You ever notice that when you're watching a baseball game and the defense misses an easy out, it almost always comes back to haunt them?
That's not bad luck. That's something bigger.
That's the baseball gods at work.
They're like Santa Claus, but for baseball. Except these gods don't hand out gifts. They keep a list, they hold grudges, and they believe in consequences. These are Old Testament gods. They don't forgive. They don't forget. They wait patiently for you to slip, and when you do, they strike.
Miss a routine play. Jog after a ball that's catchable and it drops? Ah... I see you don't want that free out. No problem. The gods see it all. And they will make sure you pay for your discretions.
Need proof?
October 25, 1986. Game 6 of the World Series. The Red Sox were up by two in the bottom of the tenth. Two outs. Nobody on. One more out, and they end a 68-year curse. The champagne was being rolled into the locker room. The trophy was within reach.
Unfortunately for the Red Sox, the baseball gods were watching. And they noticed something.
Manager John McNamara had left the hobbled Bill Buckner in the game. He passed on a defensive replacement so that Buckner could be on the field for the celebration. It was a sentimental decision. The kind you make when you think the story is already over.
The gods took it personally.
Then it happened.
Single.
Single.
Single.
Wild pitch. Tie game.
Mookie Wilson steps in.
And then Vin Scully, with the immortal call:
“A little roller up along first...
BEHIND THE BAG! IT GETS THROUGH BUCKNER!!
Here comes Knight and the Mets win it!”
I was ten years old, sitting in my living room with my dad. He, being uninitiated in the ways of the baseball gods, said decisively, “It’s over.”
But I believed. I believed in the famous Yogi-ism: “It ain’t over til the fat lady sings.” And she hadn’t uttered a note.
Then I saw that ground ball. An easy play. One I had seen made countless times on Little League fields. An out 999 times out of 1,000 in the majors. But this time, it rolled into the outfield.
In that moment, I knew that miracles were real.
The baseball gods had made their decision.
If someone had handed me a million dollars right then, I would have put every last cent on the Mets to win Game 7.
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