Baseball. Satan’s Game
Perhaps ya’ll don’t believe in God or Satan. No problem. I’m a borderline athiest myself. Often called an agnostic. Which kind of comes off as a pussy not willing to make a committment one way or the other. But baseball? Of all things it makes me believe, in the least, of a higher being.
All sports are always iffy game to game. But baseball holds not only a legacy stronger than any other sport in America but a passion amongst its fans that closely embraces a religion. Granted, the “Religion of Baseball” was already discussed in the film BULL DURHAM, but I’m going different than that.
Or not. We’ll see.
See, baseball is the weirdest sport based on the odd qualities or lack thereof that still allows something along of excellence in their sport. Gentlemen exceed in this sport who have the physical ability to barely get out of the fucking bullpen after their fourth beer and seventh chicken wing to come in and get that save. GOTSTA be a deal with the devil. And we love, or at the very least, respect these creatures that would be more than welcome to the Gates of Hell (for those of ya’ll that enlist in the qualifications). Historically Ty Cobb was a wiry, talented, outstanding baseball superstar but, no question, would have fought with General Lee’s side in the 1860’s. Babe Ruth was a fat fucking tub of goo who hit more HR’s personally than other teams, repeat, entire teams in any given year. The Black Sox Remember them?
Baseball kept blacks out as long as forever and only allowed hispanics in if their skin was slightly…paler.
Bennies. Pete Rose. Pine par. The steroid era, for lack of a better term, created more possible villians than any time in the greatest statistical period in the game’s history.
And yet, we still… watch, follow, live and die on a day to day basis for our boys of summer.
Meanwhile…Satan laughs away.
Baseball is Satan’s favorite sport. Satan, at least once in his quarterly lunch meeting with God…brings up baseball.
With Satan, as usual, constantly touting the fucking Yankees.
And God always ended the meetings with a smirk. Though it was just a touch different at their first lunch in 2011.
God said “Sorry, Scratch. Coudn’t help it. I know your second favorite city has always been San Francisco. For all the wrong, stupid reasons. Well..it’s alway been my favorite city. For all the rightious reasons. I was just fucking with you all this time.”
And God downed his glass of pinot noir, winked, grabbed his fedora and said, while lighting his Cuban, “I’ll give ya 2011. See ya in 2012”