Wasif's World

Stevie Johnson won the game for the Buffalo Bills. That’s what Geoff Hangartner thought when he turned his back the moment the ball landed perfectly in Johnson’s hands and he rushed to quarterback Ryan Fitzpatrick to celebrate. “Perhaps a little dance, perhaps I’ll throw the signal caller on my back and gallop around for a little bit; maybe just a simple helmet bump,” the Bills center thought.

Fitzpatrick, by that time, had already gone from celebration to mourning, clutching his helmet in disbelief. The Harvard-educated quarterback knew the degree of the ball’s trajectory, the force with which he threw it, and the speed of the wide receiver all came together to make the perfect throw. He also knew the odds that such a perfect throw would be dropped were low, yet still feasible. And he knew the likelihood that what he was seeing was real and not a philosophical manifestation or existential occurrence.

Stevie Johnson was not so cerebral about it. He just knew that he had [bleeped] up. He did catch the ball perfectly on the bounce though, so he had that going for him. But that didn’t count and someone was to blame. Who would have thought that it was the Lord?

After the game, the wide receiver tweeted, "I PRAISE YOU 24/7!!!!!! AND THIS HOW YOU DO ME!!!!!" YOU EXPECT ME TO LEARN FROM THIS??? HOW???!!! ILL NEVER FORGET THIS!! EVER!!! THX THO"

Is God even on Twitter? Not that HE couldn’t figure it out, but HE may have deemed it as a waste of time. I mean, after all, if HE was spending time on the site, do you think HE would’ve finished the world in only six days? HE’s very into time management.

But that’s besides that point. One thing we do know is that God has a sense of humor. It’s why some men have hair on their backs, but not their heads. It’s why we still need orthodonture work done throughout our adulthood after getting a half dozen teeth pulled and wearing braces for two years during adolescence.

Have you ever lost your keys and looked in your coat pocket without finding them? Then you’re back to your coat pocket later in the day and the object reappears? That’s God. You can thank him for replacing your keys. Of course, you could also blame him for taking them in the first place.

Though an omniscient being, do you think God gets the sarcasm at the end? “Thx tho.” Or was Johnson being sincere? “Oh, yeah, thanks for those times you didn’t screw me. I wouldn’t want to see ungrateful. But for this particular time, you’re on my list, buddy.”

Players frequently thank the Lord when they win the game or make a great play. This would be the first time in recorded history where the “Big G” was publicly thrown under the Crosstown Heavenly Express Bus (the #8 for those with a heavenly bus schedule).

But what hand does God actually have in the game? There’s this old gem from a couple of years ago:

God was giving Yankees manager Joe Torre a tour of heaven. He showed him a little run-down, two-room house with a faded Yankees banner hanging from the front porch. God said, “This is your new home, Skip. Most people don’t get their own house up here.”

Joe looked at the house, then turned to see the house on the top of the hill; a huge two-story mansion with white marble columns and plush patios under each window. Boston Red Sox flags lined the sidewalks and windows and a huge Red Sox banner hung between the marble columns.

“God, with all due respect, let me ask you a question: How come I get this little house with a torn Yankees banner that proclaims our 26 World Series titles while Terry Francona gets a huge mansion with Red Sox banners and flags flying all over the place?”

God smiles for a moment then replies, “That’s not Terry’s house, that’s mine.”

And you can replace the Yankees with the Patriots or Duke Blue Devils, whatever you want. The truth is God doesn’t have a favorite. HE just has a sense of humor. HE loves that joke. HE loves when you tell it to make your team feel like they are chosen. HE also loves when your team screws up. It’s funny. Ever see those blooper reels on the lighter side of sports? God’s got them all (on Blueray, of course).

HE’s certainly not biased toward one team or another ... (although there is significant evidence to indicate HE’s not a fan of Cleveland). But scholars spend so much time focusing on the existence of God and his effect on games that they neglect his most significant nemesis, the Devil.

Remember, the Hades resident exists as much as he’d have you forgot about him. “The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.” That’s from “The Usual Suspects” and doesn’t give away the ending, though if you still haven’t seen it by now, I should ruin it for you just based on principle.

I find it strange that El Diablo doesn’t get more due. He’s behind lots of things. But winners praise God, who is probably amused by the attention, while the Devil is ignored. It would make just as much sense, if not more.

Take the 1990 NY Giants after the kick by Buffalo’s Scott Norwood’s sailed wide right sealing his team’s fate –- why don’t players get into the locker room after the game and say to the reporters, “Phew! The Bills played tough out there tonight, but we had Lucifer on our side. Thank the Devil. Super Bowl Champs, Baby!!!”

God, quite frankly, is not a sports fan. Do you know how trying that would be on HIM? “Have you ever seen a World Series baseball game on TV?” Of course, you haven’t, few people have. Sorry. Stupid question. Any sport will do, really.

If you had, you’d see all these people sitting in the stands, hands clasped deep in prayer. Most of them swear their butts off and are probably cheating on their spouses, so they’re not really very religious. During these times, God gets deluged with requests much like a city’s septic system does during commercials of a Super Bowl broadcast.

Philosophers have struggled over this for centuries, back when the first rock slipped through the first caveman’s hands or a sword fell out of a Gladiator’s hand just as the lion was about to pounce, or the sun got into a knight’s eyes enough to obscure the angle of the attacking knight’s lance.

The issue has haunted the likes of such great minds as Kirkegaard, Newton and Vegas bookmaker Joey “Muffintop” D’Angelo who theorized that God was a fan of Rollie Massimino’s animated coaching style and thus made a fortune on the 1985 NCAA Finals.

Nope, Lucifer just knew a good opportunity to screw a lot of bettors. “No. 8 seeds never win.” Heh heh. Yeah, we’ll see about that.

The Devil is the sports fan. He loves messing with things. God has better things to do. If God cared, do you think the Yankees would really have 27 championships? Would a team named the Blue Devils win so much? How would that look? (Actually, that’s exactly the kind of humor God goes for. He’s an ironic dude.)

Of course, there is the less-publicized theory that a couple of guys at Buffalo Wild Wings who weren’t ready to head home to their wives used their connections to the Rich Stadium grounds crew to keep the game going. But like I said, it’s only a theory.

What do I know anyway? Until now, I thought Newton spent all his time creating a delectable snack cookie made from figs.

The miracle team of the year has been the Boston Red Sox, or should I say, the Boston Red Cross Sox because of their inability to stay off the disabled list. Their manager, Florence Nightengale a.k.a. Terry Francona, continues to piece together the framework of a team from used rags and twine. For much of the season, their outfield has consisted of their utility infielder and two minor leaguers.

Currently, their starting left fielder is out, courtesy of a collision with their third baseman; their backup outfielder is out; their second baseman and the Papi-noted “heart” of the team broke his foot hitting a ball off it; their starting catcher caught a foul tip on his thumb breaking it; their most successful pitcher up until now, after getting his first major league hit, couldn’t decide whether he wanted to break up the double play at second or just cede the out so he pulled up lame instead with a hyper-extended knee; and two more of their starting pitching staff have been on the D.L. most of the season. Oh, and their best middle reliever has a strained right forearm and is now on the D.L. too.

Everyone of the injured who doesn’t pitch has a broken bone. And their starting right fielder, J.D. Drew (or “D.L. Drew” as someone corrected me while I attended the Red Sox-Giants game last week), gets a hamstring pull twice monthly.

In the past week alone, they’ve lost three of these players, including both of their catchers. Even football players are reading this and saying, “Golly, they sure get injured a lot in baseball.” (Because that’s how footballers speak.)

The season, especially this past week, has been like a horror movie where some mysterious entity is killing off everyone, one at a time. OR ... is it being done by someone from within?! [Dun dun duhhhhhh!]

You’ve seen the story before – a group of friends walks into the woods and then one of them has to “drain the weasel,” so he goes off. A few minutes later, when he doesn’t come back, another guy says, “Oh, what a clown. He’s just messing with us. I’ll get him.” Then he doesn’t return. This causes someone else to get suspicious when he realizes something weird is happening.

One of the girls lets out a little whimper and moves closer to the brave leader of the group (also the most handsome), who suggests that everyone stays together right before deciding to split into pairs to look for the missing hikers. (Apparently, staying “together” can be done separately.) So when one pair loses a member (usually due to that person’s clumsiness and perhaps some rudimentary squirrel-catching device), the remaining member runs back to join the other pair, only to find that THE ENTIRE TEAM IS BASICALLY MADE UP OF CAREER MINOR LEAGUERS AND SOME JOURNEYMEN!!!

At the beginning of the year, everyone thought it would be a “bridge” year, a season of futility before their highly-touted prospects (one of whom recently had brain surgery after doctors discovered a cavernous malformation in his brain stem) were ready for the show.

They adopted a philosophy of pitching and defense, which is now coming to fruition, only the inverse of it. They are tenth in the America League in E.R.A. while their hitting and offense puts them first in runs scored. Explain that one, Bill James!

To give the appearance of competition, they signed defensive whiz Adrian Beltre (who leads the team in errors), a 37-year-old centerfielder who began the year by passing a kidney stone and then getting a sports hernia, and a shortstop who had a career year in 2009 at 33 years old (who’s second on the team in errors).

Through all this, with a lineup consisting of only two regulars from last year’s playoffs-reaching team, they are knocking on the door of the Yankees for the best record in the division, let alone the entire major leagues. How is this possible?

These Red Cross Sox never cease to amaze us. They’re constantly writing tales of the incredible, from the 2003 playoffs to the 2004 playoffs to the off-season their general manager Theo Epstein had to leave his office in a gorilla suit, stories that any self-respecting Hollywood producer would quickly say, “No one would believe a word of this! It needs more monkeys and midgets!” (Because that’s how Hollywood producers speak.)

They’re like a beer commercial.

It is said their walk-off home runs can feed an African village for a week.
The sun rises in the East, unless the Sox are on a West Coast swing.
News channels follow them twenty-five/seven.
They can sell out Fenway Park on a travel day.
New born babies are named after the team’s equipment manager.
They are ... the most interesting team in the world.

Voiceover: “I don’t always drink be-ah, my friends, but when I do, I drink Sam Adams ... and a lot of it ... with a cup o’ chowdah.” (Because that’s how Bostonians speak.)

I think this serves as proof that Theo Epstein is a great general manager. "The Plan" that he implemented seven years ago when he was but a newborn field personnel organizer with nary a follicle of facial growth has worked to perfection.

His goal: to construct a team that could beat the Yankees. And he's done that. Why, if the league further unbalances the schedule (and given Bud Selig's history as commissioner, the desire to increase ratings, and payroll inequities throughout the league, I wouldn't rule it out), they might have the Yankees and Red Sox play each other 162 times a year. That would allow the Red Sox to, at this pace, go for the first undefeated season in baseball history, joining the Patriots as the only professional sports teams in the New England region with a perfect regular season.

What a story that would be! Of course, we "only" play the Yankees nineteen times in a year, so perhaps I should wait until, say, the twelfth game between the two teams to open my mouth. Not to mention the fact that I've just jinxed them and hence, the streak will end in game nine. Eh, [shrug] whadya gonna do?

But the team is constructed to beat the Yankees and we can also beat the Orioles (who technically were the Yankees first before moving to New York), and they don't seem to have any trouble against the Tigers. However, there is one glitch in "the plan." The Red Sox can't beat anyone else with any consistency. The Mets? Isn't the AL supposed to beat up on National League teams? Texas? I thought they only had football teams. Tampa Bay? Phew! Matt Garza is Cy Young against Boston, but the rest of the league uses him as batting practice. (An over-exaggeration, but necessary to make my point).

I don't doubt that given the chance, Theo could construct a new team that can defeat these powerful foes as he has the squad from the Bronx. That's why I propose that Major League Baseball should increase the number of players on the active roster to -- lessee, now what is 25 times 29? Hmmmm ... -- 725. That way, their field manager Tito Francona will have a team to field specifically versus every other team in the league.

Oh, sure the agents, player's association, league executives, teams, fans, merchandisers and TV networks might have a problem with my plan, but Theo Epstein and those thousands of players that might never make the majors otherwise would love it! (Though the added players may not get any playing time, they'll officially be major leaguers and thus allowed to brag to their family at the funerals of dear relatives.)

This would further separate the men from the boys in this league and solidify Theo Epstein's place as the Hannibal Smith of major league general managers throughout history (i.e. he loves it "when a plan comes together"). Remember, all the great general managers have one thing in common: they're all men. Even the bad ones, for that matter.