No(ah) Snit, Sherlock

Every so often (like when I can’t come up with anything relevant for a column), I ponder what would happen if the flood (not Curt) of Noah (not Lowry) occurred today.

How would those in baseball react to the Good Lord going all Robbie Alomar on the planet? I mean, sure the ark was there and everything, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’d be bright enough to get on—or for that matter, even be allowed on the boat.

So, since I’ve got yet another case of writer’s block of Biblical proportions I thought I’d ruminate on this particularly irrelevant topic.

As you know, God was going to do the deed because wickedness was rampant. I’m not sure how He’d react to Rafael Palmeiro wagging his finger and telling him: “I have never committed a sin—ever.” Of course, part of his arrogance might be the result of feeling that due to, um, chemical assistance, that he had more than enough wood to build his own boat. Sadly, that would prove to be his sole colossal boner.

But I digress.

Joe Morgan would be an interesting case. Someone would doubtlessly point out that his decision would be recorded in the Old Testament, only to be told that not only did he have no intention of reading Genesis, but that Noah shouldn’t have written it in the first place.

Of course even the Nephilim had a chance to board the ark, if only they confessed their sins, but they didn’t want to talk about the past. Carl Everett, you would think, would be a lock, except he tried to get on board, only to discover that God didn’t believe in him.

Rob Neyer would implore the Lord to be allowed passage to perpetuate flannel in the post-flood world. Since they had to board in twos, God told Rob to take Rany Jazayerli along. David Glass immediately objected, asking how on earth would they be able to create more fans of the Kansas City Royals? God would then tell Glass that he’s the last person who should be talking about how to create Royals fans.

Sadly, a disillusioned Tim McCarver was last seen dressed in sackcloth and ashes, wailing and beating his breast after learning that God wasn’t Derek Jeter after all. Of course that didn’t stop him from proselytizing about the Yankees shortstop like a severely caffeinated Jehovah’s Witness. Alex Rodriguez had to slap him several times to get him to stop.

Meanwhile Rodriguez’s agent,Scott Boras, seemed less concerned about God’s plan for a liquid Operation Shutdown than he was in representing His Son, claiming that if He sent Jesus back to earth, he could guarantee more than a crummy 30 pieces of silver this time through. The Lord opened an economy sized can of Sodom and Gomorran whoop ass on the agent, and Steve Garvey got caught up in the cross fire, although there was speculation that Garvey’s taking the mandate to “become fruitful and fill the earth” (a directive Onan Masaoka took far too literally) a little too seriously might have had something to do with it.

There was no way Barry Bonds would be allowed to board. Bonds cried racism, but actually God told him it was because he had used demonic powers to become the best player in baseball. Bonds denied using demonic power, claiming that he thought what he was rubbing on his leg was actually tetrahydrogestrinone, and not the power from Beelzebub; in fact when he was told what it was, Bonds said “whatever dude” and lathered on a thick application. The Lord was about to relent, until he noticed that Bonds couldn’t get into the ark because his horns had grown unnaturally large, and he couldn’t fit through the door.

Gary Sheffield was safely on board until he started grousing about what God was going to do to take care of him during the next flood. After all, this wasn’t about life, it was about respect, and he couldn’t possibly feel safe on this ark until he was guaranteed a first class berth on the next one. Sheffield was given the heave-ho, and once on the outside, a kitty stoned on catnip rubbed against his leg and the two of them started to fight and haven’t been seen since.

Jeff Kent showed up with his arm in a cast after causing his camel to rear up and throw him off. Afraid that God might not allow him on board because of his recklessness, he tried to ingratiate himself to the Lord by concocting a story about how he injured the arm swabbing the poop deck of the ark. Kent learned the hard way not to lie to an omniscient being, who could tell that the only poop was his story.

Manny Ramirez had a sweet set up on the ark, save for the constant hassles in dealing with those busy penning third and fourth Chronicles—however after awhile he decided he wanted off. Later he decided he wanted to come back on because he was happy there, only to later change his mind. Noah, tiring of this, asked if he wanted to disembark, to which Manny replied “WOOF WOOF WOOF,” which spooked the other cat (not the one Gary Sheffield was trying to teach respect to in parts unknown), causing it to run away with its tail to puffed up. Ramirez, delighted by this turn of events, pursed the feline, giggling the whole time. Noah could only sigh, and feel bad for that dreaded moment when Manny would learn that cats don’t like water.

Jason Grimsley tried to sneak on board through a porthole, only to be confronted by Noah, who informed the reliever that his name wasn’t listed on the passenger manifest; either that or it had been redacted. This put Grimsley in an awkward position. and had to try a different tack. Did Noah have rats? Yup. Pigeons? Affirmative. Canaries? Of course. “What can I do then?” queried Grimsley. A reply in the form of a question thundered from above: “How long can you tread water?” The Cubs starting rotation nodded knowingly, having heard that selfsame question from Dusty Baker more times than they cared to remember. Alas, Dusty ignored some dubious advice from Al Campanis, and refused to board the ark, feeling he was well suited to thrive in any sort of weather.

Don Fehr wasn’t overly concerned about the upcoming deluge, as long as it wouldn’t prevent players from collecting their salaries. Then it dawned on him that God was going to drown them without it being agreed to in collective bargaining. God, in Fehr’s opinion, was acting unilaterally in deep-sixing members of MLB Players Association, and quickly insisted that his membership be given something in return. His demand was met with a lightning bolt, yet a skeptical Gene Orza remained of the opinion that defying the Almighty was no more dangerous than smoking, and his charred remains were doing precisely that mere moments later.

A Hardball Times Update
Goodbye for now.

Bud Selig was aghast that Noah had built the ark himself and threatened God that unless He built it there was no way anybody involved in MLB would get on it. In fact, he might just take everybody to the moon, Jupiter, Pluto, or Mercury … anywhere where there was a God who appreciated baseball enough to build, not only an ark, but a luxury liner. As the water started coming up to knees—drowning David Samson who tried to board the ark only to be rebuffed by a cardboard cutout sign of Noah with his arm extended that read: “You must be this tall to get on ride.”—he continued to bluster, saying baseball would relocate to Saturn or Venus, but before he met Neptune, all Bud heard was “Uranus” or at least something that sounded an awful lot like it …

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