The Greek gods, like saints, sat watching this game they had encountered many years before;
seeing the likes of the great Babe Ruth hitting awesome skyscrapers that went for "Homers"
while almost at the same time devouring prodigious amounts of hot-dogs, speckled
with rat chit, and gulping down gallons of American made nectar peed in by pissed
off below minimum waged workers; the Splendid Sliver, the last person to hit four
hundred or better whom the Beantown sportswriters disliked - giving him a hard time due to his having
a "shady" brother on the west coast spending suckers' money - as
he was giving them the all mighty middle-finger bird saying judge "The Sliver"
and not the birds flying in his life; the haughty Clipper who could glide like a sail boat,
making difficult plays look so easy, but never raised a voice when some of his innocent
people were interned, like the Japanese on the west coast, for looking like Sacco
and Vanzetti and not realizing he was an icon - ready to sue Miss Robinson for saying he went away;
and the Black-American who may have been sixty five years old when
he struck out his last major league Whitey who had a rope and a tree in his back
pocket but after the greed season happened when both owners and players showed
great contempt for what was once a game, the gods looked upon it with a jaundiced
eye telling each other that it was all about the great stain on souls and it was
not seen by them as a black and white situation - rather if a person had a great stain
on his soul meant he or she was incapable of loving others, self and would heap
deeds of ugliness on others and yet still be good at certain moments while those
with less stain on their souls would be more inclined to have love for others, a
self love and eschew an indifference, embracing an empathy - and so the gods began
adding even more odd dimensions to it: like having a ball trapped inside a grotesque
Arabian Oily hand only to bounce out of it when making the pasture guarder bang
against a fence, to make what once looked like an out become a four wheatear-bagger,
and then delightfully toying with a manager's arrogant mind by planting a bright idea
of doing a run and hit with the bases loaded allowing the easy triple play to follow -
making for many pseudo orgiastic thrills among the many Styrofoam-leaking cup holders.
The announcement flooding the whole stadium asked all good fanatics to please donate
five, ten or a thousand dollars to a great cause propounded by the owner-dictator
of the Loss Alamo Rockets and even if they did that noble thing, the team would
still be raising their prices on seat tickets — for didn't one of the great American
fornicating Founding Fathers say "time was money" and at their concession stands to
make become a reality the pellet missile system that the whole world would fear—including friendly
nations that were trying to play in the game of greed too perpetuated by the god
called GOP which meant in esoteric terms among those who were rich owning five million
dollars and owning about eleven homes making the four million dollars people very
very angry. It was known also in endrun corporate jargon as The Mighty PMS.
"Explain please? Is this something that Mohammed American Black guy from Kentucky
would do when pretending he was getting beat up while making the other fighter punch
himself out?" Zeus said.
Poseidon, god of the sea and horses, took it upon himself to answer; being sort
of a favorite of the mighty one who had beaned the throne off his father's head said:
"Before we Greeks came to power in the Mediterranean area trying to make human
bodies beautiful - the whole world was concerned with dying; making all kinds of
religions flourish, so building structures in honor of death, like the ziggurats
of Babylon and the pyramids of Egypt, whose women were the first to rouge their lips to resemble juicy - "
"What in the holy hell does that have to do with price of bitter broccoli rape?"
"But my most powerful One - greater than even the Persian god of light with
his twelve apostles who wanted to promise reincarnation to make a better world but instead
was misinterpreted as saying resurrection - I was getting to the point in my own
galloping wave-like way— "
"Do you recall the bastard Prometheus person?" Hermes reminded him.
"By Jove I do! You see, the owner of the teammortals named Casper Shrub who
lost much of his brain cells during his earlier years what with drinking like the
great Babe and some say doing "babonia-dope" on the side has this money
making idea for the wealthy makers of fungo limbs and Lilly white pellets who contribute
lots of masuma to the unholy pastime. And if the ticketbuyers fold into it, which
he knows they will like when they do paying all the hidden taxes they're not
aware of since they are not called taxes but are dressed in other clothing, insists
he knows a new way to stop Homers and all that notion of giving a dignity to humanity
and carry on where that other leader who did the pee dance when Paris was burning
and many of those haughty people would become collaborators—"
"How pray tell?" Zeus said rubbing his knee with a closed fist which he
would soon bite; making spike mark indentations appear all over its back like Gaea's
once good earth that had been eaten up by all the near-sighted and wannabee millioners.
"He wants to position one of his fungo mortals on the foul side of left pastures,
and if the fanatics buy into this, he will add another one in foul right pastures
so when they see a pellet hit by an enemy clubmortal going toward Homerville they
will begin hitting their pellets to hit it so preventing it from going over the
fence and become a buying item for the courts to decide like who would become a
All the gods looked away as Zeus began chewing the back of his hand - thinking indeed
when the coliseum fell the whole world really did begin a dying and worse an ignorance
that would copulate with a servitude - disallowing saints from marching into the
eyes of denial.