Friday, April 10, 2020

JuJu During Corona



Meanwhile, back at the JuJu baseball gods' warehouse, things are not good.  Never a nice place to work, it's worse than ever now that their evil bosses, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, are off joyriding around the planet.

The only face masks available are the bandanas recommended by the CDC.  For gloves, they are wearing the catchers mitts of obscure Yankees receivers:  Jake Gibbs, Bob Tillman, Frank Fernandez, Ellie Rodriguez, Charlie Sands, John Ellis.

Ventilators?  You want ventilators?  All they have are converted hookahs.

And the toilet paper?  That ran out weeks ago.  They're down to their most beloved scorecards of Great Yankee Pineapples.  Game 7 of the 2001 World Series went last Thursday.  Now they're starting on the 2004 ALCS.

There is nothing to do, no one to bother.  Even Indians fans are leading balanced, reasonably happy lives these days.  Isolation?  Quarantine?  Death?  It still doesn't compare to your average baseball season in Cleveland.

The Juju gods are now on their 5000th, Strat-o-matic replay of the 1998 season, and they still can't get that Yankees below 104 wins.  They've even played 1,250 seasons in which the Yanks win at least 120 games.  

The only Indian takeout place gives them food poisoning, every time.  There's no dog to walk, only a pangolin.  Somebody accidentally erased their recording of Altuve's walkoff homer from last year in favor of a Martha Stewart rerun, and they're getting bored to death even watching Mazeroski waltz around the bases.

They've been gathering up whole boxes full of scorpions, cacti, snakes, diseased gerbils, and other desert vermin for the proposed Arizona league.  But when is that going to come off?

And even for Juju gods, what good is baseball without an audience?  If a pineapple happens in an empty stadium, can anyone hear you scream?

Back to the canasta set, with the three missing cards.  Back to the game of War that just won't end, and the stalemates in Risk and Monopoly, and what the hell happened to the Parcheesi set?

Back to another can of refried beans.  No one to torment, no one's hopes to raise—and then dash.

Baseball.  Even the worst gods can't do without it.









3 comments:

JM said...

The Juju gods are operating in strange and terrible ways, still.

For instance, I'm inside all the time. I thought, great, I can read some books that have piled up, use my music production software for the first time in ages and create some spaced-out synth and guitar pieces, and even start writing that novel that's been in my head for four or five years now. All while using the stack of dumbbells to stay in shape.

Instead, the constant anxiety about the virus situation here in NYC and a friend who's in a nursing home uptown and my mom's health and my brother's lectures on how I should watch "Ancient Aliens" to see where this pandemic REALLY came from...well, I can't concentrate on anything but European cop shows.

So goeth the juju.

HoraceClarke66 said...

They are sneaky bastards.

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