OMG! It's A Blog Post?! Praise the Lord!

I don't even think I know how to do this anymore!  The Google keeps telling me I've logged off in another location and yet, here I am.  Wish me luck!

If you're wondering what could have possibly drawn me to the computer for an extended bit of typing, I'd have to be honest and tell you that is was Jesus.  Not Debbie's Jesus of course (Debbie being the professionally dressed Jehovah's Witness who haunts my bus stop at 7:00 in the a.m.).  Nor would I argue the "Sweet Jesus" although then you'd be getting a little warmer because you'd be thinking baseball!

Jesus Sucre!

(Wow!  Blogger let's you caption your photos now!)

My Jesus is the Jesus of the Jake (I know, it's the Prog or something now but that doesn't work for me so I am sticking with it.).  Jesus' first and only appearance to date came this past Tuesday.  The Tribe was scheduled to play the Phillies and Halladay was on the mound.  To my surprise, there were many Phillistines in the crowd, many of whom dusted off their Halladay hats, jerseys, and thongs.  One of which was so young it appeared to have left the womb to attend the game (really people, newborns?).

As Joanna and I took our seats, we were pleased to note that unlike Yankees or Red Sox devotees, Phillistines are old school and quite possible Papists!  Or maybe just Mennonite. Who really cares.

A Female Phillistine Donning Traditional Headgear

Our pilgrims were to have a rough night.  By the bottom of the first it was clear that any time the Heathens had a man on base, a home run was soon to follow.  Despair was met by hope (a solo shot home run) that was then met by futility and a call to the bull pen.  Through all of this Jesus stood tall, turning to the crowd to tell them that "he saw this" or "he called this"!  Like a beacon of shining white light, he gathered the meek and some would say "traitorous" masses of Section 138 and made their voices strong!

That's My Jesus

At least until Security came down to speak with him.  It was clear from my vantage point that betrayal was in the air but who was the Judas?  Who ran their sorry little ass up and whined to the crinkled and wizened Ancient One who stands watch over Section 138?  We will never know but I assured Joanna and our neighbors on the aisle that it must have been a Phillistine for who among us, Tribe fans, true believers (aka season ticket holders), heathens, would be so daft as to report this Messiah?

It was at this point that our true believers to the right showed their true colors and referred to Jesus as a "nut job".  And as they assured us, they know their "nut jobs".  For lo, on a night early in April, with the dreaded Yanks in town a "nut job" sat in my seat.  Wondering whether or not this would require a cleansing, I asked for a little more information.  Apparently, the "nut job" stood up and threw beer on to some Yankee fans behind him to wit, I replied "That was my brother!" (see below). 

Apparently the "Nut Job" is on the left.

Some back pedaling ensued.  I continued the assault on Judas Number 1 begging him to tell me why they offered up him up as a sacrifice to some tattooed, hillbilly, Southern Ohi-ah, Yankee trolls.  His response pathetic, I turned the tables and gave him the Judas Kiss:

"You and me.  We're fucking done, professionally man!"

So if you're sitting in our seats this year and you see a couple of middle aged Judases in the aisle seats to our right, smite them with the power of the Word!  Say, Young's Literal Translation of Psalm 140:10:

"They cause to fall on themselves burning coals, Into fire He doth cast them, Into deep pits -- they arise not."

Go ahead and add in a "Verily, I say unto thee" because that always sounds pretty cool.