If Stephen King went back in time and married Mary Shelley, and their hunch-backed, photogenically-challenged offspring was raised by H.P. Lovecraft - he/she/it would still not have God's zeal for horror. His latest thriller has New Yorkers afraid to go out at night. What a story line...
Eleven years ago, the unthinkable happened: The Eve Empire's great, protective angel - "the Bambino" - was ravaged by demons from hell. or Boston. It came abruptly, without even a paragraph of foreshadowing. Suddenly, our Bronx utopia was brought to its knees and left in fear - a metaphor, of course. (God is big with metaphors. In fact, some say He abuses them, but frankly, I think if there's a problem, it's that God has fallen into the habit of stealing from Roland Emmerich.)
Anyway, where were we - oh, yeah: It's 11 years after the Yankeeocalypse - scientists have discovered a distant outer space alien mega-structure, and the Eve Empire faces another demon, the Cubs, which has been slumbering like Lamar Odom for about 100 years... just a TV trailers emerge for a movie called "The Force Awakens." But get this: The wrong NY team is doing battle. It's not the army led by our A-Rod with a centaur's body. It's the other team, the one that grew all-powerful through the black sorcery of Bernie Madoff. Thanks to Madoff, the Mets finished last for 10 years, stole a multitude of first-borns from their cribs and become a dominant force. Meanwhile, the Yankees - the true protectors - collapsed under the reign of Hal, the weak and greedy, half-witted son of the King, who constantly whines about how much he must pay his A-Rod-headed centaurs. And the lone voice of truth, John Sterling, constantly laments that, "the Yankee network is driven by cheap."
Now, with the Mets supposedly on the verge of routing the Cubs, the remaining few who still support the true saviors of NY - you know who they are - find ourselves being debased, harassed, belittled and finger-probed by the Madoff-made monsters - Humanis Centepedes and even the once-benign Grandy Man - that have stolen the city. Where is our A-Rod-headed centaur? He's throwing footballs into Fox TV monitors. Where is our gentle giant, CC? He's spilling his guts about Joe Girardi in daily group therapy. And what fate has befallen our most productive Yankee of September, Rico Noel? He's gone to Scranton, the place from which nobody returns.
It's a pot-boiler, a thumb-sucker, a page-turner, a horse-whisperer: Which demon should we fear most? The Mets? The Royals? Even the Cubs? Impossible, you say? No team can win four in a row? I would agree, if this were a sane universe. But that God, He's one crazy guy.