There Is No Cat

The Hobgoblin of Little Minds

I used to be a big baseball fan. I loved the Detroit Tigers, and I loved visiting interesting stadiums. The last game I saw live was at Fenway Park in Boston, a week before the strike of 1994. That strike absolutely killed my interest in the game. The installation of owner/stooge Bud Selig as Commissar was an appalling move by the owners. My interest has been transferred to college football and World Cup soccer. So I couldn’t care less about the World Series. But when I read this article in Salon by Keith Olbermann about how Jason Christensen was forced to refrain from wearing a baseball cap that contained a tribute to his good friend Darryl Kile, the St. Louis Cardinals pitcher who died unexpectedly of a heart attack, my opinion of baseball and Bud Selig dropped to a new low. The people who run baseball are absolutely freaking tone deaf. They have no humanity. Every time they make a move, my decision to tell baseball to go to hell looks more and more like the right move. In Bud Selig’s hands, the former national pastime looks like a dying sport. I, for one, will not be among the mourners at its funeral, because for me it died in 1994.

Posted at 8:47 PM