The clock ticks for every patriotic American. “Decision time” approaches amid churning philosophical, sociological, and even theological schmaltz – and we don’t know which enigma from which category will tilt the balance. We’re confused. We’re muddled. We’re baffled. We wonder if the days of blind faith were not so bad after all.
I speak, of course, of the need to pick a team in this upcoming World Series.
I have an advantage this year. I’m a totally neutral Red Sox fan, so I know the supporters in San Francisco and Arlington will be lucky if these games achieve a faded asterisk when they’re forgotten an hour after the umpire hollers the last “Out!” The term “fall classic” triggers a hack and a guffaw – and that nation-wide rumbling is the sound of a million clearing throats and thirteen million smothered laughs. I feel compassion. Those misguided Western souls actually think this particular series adds up to more than a Little League exhibition match! How will we tell them the painful truth? Should we do a “confrontation?”
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