St. Louis Cardinals
… Cardinals what is there to say about them many a thing indeed least of all Keith Hernandez’s tenure there throughout the latter half of the 1970s as well as the early years of the decade of Reagan and Gorbachev and the Cold War and whatnot ‘tis besides the point and yet so much we owe to that man as fans of the New York Metropolitans with the entire ’86 affair and the broadcasting and the swinging and swanging and golden gilded gloving of a man who is renowned for his mustache and love of cute adorable felis silvestris catus known in more colloquial terms as the common house cat but let’s move on shall we barring Keith’s near-decade of very excellent work the rest of the history of said team is one long sordid affair of corruption and outrage who could forget the famous scandal of 1993 in which Hank Morris who evidently had some sort of psychological breakdown pelted unsupecting fans with the very balls he was supposed to be hitting much to the umpire’s delight it goes without saying that Dick Des Veux the team owner at the time did absolutely nothing to punish the outrageous second baseman and then the infamous stretch of time in which the ball boys would streak across the field halfway through the 29th inning management of course turned a blind eye to this how could they not when such a spectacle repulsed and enthralled fans from the icy waters of the Danube to the scorching sands of the Peruvian coast but most importantly yes most importantly of all in 1882 when the Cardinals were simply known as the Browns which strikes me as humorous due to the fact that there are now not one but a whopping TWO teams in the National League of Football Players’ Association for the Playing of Football which have shared names with the baseball organization in question dear me yes what was I saying way back in 1882 decades before the Great War ravished Europe and introduced the Western World to the adverse effects and subsequent horrors brought upon by the rapid unchecked technological progress which was sweeping the hemisphere at that time yes decades before that Charles Buckworth the pitcher known for throwing the fastest pitch of all time a whopping 379,022 kilometers per second shocked the baseball crowd with his unmatched talent and his penchant for falling asleep on the mount and his subsequent bouts of somnambulism also known as sleepwalking in which the poor sap would amble up and down the third base line unable to wake up until the first base coach a man by the name of Harry Milford at the time would stalk across the diamond and slap Buckworth upside the head oh yes in fact one little known tidbit of St Louis history is the so called Curse of the Hydra in which a local entrepreneur and beloved family man Dr. Wally Porchy way back in 1937 brought his pet hydra you are familiar of course with the multi headed serpentine abomination of Greek mythology well yes of course it exists anyways this man Wally attempts to being such a beast into the stadium but was barred entry needless to say the ferocious creature proceeded to promptly devour no less than eighteen security guards before Wally called it off and left the stadium and now or at the very least according to local tradition the Cardinals have not won a World Series since that fateful day nearly a century ago but for better or for worse although methinks worse there is no way to verify whether or not they have broken said curse yes all in all an amazing time for all sports fans young to old but enough reminiscing about bygone days before the advent of the pitch clock and the electric toothbrush enough of all that let’s get on with the discussion of the prospects of our aforementioned team yes the St Louis…
Pittsburgh Pirates
In the middle of the journey of my life, I came to myself in a dark place, Pittsburgh, for the way to the World Series was lost.
Ah, how hard a thing it is to say what that city was, so savage and harsh and strong that the thought of it renews my fear!
When I saw him in PNC Park, “Miserere—on me,” I cried to him, “whatever you may be, whether shade or true man!”
He replied: “Not just man, but a baseball player, and my parents were Floridians, I, a Fort Meade resident by birth.
I was an outfielder, and I received a glove of gold for my prowess in the great emerald sea that is center field.”
“Now you are Andrew McCutchen, that fountain which spreads forth so broad a river of Silver Sluggers?” I replied with shamefast brow.
“You must hold to another path,” he replied, after he saw me weep, “if you wish to escape from this savage place.”
ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE.
These words I saw written with dark color above the home bullpen gate, and I said: “Andrew, their sense is hard to me.”
And he to me, like one alert: “Here one must abandon every suspicion, every cowardice must die here.”
There sighs, weeping, loud wailing resounded through the starless air, for which at the outset I shed tears.
And I, my head girt with horror, said: “Andrew, what is this I hear? And what people is this who seem so overcome by grief?”
And he to me: “This wretched measure is kept by the miserable souls who consider themselves Pirates fans.
They are mixed with that cowardly chorus of the hopeful who believe it to finally be the year their record will be over .500.
The seats behind home plate reject them so as not to be less beautiful, nor do the nosebleeds receive them, for the hot dog men would have some glory from them.”
And I: “Andrew, what is so grievous that it makes them lament so loudly?” He replied: “I will tell you very briefly.
They have no hope of winning any titles, and their blind support is so base that they are envious of every other team.
The world permits no fame of them to exist, mercy and justice alike disdain them; let us not speak of them, but look and pass on.”
These wretches, who never saw many wins, were jerseyless and tormented by title pennants hung at other stadiums.
Ketchup and mustard streaked their faces which, mixed with tears, at their feet was gathered up by peanut shells.
Then Andrew moved on, and I followed after him.
Cincinnati Reds
Act I, Scene I
The home dugout of the Great American Ballpark, which is empty except for two men. Joey Votto is leaning against the back wall, idly opening sunflower seeds with his teeth and spitting the shells onto the ground. Wil Myers sits on the bench, tying and untying his cleats absentmindedly.
Joey Votto: (abruptly) What do you want to do tonight? I was thinking maybe a Star Wars marathon?
Wil Myers: (looking up) What are you talking about? We already have plans.
Joey Votto: (uncomfortable) I didn’t realize they were set in stone… okay what was your scheme for tonight again?
Wil Myers: We’ve been over the plan a hundred times.
Joey Votto: Well just run me through it one more time.
Wil Myers: (annoyed) There’s a big party tonight at Buzzo Huncho’s house, right?
Joey Votto: Right.
Wil Myers: And your crush, Heather, is going to be there, right?
Joey Votto: (embarrassed) I don’t have a crush on her, I just think she’s cool and I like spending time with her… but yes she’ll be there.
Wil Myers: Okay then, our plan is to get some booze so we can bring it to the party. She’ll be so impressed by your resourcefulness that she’s bound to sleep with you! Or at the very least give you a handjob, right?
Joey Votto: (taken aback) Gross dude! C’mon man, be serious!
Wil Myers: What, is that not what you want?
Joey Votto: (face red) Well I’d really just like to talk with her for a while, you know?
Wil Myers: (sarcastic) Okay weirdo, whatever you say.
They sit in silence for a moment.
Joey Votto: Look, how are we even going to get alcohol in the first place? You know we’ll get in deep shit if my parents catch us raiding their liquor cabinet again.
Wil Myers: Oh Joey, Joey, Joey… our days of stealing your parents’ booze is far behind us. Not with this, anyway…
He pulls a card out of his pocket and hands it to Joey Votto
Joey Votto: Holy shit! You got a fake ID?
Wil Myers: (proud) Of course I did, you thought I’d come up with this plan unprepared?
Joey Votto: Wait a minute… this isn’t even a picture of you! And it says here you’re 32 years old?
Wil Myers: Well, my source wasn’t the most reliable guy, but I promise it’ll work. Trust me dude, have I ever steered you wrong?
Joey Votto: Plenty of times, Wil, plenty of times.
Act I, Scene II
The duo stands nervously outside a 7-11, Wil Myers staring intensely at his ID. Joey Votto paces back and forth.
Joey Votto: There’s no way this is going to work dude.
Wil Myers: (annoyed) Look, do you want to impress Heather tonight or what?
Joey Votto: Yes, but surely there are better ways to do that!
Wil Myers: No way man. Chicks love resourceful guys. She is going to think you’re so cool after we pull this off
Joey Votto: Okay, okay, quit stalling you bum. Are you going to do this or not?
Wil Myers: (nervous) Yep, yep yep yep… (to himself) Okay Wil, you can do this. You are 32 years old and a certified badass.
Wil struts comedically into the store. Joey continues to pace outside, occasionally glancing through the store windows. Suddenly, the door flies open and Wil sprints out, a case of beer in each hand.
Wil Myers: (frantically) Book it Joey! Let’s get out of here!
Wil sprints away down the road as Joey looks on, stunned. An angry shopkeeper barges out of the store. He glares accusingly at Joey.
Shopkeeper: Get in here!
Joey begins to sprint after Wil, narrowly dodging the outstretched arms of the shopkeeper. Joey finally catches up to Wil, who has slowed to a walk, painfully gasping for air.
Wil Myers: (in between breaths) Did you… see that? Not… too shabby… huh?
Joey Votto: (breaking out into a smile) You are the dumbest person I know.
Wil Myers: (beginning to laugh) Would a dumb person be able to steal these?
He holds up the cases.
Joey Votto: Well no, I suppose not. (beat) What should we do now?
Wil Myers: (grinning) Now, my friend, we get you to that party and get you laid!
Joey Votto: Yeah, yeah…
The two walk offstage together, beer cases in hand.
Milwaukee Brewers
An Ode to Beer
Shall I compare thee to a can of Coke?
Thou art more refreshing and rich with taste:
No drink goes better with an outdoor smoke,
And ne’er shall I allow thee go to waste:
Sometimes too rich the flavor of a Sprite,
And too oft is the syrup sickly sweet,
But bitter hops and frothy foam hit right,
The flavor of the yeast I gladly meet:
Yet fat and drunk thy drink will make me be,
And bad my breath will reek the morning next,
So curb I must my drunken revelry,
Lest it leave me ugly and rather vexed,
For how can such a drink affect me so?
I needn’t fret and doubt we’ll ever know.
Chicago Cubs
A reading from the book of Chicagolation, chapters six and seven.
“And I saw when Manfred opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four bases saying, Come and see.
And I saw, and behold a white horse: and Cody Bellinger sat upon him; and a helmet was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.
And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second base say, Come and see.
And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to Dansby Swanson to take peace from the earth, and that Chicago fans should fight one another: and there was given unto him a great bat.
And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third base say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and Trey Mancini sat on him had a thick glove on his hand.
And I heard a voice in the midst of the four bases say, A measure of fries for a dollar, and three hot dogs for three dollars; and see thou overcharge not the popcorn and the beer.
And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the home plate say, Come and see.
And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Marcus Stroman, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the diamond, to win with the bat, and with the glove, and with skillful pitching, and with the support of the Cubs fans.
And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw in the nosebleeds the souls of them that were vying for season tickets, and for the promises of a good season which they held:
And they cried with a loud voice, saying, How long, O Hawkins, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?
And free jerseys were given unto every one of them; and it was said unto them, that they should rest yet for opening day, until their fellow servants also and their brethren, that should be given merchandise as they were, should be fulfilled.
And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as Steve Cohen’s soul, and Lake Michigan became as blood;
And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a rookie swingeth too early, when he is shaken by a mighty pitcher.
And Manfred departed as a scroll when it is rolled together; and every seat and box were moved out of their places.
And the fans of the team, the great men, and the season ticket holders, and the umpires, and the mighty White Sox fans, and every broadcaster, and every hot dog man, hid themselves in the dens and in the annals of Wrigley Field;
And said to the bleachers and lights, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of Rob Manfred:
For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?”
The word of the Lord for the people of the Lord. Amen.
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