DATE: SEPTEMBER 17. PLACE: HELL.
Hi, is this Coors Field? Good. How ’bout connecting me to Clint Hurdle’s office? Tell him it’s the Devil.
Right. That Devil.
Sure, I’ll hold.
[Devil hums along with on-hold music, doodles on a notepad. Then absently picks his teeth with pointy tail.]
Clint? Yeah, it’s Satan. Whaddup, my man?
Yeah, Satan. Why does everybody think I’m a prank caller? You think the Devil never makes a phone call?
That’s OK. Listen, Clint. I don’t have a lot of time but I wanted to run something past you.
No, no, wait. Hear me out. How do the words “wild card” sound to you, Clint? Pretty good, huh?
Hell no, it’s not impossible!
Yeah, I know it looks bad right now. You just dropped a home series against Florida. I watched it on the Dish. Very bad, Clint. The division, the wild card – it looks hopeless, right? Wrong. What if I told you I could not only get the Rockies to the postseason, but make them so smoking hot, so intimidating that the whole baseball world would shake its head and wonder how the Rockies won pennant.
That’s right, Clint. The National League pennant. Not the Mets. Not the Phillies. Not the Cubs or Padres or D-Backs. The Rockies. How’s that sound, homes?
Can I make it happen? Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to? I have a pretty impressive resume, Clint. George Bush? Yeah, that was me. Let’s just say he’s on the payroll for a loooong time.
Huh? No, I’m not Dick Cheney, but I get that a lot. But back to the matter at hand: Whaddya say, Clint?
Well of course there’s a catch. I’m the Devil. Whaddya think, I work for free? Here’s the offer: I’ll deliver the goods – postseason, pennant, World Series – in exchange for the enslavement of your mortal soul for all eternity. So, Clint. Do we have a deal?
I know you’ve got a bunch of church-going guys in that clubhouse. Frankly, that makes it all the more attractive! C’mon, Clint! It’ll be great! Don’t you want to win? Sure you do!
Terrific! I’ll have Shirley fax the contract right up. You won’t regret this, Clint. I mean, not until after the World Series, anyway. HAHAHAHAHAHA!
No, no. That’s a little Hell humor. Sorry. Listen, Clint, I gotta run. I got Belichick on the other line. It’s great doing business with you. You’re a class act. You’re beautiful, babe. Don’t ever change.