The Devil and Mr. Torre

A Blast from the Past

Since this is my first post, I thought I'd post my most-loved work, last year's Devil and Mr. Torre expose. It's dated, yes, but it's one of my favorite pieces. Enjoy.

The Devil and Mr. Torre

by the world's least dangerous man

So there I was Wednesday night, Halloween, watching the Yankees' dynasty (a word that, if I'm not mistaken, means a "nasty din," a great way to describe Yankee Stadium) finally crumble. Thanks to the amazing performances of Curt Schilling and Randy Johnson, we would finally witness the end of the national nightmare that has doomed baseball fans to utter boredom, and eviscerated the interest of fans in the national pastime.

Boy, was I wrong.

Before I could blink, Tino Martinez launched a bomb into the right centerfield stands, out of the reach of a desperate climb by Steve Finley, who probably risked infection by climbing that close to the denizens of Yankee Stadium. And less than an hour later, Derek Jeter inaugurated November baseball by dropping one into the rightfield seats, and far enough into the seats that no one needed to release Jeffrey Maier from his current juvenile detention facility so he could help steal another game (fine, he's not in jail. BUT HE SHOULD BE).

And then, just in case we started to believe this a temporary reprieve, we witnessed the Nightmare in the Bronx, Part II, as Scott Brosius ripped another two-run ninth inning blast, again off Diamondbacks closer Byung-hyun Kim, who did a passable imitation of Michael Corleone at the end of Godfather III, when his daughter has been shot, he's crying in shock as the family consoles him... and the audience is cheering the on-screen departure of Sofia Coppola. I think the State Department is checking as to whether three homeruns in two days by the Yankees off Kim dictates the need for some sort of an official apology to South Korea.

And finally, it dawned on me. There were greater powers at work here. From Richie Garcia's alcohol-induced inability to spot the aforementioned Mr. Maier (all right, if he wasn't drunk, how did he miss that?) to the Indians' inability to hit El Duque in Game 4 in 1998 to the A's inability to field in crucial Game 5s to the events of this last week... someone had his hand in all these events. Yankee fans believe it's God... but most of us know better. First of all, God would never bless a team owned by George Steinbrenner. And if God liked New Yorkers, his son, Michael Jordan, would have played for the Knicks rather than constantly torture them.

No, it's quite clear that following the 1994 strike, God gave up on baseball. As punishment, he decreed that the Atlanta Braves win the 1995 Series, subjecting all of us to the sight of Jane Fonda and Ted Turner dancing the Macarena (note to God: thanks for making sure that doesn't happen again). Following that event, he promptly washed his hands of the national pastime. He even stopped protecting the sanctity of certain records, which is why Rockies' pitcher Mike Hampton could blast 90 homers next season.

But now, thanks to our prayers, God has returned, in the form of Randy Johnson and Curt Schilling, and the Yankees' evil reign is over. The long nightmare finally concluded Sunday night, and only a fool could deny the fact that divine intervention took place. The holy water falling in a domed stadium, cleansing all of us and purifying the Diamondbacks, clearing their eyes so they could hit Mariano Rivera. God may not have cared for the last five years, but he gave a damn now.

But just because God did not care for baseball from 1996-2001 does not dictate the terrible tragedy known as FOUR YANKEE TITLES IN FIVE YEARS. No, for that, we require the presence of true evil, the guiding hand of a power so malevolent that it would subject us to hours of Chuck Knoblauch at-bats and Don Zimmer close-ups.

Therefore, we conducted an investigation. We delved into the supernatural and examined the records. It took awhile, but we finally found it. We finally proved what Red Sox fans believed for several years, and what even most Yankee fans openly admitted in the 1980's and early 1990's: the Yankees' affiliation with the Dark Lord and Master. Thanks to the following transcript, we finally have the evidence necessary to adduce the truth: Joe Torre sold his soul to Satan.

If you don't believe us, read the following:

DATE: LATE OCTOBER 1995

PLACE: HELL

SATAN: "Welcome, Mr. Torre."

JOE: (glancing around nervously) "Um, maybe I shouldn't be here."

SATAN: "Come now, Joe, we all know why you're here. You're going to get a job offer from George Steinbrenner."

JOE: "How the hell did you know that?"

SATAN: "Joe, George works for me. Why would anyone be shocked at that? He almost came over to the Dark Side in the 1970's before he bought the team, but he needed an introduction from Billy Martin. I'd have Billy tell you the story, but he's not here."

JOE: (incredulous) "Billy made it to heaven?"

SATAN: (rolls eyes) "Don't be ridiculous, Joe. Billy got promoted last week and is out celebrating with Larry King."

JOE: (confused) "Isn't Larry King still alive?"

SATAN: "Yeah, that's what most people think. Anyway, you're here because you're about to get your dream job, managing the Yankees, working for your nightmare owner, George Steinbrenner. And you, a man with a pristine soul, want to cut a deal."

JOE: "You know, I'm rethinking this. I mean, how bad could it be? I know how to manage a baseball team. And Mr. Steinbrenner's become much more understanding the last few years."

SATAN: "Yeah, and O.J.'s innocent, too. Joe, there's a reason why Buck Showalter will be in Arizona. A reason why Billy got fired five times. A reason why Stump Merrill... well, he's an idiot. But George has no patience. And you of all people shouldn't think you're going to walk out of New York with your head held high. You've already been canned in St. Louis and Atlanta, although I can't really blame you for getting fired by that scumbag Ted Turner."

JOE: "What's your problem with Ted Turner?"

SATAN: "That bastard double-crossed me on a business deal a few years ago. You think a billboard salesman from Georgia gets that big on his own? Too bad he only gave me CNN, but I got him back. Made him so damn impotent that the only woman willing to marry him was the devil's handmaiden herself, Jane Fonda. Then God gets the bright idea to punish baseball for the strike by making the damn Braves appear in every postseason through the end of the century."

JOE: "Is God that angry with baseball?"

SATAN: "Yeah, but he's taking a hands-off approach now. I mean, he really hates the sport. He even scrapped his plan to have his favorite team win the World Series in 1999 to close the millennium.

JOE: "Who's his favorite team?"

SATAN: "Why, the Red Sox, of course."

JOE: "The Red Sox???? Then how come they never win?"

SATAN: "They used to, but God decided Boston fans had too much of a good thing. He wanted them to suffer, kinda like Job, so they'd really appreciate it once they got another one. He planned to give them the title in 1986, but people got cocky in Boston and started calling Larry Bird "God," which really made him mad. That's when he decided to really punish Sox fans. Bill Bucker never told anyone this, because they'd think he was crazy, but God reached down and goosed him as he went for Mookie's grounder. That's why Bill looks like he got an enema as he bent over going for the ball. Hey, God also loves the Cubbies. But that's neither here nor there. You and I need to close this deal, but I sense some reluctance. Especially with these additional demands."

JOE: "Well, is it so bad to ask for more than one title?"

SATAN: "No, but I already promised Wayne Huizenga one. I'll get him on the line and try to finesse that by a year, so you can have next year's title and he can have one in 1997. I owe him that, what with all my Blockbuster late fees."

JOE: "But then what happens to the repeat?"

SATAN: (sighing) "All right, Joe, I'll tell you what. We'll not only give you a repeat, but a three-peat. Hell, even a four-peat. I'll even get you the patent on that word, before that idiot Pat Riley beats me to it again. Dumbass. We'll see if he ever wins another title."

JOE: "A four-peat? Really?"

SATAN: "Yeah, but I'm going to need some collateral. Additional souls, if you will. Plus some favors."

JOE: “What kind of favors?”

SATAN: “First, you need to give my kid a job.” (points to the door, where Don Zimmer waddles in).

JOE: (visibly shocked) “You’re – he’s – I mean... Don is your son?”

ZIMMER: “The sky is our friend.”

SATAN: “Yeah, he pretty much babbles incoherently most of the time. I thought it was pretty damn funny when God’s two favorite teams, the Red Sox and the Cubs, both hired him to manage, out of pity.“ (laughs, then shakes head) “I was doing a lot of drugs before he was born.” (pats Don on the head) “See the nice man, Don? Say hi.”

ZIMMER: “My name is purple.”

JOE: “What can I do with him?”

SATAN: “Make him your bench coach. Just nod sagely at whatever he says, even if it’s utter nonsense. Then tell the press how crucial his advice is.”

ZIMMER: “Ring-ring! Lunchtime!”

JOE: “I’m not so sure…” (gets a look from the devil, then reconsiders) “Okay, I guess so. Just see if you can stop the drooling thing. What else will I need to do?”

SATAN: “Keep Darryl Strawberry on the team for a couple years. I messed up his taxes a couple years ago, so I owe him a couple rings. Don’t worry; he’ll probably be high the whole time anyway.”

JOE: “Won’t Mr. Steinbrenner veto that idea?”

SATAN: “Once again, George listens to me. Besides, I’ve got him deluded into thinking he should collect ex-Met coke fiends. You’ll have Doc Gooden as well, and if my old pal Keith Hernandez was still around…”

ZIMMER: “The white powder smells good.”

JOE: (looks annoyed) “All right, so I’ve got Don Zimmer, Daryl Strawberry and Doc Gooden. What about this soul business?”

SATAN: “We’ll handle that on a year-by-year basis, for 1998 on. For example, I’ll take your third baseman’s soul in 1998.”

JOE: “You’re taking Wade Boggs?”

SATAN: (rolls eyes) “Yeah, right. He and Margo Adams reserved a room here years ago. Nah, by then you’ll have another third baseman.”

JOE: “You know, that third baseman’s going to ask for something more than a ring in return. And I’m still peeved about the 1997 thing.”

SATAN: “We’ll make him, whoever he is, a World Series MVP, okay? And just because you’re steamed about missing out on 1997, I’ll let your team win 114 games one year. I’ll let you beat the Mets in a Subway World Series another time, which probably couldn’t happen otherwise, seeing as how no one outside New York would watch. And I’ll even let my son take the blame for the 1997 loss.”

JOE: “You mean Don?”

ZIMMER: “Bats have wood in them.”

SATAN: “No, I mean my other son. He’ll be your closer in a couple years, name of Mariano. And he will never, ever fail you, no matter how many days in a row he throws, no matter how many innings he throws.”

JOE: (thinking) “Then why won’t I throw him all the time?”

SATAN: “Let’s not give away the fact that we’ve got a deal working here, okay? And in keeping with that, I’m going to give you a team filled with goody-two-shoes. Red Sox fans will want to root for these guys. All-American boy shortstop. Cool, collected team leader in centerfield. Power-hitting first baseman who doubles as a great guy. You’ll get a crafty veteran pitcher who’s a Cuban refugee, risking his life to play baseball in the big leagues. Two catchers, one an up-and-coming kid, the other a grizzled veteran…”

JOE: “Boy, they sound too good to be true.”

SATAN: “You know, you’re right.” (pauses) “We’ll make them flawed as well. Your Gold Glove second baseman will forget how to throw to first. Your rightfielder will bitch, moan and whine like a little girl about balls and strikes, even when he swings and misses. And your pitching staff… we’ll give you an overweight party animal who rides a Harley.”

JOE: “That guy might be popular in New York.”

SATAN: “Well, we can fix that. I’ve got a 2 o’clock appointment who I can shift over to you if necessary.”

JOE: “Who’s that?”

SATAN: “It’s confidential, Joe, but it’s a pretty good pitcher. So far he’s sold his soul for a few awards, but he doesn’t seem interested in titles, only money. I’m sure eventually he’ll ask for both, at which point we’ll see what else he can offer.”

JOE: “You can’t give me a clue?”

SATAN: “Sorry, but rules are rules. Do we have a deal?”

JOE: (thinks about it… for three seconds) “Yeah, why not? It’s only eternal damnation, right? And this place looks a lot like New Jersey.”

ZIMMER: “Mommy wants snausages!”

SATAN: “All right, take Don with you, then. And remember, this conversation’s recorded for our future benefit.”

JOE: “I guess that’s why Richard Nixon was sitting in the receptionist’s chair.” (leaves, with Zimmer on a leash)

(intercom buzzes)

SATAN: “Yes?”

INTERCOM: “Your 2 o’clock is here, sir.”

SATAN: “Send Mr. Clemens in.”

The preceding was recorded with only the implied oral consent of Major League Baseball and cannot be rewritten, rebroadcast or taken seriously without imposing a salary cap.