1 out of 2

One horribly embarrassing American pastime down, one more to go. What do the last 60 games acccomplish that the first 100 and whatever didn't? It's like allowing Bowling to go on for 1,000 frames, an exercise in futility. Baseball in November is one of many signs that there is no god. 

Speaking of which, in a post-game interview Mark Teixeira, one of baseball's self-appointed preachers, thanked God and credited God for leading him to the right team, the Yankees, which means one of two things. Mark Teixiera's decision had absolutely nothing to do with the $180 million dollar contract presented to him by the Bronx Bombers' fulsome czars for swinging wooden bats at leather balls in tight polyester uniforms or the Christians' god is now blatantly peddling in US currency. Considering the value of the US dollar, that God might want to think about switching to the Euro or, even better, the Yen, as it continues to skyrocket. 

Just once I want to see some athlete, either in stone-faced sincerity or sheer sardonic ridiculousness, thank Odin the Wanderer and his wise beard from which all answers originate or Zeus and his sexy lightning bolts or Kutkh the Raven God of the Chukotka or some distant moon or lunar deity or the Algonquin's gitche manitou or Aphrodite, that little minx; or Quetzalcoatl, the feathered-serpent deity given to us by the Mayans, among many other important things they gave us, like calenders, astronomy and chocolate. Something with a little fucking imagination. Make up a new God, because you know in another thousand years or so these current ones will be resting on the shelf with the rest of antiquities' deities. I'd like to see some sign that somewhere in the midst of America's cluttered, superstitious mind a sense of humor and an halfway decent imagination still exist. As of yet I'm unconvinced.