And darkness comes upon the land, and snow, and sleet, and rain to wash away the mounds of snow, and then more snow, and more sleet and more rain, seemingly endlessly through the worst winter in New York City since Ice Age Part III, The Glaciers Move Several Inches.
Day after grueling day the routine is the same - a bleak forecast, already validated by some form of wintry precipitation, followed by more relentless wintry precipitation. Former Acting Commissioner of Baseball, Captain Sully Sullenberger, now Chief Meteorologist for the National Weather Service, having turned the Commissioner's reins back to Bud Selig (now listed at 90% of his pre-injury condition, albeit missing some of the higher brain functions associated with reasoning, judgment and decision-making), works diligently with leading forecasters from Planalytics of Wayne, PA, who have projected weather in war and peace since 1944, to identify six hours of clear weather in which Game Three of the 2009, quickly becoming the 2010, World Series can be played. Every day, the decision is the same - no game today, unplayable conditions.
Religious figures from across the globe come to New York to pray for baseball weather - Rev. Al Sharpton, Ernie Banks, Susan Sarandon reprising her role as Annie Savoy in "Bull Durham", James Earl Jones as Kevin Costner's inspiration in "Field of Dreams", Robert "The Natural" Redford as Roy Hobbs, even the son of the actor who played the chaplain (now dead) in "Patton" where he delivered an effective weather prayer to allow the famous general, brilliantly played in an Oscar-winning (and unaccepted) role by George C. Scott, to lead his troops in a march to Berlin, a frail Billy Graham by Skype broadcast, mega-church pasters Joel Osteen, who reminds the weather that "God wants you to have a nice day for Game Three," and Rick Warren, who rereads his prayer from the 2009 presidential inaugural, replacing the Obama daughter names "Malia" and "SSSasha" with "Yankees" and "Mets", the Dali Lama, an Iranian mullah, an earth-centered spirituality group from the Unitarian Church of Baton Rouge, and even Pope Benedict XVI, in a special supplication ("Encyclical on New World Precipitation") delivered in Latin, German, French, and English (in a vaguely successful attempt at a Brooklyn accent in which he refers to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit as "youse guys") given at St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.
The 24-hour prayer vigil continues daily throughout the four-plus-month blizzard. Later supplicants may not carry the gravitas of the Pope, the Dali Lama or Robert Redford, but they do their best - Father Mulcahy from MASH, Father Guido Sarducci from Saturday Night Live, the Church Lady, also from the same program, even fallen Pastor Ted Haggard, who surprisingly appears with his new boyfriend, asking the weather gods for both forgiveness and a clear day in The Bronx. Mascot Chief Wahoo of the Cleveland Indians does a sun dance, accompanied by Chief Knock-a-Homa and Princess Hit-a-Single, who take a short break from operating the Lucky Brave Casino in rural Georgia to both influence weather in New York and to remind gamers across the country that the Lucky Brave has the "loosest slots in the Southeast." Robert Redford, after a costume change, causes female hearts across America to flutter by reprising his role as the Sundance Kid, then reschedules his Sundance Film Festival to January, and offers a special prize for films depicting the Great American Pastime played in sunny weather.
Bravo for FOX renames its Danny DeVito sitcom "It's Always Sunny in The Bronx." ABC's "Nightline" counts the delay days in a ongoing late night series called "National Nightmare." Ratings for both soar, but the weather in the real Bronx remains arctic.
The Yankees and their benefactors, the taxpayers of the city of New York, work tirelessly on another approach - adding a retractable roof to Yankee Stadium. Not just any roof, but one that would rise rotunda-like above already-cathedralesque Yankee Stadium to convert it into not only the greatest baseball shrine in the world, but also to rival the greatest religious structures ever known - Stonehenge, the Parthenon, the Colisseum, St. Peter's Basilica, the Onion Domes of Moscow, Westminster Abbey, Notre Dame and the Unitarian Church of Baton Rouge.
After each night's scheduled game is officially postponed, workers toil through blinding snow and bone-chilling temperatures in the stadium offices, making plans for the rotunda. Once begun, the outside work crawls, starting and stopping as accumulations of snow and ice confound the architects' calculations. Pope Benedict and Pat Robertson, in a rare joint pronouncement, report that there need be no hole in the roof for God to watch His team, but that He would like a special box - G-1, just behind the Yankee dugout to root His team on. Plans are amended to add a box with a heavenly throne, special seating on the right and left hand for God's "posse", and a bulletproof glass-encased seat for the Pope.
The Yankee marketing department struggles to determine appropriate pricing for such choice seating. After consultation with the federal government, they settle on $50 trillion per game (or three games at a discounted $140 trillion), an amount that will retire the national debt, balance the federal budget for the next five years, and put Social Security and Medicare in the black until 2039, assuming that the King of Kings accepts the three-game package.
An anxious nation awaits the heavenly reply, all but Nicholas Cage hoping for a positive response. Cage, concerned that the move will hurt the opening weekend box office receipts for his upcoming picture National Treasure 3: Retiring the National Debt, is privately opposed, but publicly silent. National Treasure 3 screenwriters work feverishly to inject a baseball-related subplot.
Beams stretch toward the heavens. Italian marble arrives by special Vatican courier plane, accompanied by a sizable check and a request by the Holy Roman Catholic Church to rename Yankee Stadium "God's Own Stadium". Not wishing to engage in two simultaneous negotiations with the Almighty, the Yankees return the check unopened, but counteroffer to show the film Angels and Demons in its entirely with limited commercial interruption after the first Yankee win in the new stadium.
As March 2010 approaches, spring training for the new season begins. Each day the Yankee and Met traveling secretaries issue new tickets for the flight from Fort Lauderdale and Port St. Lucie, FL respectively to The Bronx to play Game Three. Sunny Florida skies, the crack of bats, and the smell of neatsfoot oil-treated leather inspire thoughts about another way to continue what has now been successively renamed the "Late Fall", then "Early Winter", then "Holiday", then "Dead of Winter" and now the "Late Winter Classic". Could the Yankees spring training home stadium in Fort Lauderdale, Florida be expanded to host World Series Game Three? Sufficient roll-away bleachers are located to expand seating capacity from 10,000 to nearly 50,000, but the plan is rejected when Commissioner Selig and Bravo for FOX realize that both insufficient time and clearance above the water table exist to build the subway from Fort Lauderdale to the Mets' spring training site in Port St. Lucie, Florida necessary to maintain the Subway Series subhead for the event.
Negotiations continue among God (through his representatives Benedict and Robertson), the Yankees (now represented by the Steinbrenner brothers, the price tag having "exceeded the pay grade" of their sales and marketing directors), and the Obama administration (represented by Treasury Secretary Timothy "Not a Potted Plant" Geitner and White House Chief of Staff Rahm "Better Clean Up My Language For This One" Emmanuel).
In what appears to be more than coincidence, the negotiations jackpot just as famous sports artist Leroy Niemann applies the last brushstroke to the baseball-as-religion fresco Original Pitch that covers the inside of Yankee Stadium's new retractable roof. The entire ceiling is draped so that the unveiling can be made as part of the Game Three pregame ceremony, but a Bravo for E! (henceforth known as E!) exclusive breathlessly reports that the centerpiece of the work shows God (who looks remarkably like Hall of Famer Walter Johnson) delivering the "original pitch" of creation to catcher Jesus (kind of a cross between former Yankee 1B Joe Pepitone and Omar Sharif). Moses (Charlton Heston, big surprise) plays first, Adam and Eve (Albert Brooks and Ellen DeGeneris, happily together again after their smashing work in Finding Nemo) are the double play combination, while Mary (Demi Moore) womans center field.
In an obvious homage to Abbott and Costello's famous comedy bit Who's On First, "I Don't Know" (E! doesn't know either) appears to be playing third, with Barry Bonds in left and Babe Ruth in right. E!'s telephone lines and e-mail accounts are flooded with demands that Niemann add an asterisk above Bonds' oversized head. "Casey" is At the Bat in the person of a wizened Casey Stengel (either Wilford Brimley or Hume Cronyn, hard to tell). Harry Caray and Harry Kalas (as themselves) call the action, which pointedly and somewhat controversially, is not being covered by Bravo for FOX, but rather Bravo acquisition holdout A&E Network, as depicted by Niemann.
Theologians convene on Larry King Live to discuss the religious ramifications of Neimann's work - is God recommending coed major league baseball? Does "I Don't Know" indicate eternal judgment on (or indecision about) Yankee star Alex Rodriguez's admitted steroid use? Where is Derek Jeter? Isn't Demi Moore a little old to be Mary? But she does look great.
God's final offer, while not officially disclosed by either side, is reported by the joint investigative team of Bravo for CNN's Lou Dobbs and Sports Illustrated's (negotiations with Bravo pending as they branch into print) Selena Roberts (but under contract to E! for this story) to be in the neighborhood of $125 trillion for the three games (already guaranteed by the split of Games One and Two at C field), and will include preferred parking, concession food and drinks up to $200 per religious entity per game, four Yankee "Jeter 2" home jerseys and caps, nearby but not necessarily contiguous seating for Mr. Robertson (make that five jerseys) and first choice of home games for a 20-game mini-season ticket package for 2010 (must include all Red Sox games). Customers with seats now blocked by Box G-1 will receive an undisclosed "restricted view" discount and vouchers good for a free hot dog and soda, or single 16 oz. beer ($25 retail value).
Storm clouds that have hovered above the Bronx for more than four months dissipate with an audible whooosh. In a unprecedented meteorological phenomenon, precipitation on its way to earth above The Bronx reverses course and returns to the sky. The waters of the Hudson River part, and then quickly refill when what is at the bottom is revealed. There are some things that even God would rather not know.
Yankee brass consult with Chief Meteorologist Sullenberger, Commissioner Selig, Secretary Geitner and Cardinal Richilieu (I'm too lazy to look it up) of the New York diocese. Renown British crab Simon (Baker, Legree, Templar, help me here, I'm blocking on his last name) interrupts American Idol to announce to America, "Play Ball!" (and, parenthetically, "God, what a miserable, boring game. Slow, just wretched. No, no, that won't do at all.") Paula Abdul exults, "Baseball, you nailed it!" Host Ryan Seacrest races from the AI set to catch a private jet to New York, hoping to land an interview with Derek Jeter for E!
Perhaps no one is more thankful for the delay or now more anxious for the resumption of the series than famed Chinese choreographer Shen Wei, last heard in October 2009 mumbling "I am so screwed," at the sight of the Mets' stirring card tribute to then Acting Commissioner Sullenberger. Shen or Wei, but I think it's Shen, has spent the four-month delay productively, organizing a pregame show that he claims will "??,??!".
Only occasionally referring to his teleprompter, Again Commissioner Selig addresses a modest assemblage of reporters who are not covering either spring training, March Madness, the NBA or NHL. "Let me start by thanking former Acting Commissioner and now Chief Meteorologist Sullenberger, God in all three forms (a separate/though multifaceted entity - not a description of Captain Sullenberger), Pope Benedict XVI, Mr. Pat Robertson, Secretary Geitner, White House Chief of Staff Emmanuel, the Steinbrenner brothers, Cardinal Richilieu, Simon Cowell (that's it!) and the thousands of men and women who have worked tirelessly these last four months to add a now-unneeded retractable roof to what we now affectionately call "God Is a Yankee Fan Stadium."
On today, March 10, 2010, a glorious spring day, without, Chief Meteorologist Sullenberger informs me, a cloud in the Bronx sky or anywhere within 500 miles, I am proud to announce the resumption of the 2009 World Series, which as it turns out will also be the first of two World Series in 2010. Tonight's game at GIAYFS (or "The Big Giraffe" as Bravo for ESPN will soon dub it) will take place after a stirring tribute to God, baseball and the fabled Yankee history, choreographed by none other than Shen Wei or Wei Shen, the legendary creator of both the opening and closing ceremonies for the 2008 Beijing Olympics. Pregame festivities begin at 8:30 Eastern Time, with the game to follow, starting no later than midnight Eastern, eleven Central, nine Pacific - Mountain figure it out for yourself."
Now clearly ad libbing, Again Commissioner Selig continues, "I urge President Obama to declare tomorrow a National Pastime Day of Celebration, closing all schools, places of business and Federal, state and local offices so that everyone can stay up until 4 or 5 in the morning for the exciting conclusion to the game and a spectacular postgame show, which will include coverage of the Bravo for FOX Big Hair Team's Breakfast of Champions, an unprecedented event where every living athlete who's ever appeared on a Wheaties box (excluding any who may be incarcerated) will join Jeannie, Eric, Eric and Carrot Top for a tasty bowl of their favorite, high fiber cereal."
"And, oh yeah, 2010 spring training for the Yankees and Mets is hereby suspended for the duration of the 2009 World Series. Clubs that are scheduled to play either team are advised to enjoy a day at the beach with your families or to talk quietly among yourselves. Of course, in the evening and early morning hours you'll want to watch Bravo for FOX's continuous coverage of the World Series as long as it lasts."
Preparations for Game Three accelerate to a manic pace. Private jets rocket from south Florida to the metro NY area. The entire New York City Sanitation Department descends on the Big Giraffe for a final spruce up. Concession prices, already destined to be the highest in major sports history, are increased 50% across the board through imposition of a "roof tax". Should the roof be closed during the game, a second 50% surcharge on the original price will be assessed. Fortunately, all concessions are bar-coded and scanned, making the price increase a simple matter of pressing two buttons in the Yankee marketing office.
The rest of the preparation is not so easy. Niemann's drop cloths, which when laid side by side are estimated to be big enough to cover Rhode Island and a small piece of Connecticut, have to be removed, rolled and stored, as an earlier plan to use them as a tarp during rain delays was found to be moot given that the tarps were used to protect against spillage while the inside of the ROOF was being painted. The groundskeeper who had that brilliant idea is fired.
Seventy-six semis lead the big parade. With a hundred and ten box trucks close at hand. They are followed by rows and rows of the finest rockin' roadies, the cream of every famous band.
Seven-six semis catch the morning sun. With a hundred and ten box trucks right behind. There are more than a thousand reels of cable rolled on wheels. There are forms of every shape and kind.
Whew, that's hard to keep up. Let's just say that the stage prep for Shei or Wen's pregame show is enormous. It makes KISS look like a garage band.
But boy is it worth it. The pregame show begins with Tim McCarver's intro, "Two World Series in one year. That's some kind of record! And it'll be two more than in 1994, the year the World Series was cancelled!"
"Thanks for the reminder, Tim," cuts in Joe Buck, "and welcome to the resumption of the 2010, I mean 2009 World Series, after a delay longer than it takes Tim to dress himself, just kidding there Tim. Let's go to the field."
Bob Sheppard's voice thunders (let's say booms) across the stadium. "Ladies and gentlemen, please remove your hats as we honor America with the singing of New York, New York. The crowd goes dead silent. Not so much from the shock of New York, New York replacing the National Anthem, but by the sight of a blue-eyed gentleman with thinning hair dressed in a sharp tuxedo and holding a microphone, who has quite suddenly appeared at home plate.
The big screen announces what the fans have already suspected, "OLD BLUE EYES IS BACK!" Frank Sinatra, dead since 1998, appears in holographic form, "Start spreadin' the news..." The crowd joins in full voice. The assembled finale, "It's Up To You, New York, New York!" causes planes within a 200-mile radius of New York City to veer off course, fearing a mid-air collision with whatever is making that amount of noise. Ten thousand fedoras land on the field, one deftly on Sinatra's virtual head. The hat falls to the ground as the Chairman of the Board's image vaporizes, while the NYC Sanitation Department appears. Almost as quickly as Sinatra vanishes, so do the hats and the sanitation workers.
From the Bravo for FOX booth, McCarver muses, "That was really something! What's next, an appearance by God and Jesus?" Clearly, McCarver has either been following the news or ignoring it, because that is exactly what happens next. Heralded by an assemblage of every boys' choir from the entire world singing Rascal Flatts' new hit God Is A Yankee Fan, none other than Almighty God, with Jesus Christ on his right hand and a diaphanous green entity which most interpret to be the Holy Spirit on his left, enters the stadium through the door to the center field tunnel, which of course never actually opens. Waiting for the tunnel to open and following at a respectful distance are Pope Benedict XVI and the Reverend Pat Robertson. A royal red runner appears from under the field and rolls out seamlessly before the procession. Cameras at the ready, the crowd engages in an almost constant burst of picture-taking, which dies down rather quickly when their monitors reveal only images of Benedict and Robertson before the cameras vaporize.
Bravo for FOX sideline reporter Chris Myers reports that an imaginative groundskeeper has kept his job, as the runner is made from Leroy Niemann's drop cloths, stitched together and dyed to a rich maroonish, but more red than maroon, color. As the celestial group takes their seats in Box G-1, the runner rolls up and disappears and as inobtrusively as it appeared.
The giant scoreboard in center field verily pulses in an otherworldly hue - WELCOME TO ALMIGHTY GOD! AND TO THE SON! AND TO THE HOLY SPIRIT! Smaller scoreboards welcome Pope Benedict and Reverend Robertson. A follow-on message appears, PLEASE, NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY! PHOTOGRAPHIC EQUIPMENT MAY BE DAMAGED BY ATTEMPTS TO PHOTOGRAPH THE HOLY TRINITY. NEITHER THE YANKEES, THE HOLY TRINITY, NOR POPE BENEDICT NOR REV. ROBERTSTON WILL BEAR ANY RESPONSIBILITY FOR DAMAGED EQUIPMENT. THANKS FOR YOUR COOPERATION.
It's pretty obvious what will happen next as a holographic Kate Smith, who died in 1986, appears at home plate to lead the singing of God Bless America. Being in the presence of the Almighty, the crowd sings well and with feeling, but falls a little short of "New York, New York," which fortunately God was not in the stadium to hear.
McCarver is beside himself in the booth (not literally, the holographic McCarver comes later). "Sinatra, God, Jesus, Kate Smith! This cannot get any better, unless they can conjure up Lou Gehrig."
Bob Sheppard resumes his emcee duties, "Ladies and gentlemen. The magnanimity displayed by Our Holy Father, His Son, and The Holy Spirit is wondrous to behold. And yea, so is the fabled history of the New York Yankee baseball franchise. Twenty-six world championships!" "Hooray!" screams the crowd, with one dissenting voice, "But none since 2000!" "Thirty-nine American League pennants!" "Yeaaaahhh!" "But none between 2004 and ack, agh, . . . 2008!" "Forty-seven postseason appearances!" "Woo hoo!" "Third...pla..." The dissenting voice is silent. God beams; Jesus remains serene; the Holy Spirit, more and more resembling the pile of money with eyes in the Geico commercial, confuses those who think too hard about him.
More from Sheppard, "In the grand tradition of the Yankees Old-Timers Game, tonight we present the "God Is A Yankee Fan" Old-Timers Game. Please watch carefully the processions from left and right field foul poles.
"For the Yankees, please welcome 1994 American League batting champ with a .359 average and four-time World Champion Paul O'Neill!" Still looking trim in his pinstripe #21, O'Neill trots down the left field foul line to the cheers of the crowd.
"And for God, the man many consider responsible for the early spread of Christianity, and for authorship of much of the New Testament, an All-Star for Jesus, St. Paul!"
A beatific holographic image in a 1st-century tunic and sandals works his way down the right field line, stopping periodically to gather small groups from the stands and talk to them. From a preprinted pad he distributes letters to some of the lower sections. Finally, he greets namesake Paul O'Neill at home plate.
Sideline reporter Myers is on-the-spot as he interviews some of those who met the holy image in the front rows of the right field Clipper level seating. "Can you show me one of those letters?" he asks. "Paul's Letter to Section 119." A boy pipes up, "He said he would teach me to fish. Cool, huh?"
You can just imagine the panoply of Yankees, both living and holographic (mostly living), and Christian religious figures, again both living and holographic (mostly the latter) that follows.
Lawrence Peter "Yogi" Berra (living) and St. Peter (holographic)
Billy Martin (Yankee player and five-time manager who managed the team to two World Series win, played by John Turturro) and St. Martin of Tours (died 397, holographic)
John Wetteland (Yankee closer in World Series winning season of 1996, living) and Pope John XXIII (holographic)
Matt Keough (living, though pitched only 12 games with NYY) and Matthew the Evangelist, supposed author of the second Gospel (holographic)
John Candelaria (living) and John of Patmos, author of the fourth Canonical Gospel (holographic)
Matt Luke (living, played one game for NYY in 1996) and Luke the Evangelist (holographic), author of the third Canonical Gospel
Doyle Alexander (two-time Yankee, living) and Alexander Pope (holographic, but not a Pope, program error)
Joe DiMaggio (Yankee Clipper, 56-game hitting streak, holographic) and Saint Joseph (husband of Mary, mother of Jesus, holographic)
George Herman (Babe) Ruth (longtime home run record holder, Sultan of Swat, holographic) and Saint George (Christian martyr, slayer of dragon, died 303 AD, holographic)
And so it goes. Both Yankee fans and Christians can do this better than I can.
But only God could match that final pair, so unlike in name, but so beloved in memory - Lou "The Pride of the Yankees" Gehrig (holographic) and Jesus "The Son of God" Christ (form unknown).
Gehrig's form appears at the plate. The scene includes the microphone into which he made his "luckiest man on the face of the earth" speech when retiring from the Yankees in 1939 after contracting ALS, a disease that now popularly bears his name. Seeing the great man, if only his holographic image, unleashes a river of tears from the crowd. Salty water pours down the concourses, raining from deck to deck and splashing out onto the field. This is rain that no retractable roof, stationed above the crowd, can stop. Only one man(?) can, and does. Jesus climbs from Box G-1, and walks across the flowing stream in front of and into Yankee dugout, his sandals remaining miraculously dry. He embraces Larrupin' Lou at the plate, a gesture that evinces another wrenching crowd sob and starts another river of tears. Jesus raises his hand. The crowd quiets. The waters calm. "He is with me in a better place," he reminds the Yankee Faithful. "We are all Yankee fans tonight."
The head groundskeeper scrambles, looking for the kid who fashioned the drop cloths into the runner, and hoping that he has some bright idea about what to do with the present inundation. His search is short, however, as Jesus motions almost imperceptibly with his left hand, causing the teary stadium to miraculously empty itself through the pre-roof storm drain system and into the Hudson River, where just months before Captain, then Acting Commissioner of Baseball, now Chief Meteorologist Sullenberger safely landed a crippled US Airways jet, saving all aboard. Amen.
Having spent nearly three hours on the Celestial Old Timers Parade, and with the unveiling of Niemann's Original Pitch still to come, Shen Wei, Again Commissioner Selig, the Steinbrenner brothers, with confirmation from Jesus, agree to skip the scheduled three-inning Yankees vs Saints Old-Timers Softball Game.
The holographic figures take the news with programmatic grace. Among the living figures only Matt Luke expresses any regret, telling sideline reporter Myers that "The game would have been only my second ever in a Yankee uniform." Celebrity managers Billy Crystal (Yankees) and Kevin James (Saints) are most disappointed, but both recognize the potential of the entire experience for their standup acts.
Back in the Bravo for FOX booth, McCarver, although dazzled by the display of both Yankee and spiritual old-timers, keeps his head in the here and now. "Matt Luke? Matt Luke? Did he really play for the Yankees? I gotta look that up. There it is. Matt Luke. One game with NYY in 1996. The first game of his major league career. One run scored. No plate appearances. A pinch runner, that's what he was. I figured it out, Joe. Matt Luke pinch ran in one game for the New York Yankees in 1996. More Gospel names - two - than games played with the Yankees - one. And more Gospel names - two - than plate appearances with the Pinstripers - zero! Can you believe it?"
Sheppard returns to the public address system, "Ladies, Gentlemen, Heavenly Father, Holy Images. Please direct your attention to the top of God Is A Yankee Fan Stadium, where tonight we reveal famous sports artist Leroy Niemann's crowning achievement. I give you Original Pitch!"
A thousand songbirds, whistling Yankee Doodle, whisk the drape away from the stadium roof and out a slim opening in the ventilation system, revealing both the artwork and artist. Niemann is suspended from a cable in a cage, palette and brush in hand, ready to touch up any flaws detected upon the unveiling, especially by those "in the know," as you might say.
Familiar voices replace Sheppard on the PA.
"Abbott: Well, let's see, we have on the bags, Who's on first, What's on second, I Don't Know is on third...
Costello: That's what I want to find out.
Abbott: I say Who's on first, What's on second, I Don't Know's on third.
Costello: Are you the manager?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: You gonna be the coach too?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: And you don't know the fellows' names.
Abbott: Well I should.
Costello: Well then who's on first?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: I mean the fellow's name.
Abbott: Who.
Costello: The guy on first.
Abbott: Who.
Costello: The first baseman.
Abbott: Who.
Costello: The guy playing...
Abbott: Who is on first!
One look by Niemann toward Box G-1, tells him that someone isn't very amused. He grins and shrugs his arms as if to say "Whaddya gonna do?" The crowd roars. Niemann's cage lowers slowly to field level. He exits, accepts the crowd's adulation, and with a wave of his brush, leaves.
Costello: I'm asking you who's on first.
Abbott: That's the man's name.
Costello: That's who's name?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: Well go ahead and tell me.
Abbott: That's it.
Costello: That's who?
Abbott: Yes. PAUSE
Costello: Look, you gotta first baseman?
Abbott: Certainly.
Costello: Who's playing first?
Abbott: That's right.
Costello: When you pay off the first baseman every month, who gets the money?
Abbott: Every dollar of it.
Also leaving are all the holographic images, as the roadie crew returns to the stadium and in twelve crisp minutes removes the 76 truckloads of Shen Wei's gear. The transition from baseball heaven to baseball playing field is a little abrupt, but the ongoing presence of the Holy Trinity, the Pope and Rev. Robertson helps.
Costello: All I'm trying to find out is the fellow's name on first base.
Abbott: Who.
Costello: The guy that gets...
Abbott: That's it.
Costello: Who gets the money...
Abbott: He does, every dollar of it. Sometimes his wife comes down and collects it.
Costello: Who's wife?
Abbott: Yes. PAUSE
Abbott: What's wrong with that?
Costello: I wanna know is when you sign up the first baseman, how does he sign his name?
Abbott: Who.
Costello: The guy.
Abbott: Who.
Costello: How does he sign...
Abbott: That's how he signs it.
Costello: Who?
Abbott: Yes. PAUSE
Costello: All I'm trying to find out is what's the guys name on first base.
Abbott: No. What is on second base."
Sheppard takes over, "Sixteen by twenty prints of Original Pitch, numbered and signed by the artist are available in all stadium gift shops at the Opening Night-only price of $695. Each print comes with a free 32-ounce Original Pitch drinking cup (no refills). No sports collection is complete without this priceless "original"! Who or What are you waiting for?"
The giant clock in right center field ticks down the minutes and seconds until midnight, the time before which Again Commissioner Selig guaranteed that Game Three would start. 11:56:07. . . 11:56:08. . . So much left to do so, so little time. The Commissioner does a little mental arithmetic - National Anthem, two minutes; player introductions, eight minutes; lineup exchange five minutes - too long. 11:56:23. . . 11:56:24. . . who's that? Why, that's fast-talking pitchman Billy Mays, who ran the Game One auction so brilliantly. A quick call to security and Mays is "escorted" to the field, instructions from the Again Commissioner being relayed en route. 11:57:00 . . . 11:57:01 . . . "Got it!"
"LadiesandgentlemenpleaseriseandremoveyourhatsforourNationalAnthem Osaycanyouseebythedawnsdearlylightandthehomeofthebrave!" 11:57:22.
"Over here the Yankees. Over there the Mets!" Summoning the teams' fastest players, Mays cries, "Reyes! Gardner! Get over here! Hustle!" 11:57:30.
As part of the agreement with the National Weather Service that allowed Acting Commissioner Sullenberger to become Chief Meteorologist, baseball has reverted to the traditional system of six professional umpires (note this explanation is parenthetical and does not result in time running off the clock), but in a compromise with the Hall of Fame, Gary Carter gets the coveted home plate assignment. Given the circumstances, this is fortunate given that Carter is no slouch while talking.
Carter grabs the lineup cards from Jose Reyes and Brett Gardner and takes over from Mays. "ThanksBillynotimetochat." 11:57:51.
"Overthewallhomerun. Hitstheartinplay. Offthemarblefoulpoles,homerun.Gotit?"
"Got it! Si!" respond Gardner and Reyes in uniform. 11:58:09.
"Yankees take the field! Mets, gimme a batter! Hustle, hustle!" 11:58:17.
"What about my warmup pitches?" calls Yankee starter Joba Chamberlain.
"Start throwing!" replies Carter. 11:59:04. . . 11:59:05
After just three pitches, midnight is treacherously close. 11:59:52. "Five more to go, not gonna fit," thinks Carter. "Batter up! Play ball!" 11:59:58. 11:59:59.
The clock stops. An authoritative, yet somehow soothing voice sounds from behind the Yankee dugout, "Let the boy finish. He gets eight warmups, you know. I'll take care of the clock."
The scene freezes, all except Chamberlain, his catcher and umpire Carter. Carter counts the remaining warmups, "Seven, that's eight. Batter up!"
Reyes blinks to life and takes his place in the left-handed batter's box. "Play ball!" booms the voice from behind first base. Chamberlain winds, a pulse of energy surges through the stadium. As the pitch crosses the plate, the clock ticks forward, 12:00:00."
"Whew!" whistles Again Commissioner Selig, "that was close!" He ponders on the wonders and mercies of God, remembering the fine print on the deal, a proviso that would revert Yankee Stadium back to its pre-1975 state, and reduce both ticket prices and concession prices to 1974 levels, requiring a massive rebate program that would surely be a bureaucratic nightmare, not to mention that the $125 trillion paid for Box G-1 would be reduced a millionfold to $125 million, barely enough to cover Shei Wen's fee.
Under God's watchful eye, the game moves quickly. Chamberlain is in top form, allowing no hits or runs through the first seven innings - twenty-one up, twenty-one down. To the surprise of all, Met starter Oliver Perez matches Chamberlain pitch for pitch through six innings. In a procession of strikeouts and weak popups, the main excitement comes from a foul ball that richochets off the Pope's bulletproof enclosure right into Jesus' lap, after which all 55,000 fans in the stadium miraculously find a souvenir ball in their laps. The few Met fans in the crowd wind up as if to throw the ball back on the field, but the slightest rotation of God's head deters such action.
With the game tied 0-0, it is once again time for the seventh inning stretch. With all the attention on the weather, the negotiations, "Original Pitch" and the Holy Old Timers Game, the word "auction" has barely drawn mention, except on Bravo for CNBC Classic, a channel specifically formed to show reruns of the Game One and two Game Two auctions from c FIELD.
Choosing a musical selection for the stretch proves tricky - God Bless America, done; New York, New York, done; God Is A Yankee Fan, done; Thank God I'm a Country Boy, don't think so; Sweet Caroline, a Boston song, but in another apparently divine occurrence so common to this game, the Ramones, sitting together in the right field upper deck, spy some stage equipment left by the Shen Wei (Shei Wen?) roadies - a stage (in pieces), an amp, speakers and microphones. Descending on ropes from the stadium superstructure, the Ramone roadies build a stage in three minutes flat. Fifteen seconds later, the New York-based '80s punk band rocks the stadium with their hit, "Rockaway Beach." The crowd goes wild!
Rock, rock, Rockaway Beach
Rock, rock, Rockaway Beach
Rock, rock, Rockaway Beach
We're goin' down to Rockaway Beach
The scene resembles a giant "Rock Band" session. Fans use their souvenir bats ($125) to pound out the rhythm on the chair back in front of them. Even the Pope jams on his air guitar. Again Commissioner Selig, an old-school guy all the way, looks puzzled. "Wouldn't Take Me Out to the Ball Game work?" he asks, but no one can here him over the second chorus, same as the first.
"New York rocks! Yankee Stadium rocks! The Pope rocks! The Holy Trinity rocks! Good night, everybody!" screams Johnny Ramone as the final chord reverberates off the tons of Italian marble that support the stadium.
The enormous gate in center field opens again. A semi tractor hauling a flat bed trailer enters the stadium. A giant lower case "c" appears. This can only mean one thing and the crowd knows it. "Auction," comes a whisper, then louder "Auction." "Auction!" Now the crowd roars the word rhythmically. Even the Pope, in the afterglow of "Rockaway Beach" seems to be getting into the spirit. But Jesus is clearly troubled. Care passes across his ever-serene brow. The roar of the crowd subsides. Then there is quiet. The crowd resumes with a different chant, "Graven image, graven image, graven image," softly but intensely, crescendoing to a soaring condemnation.
"Beep, beep, beep," sounds the semi's safety system as the driver slowly backs the "c" out of the Big Giraffe, skillfully performs a three-point turn, and returns to Queens.
The giant scoreboard states the obvious, THERE WILL BE NO AUCTION BEFORE ME, 11th Commandment, Exodus 34: 11-27 (revised). THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION
The Mets retake the field. Perez makes his eight warmup pitches, and with just nine more strikes out the side. 0-0 after seven innings. Matched perfect games by Chamberlain and Perez.
Given their feeble performance before the patrons of Box G-1, both offenses feel a little concerned about their eternal prospects. Met 3B David Wright tries to fire up his teammates. Pointing at Box G-1 he explains, "That's God," then turning toward Chamberlain, "and that's a man. A man with great stuff, but still a man. We can hit a man. Let's go!"
Over in the Yankee dugout, captain Derek Jeter makes much the same speech, even translating into Spanish, "Dios. Hombre." "Vamonos!"
The exhortations prove to be of little short-term value as Chamberlain stuffs the Met batters on two strikeouts and a pop up. Perez does the same, albeit in slightly different order - strikeout, pop up, strikeout.
"Two perfect games through eight innings!" exclaims McCarver, just now winding down from "Rockaway Beach" to reconnect with the game. "That's gotta be a record! And it's not yet two a.m. Who said children can't stay up for these games?"
Veteran Yankee fans nod knowingly and tell each other that the eighth inning demonstrates that Chamberlain should be a setup man and not a starter.
After the Mets' ninth inning, it's clear that Chamberlain should not be a closer. Leadoff pinch hitter Mike Piazza hits a laser shot toward the upper deck in left which takes a somewhat miraculously abrupt left turn to the foul side of the left field foul column. While Piazza glowers at Box G-1, where a sheepish-looking Jesus buries his head in his program, Chamberlain slips a changeup over for strike three. One out.
Wearing what looks suspiciously like a Dodger cap, oft-injured outfielder Ryan Church hobbles from the dugout to the plate to pinch hit. Chamberlain makes Church look bad on the first pitch, but on the second throws an another change up, this one from with a heretofore unused sidearm delivery. More than 57,000 jaws drop as Church lifts the pitch in a cinematic arc toward the light tower in right center field. Church revs his left arm and begins his home run hobble around the bases. Although a Yankee fan, Robert Redford beams from his seat just yards from Box G-1. As Jesus marks F-9 on his scoresheet, the ball drops off an airborne cliff straight into the glove of Yankee right fielder (St. Francis of) Xavier Nady. Church turns his back to the Son and points toward the name on his jersey, mouthing "WTF??"
Wrong thing to even think, as Church clutches his now completely-blown right hamstring and drops to the ground in agonizing pain. While the Met training staff transports Church off the field, manager Zimmer considers his next move - pinch hit for Perez or let him pitch the ninth? Recognizing that even a holographic Mel Ott couldn't get on against the combined stuff of Chamberlain and you-know-who, Zimmer sends Perez to the plate.
Having fallen in love with his changeup, Chamberlain tries another to Perez, who takes a wicked cut and lines a foul toward Box G-1. It whistles just over Jesus' outstretched arms. The crowd holds its collective breath, waiting for Perez to double over with a severe oblique strain. They exhale as Perez stands in. Another changeup, another foul, this one spinning the Yankee cap on Jesus' beatific head. Yankee fans await divine vengeance, but Jesus merely straightens the cap and literally turns the other cheek. Looking to spare Jesus' new life, Chamberlain switches to the fastball, figuring that lefty Perez won't be able to get around on it. He's right, as Perez taps the ball meekly to the mound, where Chamberlain grabs it and flips a sidearm changeup to first. The crowd gasps, but of course there's no one to hit the ball, which first baseman Mark Teixiera catches for the third out.
In the Bravo for FOX booth, McCarver is at a loss for words, at least relatively. "Nine perfect innings! Some might say divine. Surely a lot better than "Pink Flamingos", which starred Divine, the transvestite actress. You'd do a lot better with Andy Devine. I loved him in those old westerns."
Too bad none of this insightful commentary makes the air. The Church of Jesus Christ, Latter Day Saints, hoping to ride the wave of religious fervor inspired by the game, has purchased every minute of commercial time during the game. Their ninth inning spot runs a little long, as even fast-talking pitchman Billy Mays finds it hard to read the entire Book of Mormon aloud in the available 36 minutes.
Yankee prospects for a hit off Perez in the bottom of the ninth look none too promising. Leading off is the team's fifth third baseman of the season, Korean import I. Dont Noh, subbing for Alex Rodriguez, who left the game with a bruised ego after his second consecutive three-pitch strikeout against Perez. Following Noh are light-hitting OF Brett Gardner and DH Roger Clemens. But, if just one batter can reach base, current live and future holographic Yankee hero Derek Jeter would bat.
Buddhist Noh expects little help from the primarily Western religious icons in Box G-1. He's right as he strikes out on three pitches. Gardner does little better, fouling off three bunt attempts for the second out. After the third he looks toward G-1 and shrugs. But Jesus is already focused on the next hitter, DH Roger Clemens. Unable to pitch two years after his last retirement, the Rocket worked on his hitting with fellow Texan Sammy Sosa, hit two home runs off his son in his backyard ballpark, and signed a $30 million contract for one month of play with the Yankees. Always a beefy type, Clemens now looks like 800 lb of prime meat on two legs.
He steps into the batter's box and almost immediately calls time to walk toward the first base coaching box, apparently to double check the signals. But no, Clemens passes the coach and heads as if transfixed toward Box G-1. There, he and Jesus talk earnestly, with Clemens mostly listening. Jesus lays a hand on each of Clemens's gigantic shoulders. Suddenly, his once skin-tight uniform hangs on his body like a pinstriped Snuggie (just $19.99; call now and get a second regular Snuggie free!). Clemens nods humbly and turns back toward the field.
As he passes the Yankee dugout he calls for the equipment manager. Interested in moving the game along, but unwilling to cross Jesus, home plate umpire Gary Carter takes a few tentative steps toward Clemens. By this time, the equipment manager has placed a microphone stand in the on deck circle. A misty-eyed Clemens, holding on-deck hitter Jeter's hand for support, glances at Jesus, who mouths "go on, my son."
Clemens steps to the mike and addresses the crowd in a halting voice, "Almighty God, Mr. Christ, Mr. Spirit, Mr. Pope, Mr. Robertson, Again Commissioner Mr. Selig, Chief Meteorologist Mr. Sullenberger, Famous Artist Mr. Niemann, Choreographer Mr. Shei Wen, Yankee and religious Old-Timers both living and holographic, Yankee teammates, Yankee fans, baseball fans here and those watching on Bravo for FOX and Bravo for CNBC, and those who will watch highlights on Bravo for ESPN, America's brave soldiers, American citizens, and every human being and other life form throughout this world and worlds yet undiscovered, I make my confession. I did it. For the last seventeen years of my career, up until this very morning, I or others who worked for me, injected steroids into my butt. I hired world-renown biochemists to develop and administer masking programs that would allow my steroid use to remain undetected. But tonight, this scrawny man you see before you, repents and begs your forgiveness. Tonight I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth. Yee Haw!"
And the crowd answers, "Yee Haw!" Almighty God, thinking that the call might be for Him, as Yahweh, raises an ear and then returns to His scorecard. A third river of tears pours from the stadium, down the storm drain and into the Hudson River.
"Powerful stuff!" exclaim Buck and McCarver in unison from the booth. "I don't think He ever lifted His head from His scorecard!"
The centerfield scoreboard quickly adjusts Clemens's vital statistics, dropping his weight from 285 lb to 175 lb. A message appears on the auxiliary scoreboard--AGAIN COMMISSIONER SELIG HAS RULED MR. CLEMENS ELIGIBLE, GIVEN THAT HE NEVER FAILED A DRUG TEST.
The now-spindly 47-year-old DH returns to the batter's box, apparently no more of a threat than tiny shortstop Bucky Dent, who played for the Yankees more than 30 years earlier.
"Was Bucky in the parade?" McCarver asks Buck. "Didn't see him, Tim." Buck answers. "You know there's no St. Buck, at least not until they finish my dad's canonization process. The Vatican accepted Ozzie Smith's homer off Tom Niedenfuhr as one of Dad's miracles. Cool, huh?"
Given the lengthy delay, home plate umpire Carter gives Perez three extra warmup pitches.
Clemens steps in. "I can throw a sidearm changeup too," thinks Perez, and he does. Clemens swings, sending a line drive just beyond the outstretched gloves of Perez, shortstop Jose Reyes, and leftfielder Endy Chavez, a former Met defensive hero sent into the game specifically by Zimmer to make the play. But the ball keeps rising in a now hyperbolic arc, beyond Chavez, beyond the lower stands, beyond the upper deck, over the famous God Is A Yankee Fan Stadium facing, through the suddenly opening roof, and into the Bronx night sky, where it is picked up by National Weather Service radar heading apparently for God's Hall of Fame.
Clemens glides around the bases in a boyish trot. His teammates mob him as Jesus gives a quick thumbs up. Yankee radio voice John Sterling is apoplectic. His mouth gapes. Air rushes from his lungs to his larynx. But no sound, at least no consonants, emerge."Uh aee ih! Uh aee ih!" Then even the vowels go silent as Jesus subtely draws an index finger across his neck.
McCarver does his best to analyze what he's just seen, "I had no idea he had that kind of power, Clemens, I mean. Now I remember, Bucky Dent hit a three-run homer off Mike Torrez to beat the Red Sox in the 1978 AL East playoff game. So I guess it could happen."
And so ends Game Three of the 2009/10 World Series. A request from the Bravo for FOX Big Hair Breakfast Team that the occupants of Box G-1 join the post-game Wheaties feast is politely but firmly declined in four languages by Pope Benedict.
With the start of Game Four less than 16 hours away, and now faced with the challenge of topping both Jesus and Roger Clemens, choreographer Wei Shen, make that Shei Wen, I think, and yours truly repeat the now familiar lament, "??,??!". ("I am so screwed!")
Original Story:
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