiny new faces, but with the same battered, beloved cast. Familiar, flawed, and—just maybe—capable of something memorable. There’s comfort in that, however precarious. In a world that chases newness, holding on becomes a kind of rebellion.

Not promising miracles. Just promising to try, with the people and pieces who’ve already carried the hope this far. For fans still thawing from past disappointments, perhaps that’s enough to believe in—at least until the grass greens again, and anything’s possible anew.

It’s odd, the way winter clings to Minnesota—even once the calendar suggests otherwise. The ballpark sits quiet, snow edges the outfield grass, and there’s that ache that won’t quite thaw—the one that comes after dreams fall short again. Another October without the Twins. The kind of season fans spend all winter trying to forget, even as they quietly replay every what-if.This year, though, as rumors swirled and trade winds threatened to sweep away the heart of the roster, a different sort of chill filled the Twin Cities. Less panic. More stubborn resilience. The front office—long known for hitting the reset button the moment hope frays—put their foot down. No more dismantling, apparently. Not this time.The Athletic’s Dan Hayes recently dropped the kind of update that tends to settle nerves, at least for a couple months: Byron Buxton, Joe Ryan, and Pablo López? Staying put. There are no plans to wheel and deal the remaining stars out of town. Considering the midseason purge—eight players shipped off, Correa included—that’s almost shocking. Minnesota, so often a farm for bigger markets, is drawing a line.Byron Buxton, first and foremost, earned it. Looking at his 2025, it’s hard to argue otherwise: 35 home runs, 83 RBIs, a batting line that sizzled in the dog days (.264/.327/.551), and another All-Star trip to polish the mantle. He’s not just the face of the franchise—he’s the pulse. With $15 million a year on the books until 2027, he’s finally being treated not like a trade chip but a tent pole. That’s not nothing, especially in a market forever wary of its stars drifting south or east.Joe Ryan, too, brought his own flash of defiance. He’s not the headline act, maybe—not in New York, not in Los Angeles—but in Minnesota he’s a wish answered. A 13-10 record and a 3.42 ERA over 171 innings? Feels like the sort of numbers that earn a permanent place in the rotation. That local affection is real; so’s the subtext—Ryan’s only under control for two more years, and talk of an extension is already taking root, perhaps out of hope, perhaps out of fear of letting the next good one get away.Now, Pablo López presents more of a riddle. An ace by payroll—over $21 million annually—but last year’s ledger tells a harder story: only 14 starts, not even reaching the century mark in innings. Some memories linger from his Miami days—dependable, if not dazzling—but injuries have begun to shadow that reliability. Will 2025 be the campaign he puts it back together, or merely another lesson in patience? No one knows, and few are pretending otherwise.Of course, the bleeding hasn’t quite stopped from last year’s exodus. Carlos Correa, once the centerpiece, finds himself elsewhere, likely fielding grounders in a playoff chase yet again. Louis Varland—a young gun, shipped out—managed to set a postseason record in Toronto, the kind of stat that prompts both a wince and a nod of respect back home. These aren’t just transactions; they’re fissures, the kind fans feel long after the box scores fade.So the pause, this decision not to pursue another teardown—it isn’t just a numbers game. Sure, the AL Central offers its annual mirage: attainable, if a bit blurry around the edges. Yet there’s a sense that the fanbase, raw after so many sell-offs, can’t take another cold spring stripped of hope. In an industry that prizes assets, potential, and payroll flexibility, the Twins are doing something unfashionable. They’re standing by their core. Maybe it is wishful thinking. Or maybe, just maybe, there’s power in letting a team heal and try again—creases, scars, and all.That isn’t to say it’s safe ground. Injuries remain a threat. There’s no guarantee Buxton will stay upright, nor that Ryan and López will hold their form, nor that even the best-case scenario matches up to the relentless aspirations found elsewhere in the American League. On second thought, certainty’s a rare commodity anywhere outside Vegas—especially in baseball. But there’s something quietly radical about building rather than blowing up; about betting on history over hype.Sports don’t operate according to spreadsheets alone. There’s room for heartbreak, habit, stubbornness. What’s true in life, strangely enough, seems truer every April: sometimes the best shot at the impossible comes not from trading for the next would-be savior, but from trusting the hands already on the tiller.So, the Twins head into 2025 not with a parade of shiny new faces, but with the same battered, beloved cast. Familiar, flawed, and—just maybe—capable of something memorable. There’s comfort in that, however precarious. In a world that chases newness, holding on becomes a kind of rebellion.Not promising miracles. Just promising to try, with the people and pieces who’ve already carried the hope this far. For fans still thawing from past disappointments, perhaps that’s enough to believe in—at least until the grass greens again, and anything’s possible anew.