The Yankees game went into extra innings yesterday, Modern Philosophers.
I’m usually all for longer games, especially when I’m able to watch my favorite team, but yesterday, I would’ve been content with a regulation nine innings.
I say this because my quiet Easter afternoon suddenly got a lot louder with the arrival of another guest…
He was already in a horrible mood when he arrived at The House on the Hill. I guess Easter Sunday will just do that to The Prince of Darkness. I also worried that he could sense that his former colleague, the Archangel Rachel, had recently been sitting on the very couch where he now sat.
“What’s a guy got to do to get a Snapple around here?” he shouted as he tossed his pitchfork haphazardly into the corner. That was never a good sign because Lucifer was generally very tidy with all his possessions.
I wanted to make a comment about how I was not his butler, and that he knew where the front door was if he didn’t like having to get his own beverage, but I bit my tongue. I knew better than to mess Satan when he was hot around the collar of his very expensive suit.
I returned from the kitchen with a Snapple for my “guest”, which earned me a nod and some mumbled words that I didn’t bother trying to decipher.
“Rough day?” I asked.
“I hate Easter,” he informed he popped the top off his bottle and took a long, thirsty sip. “Not a great day for me or my business. No one’s willing to trade their soul and give up on an afterlife in Heaven on Easter Sunday. This is like God’s Super Bowl.”
He turned his attention to the baseball game, which made me think that his rant was over. The Yankees had the bases loaded, so things were really looking up for me. I reached for one of the peanut butter eggs the Easter Bunny had left for me, and waited to see if my beloved Bronx Bombers would finally blow open this pitchers’ duel.
Then the TV cut to a couple of fans in Tampa Bay Rays jerseys rooting on their team.
Lucifer slammed his Snapple down on the table in frustration. “This day just keeps getting better,” he snarled as he pointed at the television. “They used to be the Devil Rays. Do you remember that, Austin?”
I nodded both because I did remember, and because I didn’t want to do anything that would further upset The Prince of Darkness, who appeared to be about to totally lose it in my living room.
“But now they’re just the Rays,” he continued as his horns seemed to grow larger. “They just somehow got rid of the Devil. Since when does Major League Baseball perform exorcisms? That’s what I want to know!”
He looked to me like I had the answer. I just shrugged and stuffed another peanut butter egg into my mouth, so I couldn’t possibly be expected to answer.
“Some days, I don’t know why the Hell I ever get out of bed.” He jumped off the couch, snatched up his pitchfork, and vanished in a cloud of hellfire and stinky smoke.
The Yankees eventually won the game, so I guess this story has a happy ending…