Proof of God's Existence: A Critique of Christopher Hitchens' not-so-great book

I saw proof of God’s existence at a public school. My seeds of doubt, planted by the witty verbatim of that scotch swilling, verb shilling, British import Christopher Hitchens, were gloriously uprooted in a high school auditorium. A presentation called Rachel's Challenge, a program in honor of Rachel Scott, victim of the Columbine Massacre, cleansed my heart of Hitchens’ poison; through the glimpse of a tear-stained rose, I was reminded, like Antoine Exupery’s Little Prince, that what is essential is invisible to the eye.

Hitchens rightly prefaces God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything with a quote from Ivan Karamazov’s The Grand Inquisitor, the famous legend in Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. Hitchens is no emotionless logician, content to politely throw syllogisms at his opponent, waiting patiently for his argument to win out in the friendly match of ideas. He is a combative rhetorician; like Nietzsche, ready to philosophize with a hammer. His battle with God is no trite intellectual exercise; like Ivan Karamazov, creator of that grand indictment of the deity, Hitchens is in rebellion with the Almighty.

“Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at last, but that it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature—that baby beating its breast with its fist for instance—and to found that edifice on its unavenged tears, would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me, and tell the truth.” So asks Ivan to his brother, the saintly Alyosha. Hitchens uses this quote to open chapter 16. Yet, it serves Hitchens as not much more than an anecdote, to later bring his chapter on religion as child abuse to closure. To serve his purpose, he could have done more. That tiny passage contains the greatest argument against God in all of literature.

In Book V, chapter 4, of The Brothers Karamazov: Rebellion, Ivan outlines his case against God. He understands Christian theodicy. He understands the dilemma (If God is omnipotent and good, how come evil exists? An omnipotent God who allows evil could not be good; a good God who allows evil could not omnipotent, or he would stop evil). He understands the Christian answer (God gives man free will; man freely chose evil). But Ivan gives examples, such as the baby beating its fist, above, and a child torn to pieces by dogs on order of a soldier. Even if that poor child goes to heaven, and even if the evil abusers burn in the fires of hell, even if harmony is restored and all sing hosanna gloriously to God, Ivan still cannot accept a world built on the suffering of children. It is a foolproof argument, and Dostoyevksy, Ivan’s creator, admitted as much. Hitchens follows in Ivan’s grand tradition, and his argument could have been greater advanced if he explored Ivan’s dilemma more. Hitchens is a literary critic, and what better angle to advance his thesis than to grapple with the most famous fictional opponent of what he considers the world’s great poison?

While Richard Dawkins attacks religion from the perspective of Darwinism in The God Delusion, Hitchens has entered into rebellion against God. He writes an invective history of God, chronicling religion’s lacerations into the heart of man. If one wants to write a negative history, pick a broad enough topic, and one can do it. Howard Zinn chose the United States and created a history of America through the paradigm of Western imperialism in A People’s History of the United States. Hitchens’s target is religion, Western, Eastern, and anything in between.

Sins in the name of God are legion, and there is no triangulation around the critiques presented in this book. From Hitchens’s framework, as from Ivan’s framework, the argument against God is logically unassailable. To critique an atheist argument from a Christian perspective is similar to critiquing a theocracy from a democratic perspective. Like Alistair MacIntyre’s explanation of competing moral claims in chapter two of After Virtue, arguments pro and contra just-war, abortion, socialized medicine, and other divisive issues cannot be solved when each side frames the issue from internally logically valid, but non-crossing, perspectives. Dostoyevksy does not attempt a logical response to Ivan through one of his Christian characters, but rather presents a compelling alternative in the Christ-like love of Fr. Zossima, and shows the fruitlessness of Ivan’s lifestyle. That is, Ivan’s beliefs may be logically coherent, but they are unlivable.

I must confess, immediately after completing Hitchens’s book, I was troubled. There is so much wrong with the world, and much is caused by religion. I even pondered a world without God. But, at the school where I teach, students, faculty, and staff were brought to the auditorium for a presentation. At that high school presentation, I was touched by the life story of Rachel Scott, first victim of the Columbine shooting in 1999. A beautiful young woman at the dawn of life, she was a wonderful poet and artist. She preached kindness and tolerance, and encouraged people to ‘pass it on,’ so to speak; she believed we should do good deeds for others when others are kind to us. Soon after the shooting, the speaker told us, a random man from Ohio called the father of Rachel Scott and told him of a vision he had in his sleep. He described it in detail. The father didn’t know what to make of it, but a few weeks later after looking through Rachel’s final diary entry, he noticed a picture she drew the morning of the shootings—a picture that matched perfectly that random man’s heretofore unexplained vision: she drew two eyes, spilling forth thirteen tears onto a rose (thirteen was the number of innocents murdered that day). My faith—in God, in religion, in humanity—was restored.

The Rockies, Religion, & Baseball: Josh Beckett Outpitches God

The Colorado Rockies are in the World Series and it’s a Miracle! This is no small m miracle, like winning 21 out of 22 games just to make the playoffs, sweep the first two rounds, and get here. This is a capital M Miracle, with God on their side. Yes, the Rockies are blessed by the Almighty.

The Rockies are not just a baseball team. They are a Christian organization. Ben Shpigel writes in his New York Times article, “Rockies Place Their Faith in God, and One Another, (www.nytimes.com/2007/10/23/sports/baseball/23rockies.html?_r=1&oref=slogin)” that the Rockies look to build a roster based on Christian virtue. Lewd magazines like Maxim and Playboy are banned from the clubhouse, and the team seeks to sign players “with integrity and strong moral values.” There is no compulsion or pressure to become Christian, as player Jason Hirsh, of the Jewish faith, “said not once during the season had he felt uncomfortable with the place Christianity occupies within the organization.” But Dave Zirin of leftwing publication The Nation is concerned by the effort to unite religion and faith in the workplace. In response to Hirsh’s comment, “It’s not like they hung a cross in my locker or anything. They’ve accepted me for who I am and what I believe in,” Zirin, in “The Rockies Get off Their Knees (http://www.thenation.com/doc/20071105/zirin),” derisively remarks, “That could be a great pitch for recruiting free agents: ‘They won’t hang a cross in your locker!’”

Is Zirin right? Zirin says “freedom of religion should also mean freedom from religion at the ballpark, it doesn’t matter if you call it Buddha-Jesus-Jewish-Vishnu-Islamic-Wicca Awareness day. We just want to go to the ballpark without feeling like we’re covertly funding Focus on the Family’s gay retraining programs. Religion and sports: it’s a marriage in desperate need of divorce.”

If professional sports were public entities, by law employees—manager, players, coaches—would be asked to keep their religious beliefs to themselves. But baseball is a private business, and private businesses can be set up in support of particular viewpoints and goals. A car dealership exists to sell cars. An environmental group exists to promote conservation. It seems fair to ask, why not allow the Rockies to promote a business goal of proselytizing and playing, bible and baseball. If they wish to alienate fans, it is their financial loss. If players do not wish to play in a Christian organization, there are plenty of secular baseball teams to try out for.

But our society is more than one of religious toleration. Religious toleration allows for one faith to be promoted, while members of other faiths must step back and practice in private. The only way we have found so far to make all people equal is to ask that all faiths step into the background once people enter the public sphere. No one religious belief or philosophy may be seen as normative. It is only considered acceptable to promote a specific faith in a group whose express purpose is faith based. In Catholic schools, it is now common for religion to only be taught in religion class. Catholic Charities in California is required to cover birth control in their health plans, under the notion that their express purpose is not religious. Since the Colorado Rockies primary purpose is baseball, it is considered a faux pas to mix faith with the ball-field, especially if it is a specific faith and not some abstract Unitarian notion of pluralism.

The risk in a society based on a specific faith is the danger of persecution towards non-believers. The danger in a society based on the idea that, “at the heart of liberty is the right to define one’s own concept of existing, of meaning, of the universe and the mystery of life,” as Anthony Kennedy said in his famous ‘sweet mystery of life’ soliloquy in the Supreme Court decision Casey vs. Planned Parenthood, is that people will have nothing binding them together. For all the melancholy meanderings about the joy of deciding our own beliefs, people cannot be inspired by abstract ideas like “it doesn’t matter what you have faith in; as long as you have faith in something.” People need a common cause, something like—no, more than like, more like specifically—God to rally around and believe in.

It may be necessary in today’s pluralistic society to put our religious beliefs away when we go into public. Like smoking, religion maybe needs to be tolerated so long as we leave the room and not come back until we put out those faith filled ashes. Yes, maybe this is the only way. But, we must admit, something is lost when what we value must be put aside in polite society.

Maybe God is not on the Rockies side, after all. Maybe He doesn’t want baseball and Himself mixed. The Rockies got smoked in game one of the World Series 13-1. But, then again, Red Sox ace Josh Beckett is a fireballer from Texas, God’s home state. The Rockies hopes aren’t too promising tonight either; Curt Schilling—the right arm of God Himself—is pitching for the Red Sox.

Transformers: Not More than Meets the Eye

What song should you put on the car radio as you drive by that pretty girl? What tune should play as you drive that fine young lady home? The answer is Before It’s Too Late, by the Goo Goo Dolls (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zp__g0bahfQ). And Shia Labeouf doesn’t even have to figure it out for himself; his car chooses the song for him as he gives the gorgeous Megan Fox a ride home. The car plays wingman all the way, even stalling at a make-out point. Labeouf doesn’t know it yet, but his car is Bumblebee, a non-biological extra terrestrial life form, sent to earth to fight the evil Decepticons in the live action movie The Transformers.

Megan Fox—I cannot stress this enough—is the hottest actress you have never heard of. She is “makes me lust in my heart” stunning. Even without the amazing special effects of the transformer robots, her physical presence would make this film watchable. She fills the role of the token hot chick that, at first glance, appears to be a self-obsessed drama queen who dates jerks because she can’t help falling for tight abs and strong arms. She even says so. But, fear not, she is the token hot chick who is emotionally deeper than at first glance. Shia Labeouf realizes this, and tells her she is “more than meets the eye.”

Bumblebee, Optimus Prime, and the rest of the Autobots, a race of autonomous robot life forms made famous in the cartoon series The Transformers, need Shia’s help to find the All Spark, a cube that can turn mechanical objects to life, and keep it away from Megatron and the evil Decepticons, or else earth will be destroyed just like Cybertron, the home planet of the Transformers. The stakes could not be higher, as we see in Optimus Prime’s and Megatron’s mano a mano (roboto a roboto?) battle. “Humans don’t deserve to live,” yells Megatron. “They deserve to choose for themselves,” retorts Optimus Prime. The fate of humanity—and bad dialogue—is at stake, as the Autobots and Decepticons continue the war of Cyberton on earth in this cinematic masterpiece.

Thoughts on the Baseball Playoffs

What do your parents, the English language, Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving, the awful taste of peas, and bad television sitcoms have in common? They’ve always been there. As far back as you can remember they were a part of your life. You can’t even remember life without them. Kenny Lofton fits right in there. I cannot remember Kenny Lofton not being in the Major Leagues. As long as I’ve known what baseball was, Kenny Lofton patrolled centerfield for the Cleveland Indians.

I didn’t even know Kenny Lofton was still playing, but the real life Willie Mays Hays came from nowhere to add flair to this season’s playoffs. On Monday night, in game three of the ALCS between the Indians and the Boston Red Sox, there stood “Cool Papa” Lofton (a nickname given by ESPN writer Bill Simmons), sending a Dice-K fastball over the leftfield wall for a two-run homerun. Later, Lofton stole second and passed Rickey Henderson for the career postseason stolen bases record. Rickey Henderson still leads Kenny in career regular season steals, but I bet if we combined Lofton’s Major League stats with his totals from the Negro Leagues, he’d be right up there with Rickey. Seriously, what? Jackie Robinson wasn’t available to pinch-hit? You know the Red Sox are in trouble if they’re getting beat by a team that has to role out journeyman Kenny Lofton.

Yeah, the Sox won last night. But, that’s because Josh Beckett has turned into God in the postseason. The Indians tried icing him by bringing in ex-girlfriend (and legitimate hottie) Danielle Peck (http://www.daniellepeck.com/) to sing the national anthem. Heck, I’m even developing a man-crush on Beckett. He stared down our old friend “Cool Papa” Lofton when Kenny dropped his bat, almost starting a bench-clearing brawl. Fists stayed put, though. Beckett saved his punch-outs for the Indians batting order, racking up 11 K’s in eight innings, leading Boston to a 7-1 win, and reducing their deficit to 3-2.

But if I were Boston, I wouldn’t be too confident with Schilling and Dice-K set to pitch this weekend. Like Mom and Dad, the English language, Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving, the awful taste of peas, and bad TV sitcoms, Red Sox fans can’t remember a time when they didn’t expect to lose. That Calvinistic pessimism disappeared after 2004, but like Kenny Lofton, it’s back.

There's Only ONE October!...and Dane Cook's a Tool

“There was an old lady who swallowed a fly
I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die.”

Joba Chamberlain did not allow one runner in scoring position to touch home plate all season. His fastball packs more heat than John Madden’s ass after a Mexican dinner. His curveball hooks left more than a college faculty member. When he comes in for the New York Yankees each 8th inning, opponents ought just take off their cleats and hit the showers. It would take a biblical plague to score off Joba. Alas, that is what happened in game two of the American League Division Series. The Yankees held a 1-0 lead when they brought Joba in to finish of the Cleveland Indians. But thousand of gnats swarmed Jacobs Field from nearby Lake Erie, getting in Joba’s face, Joba’s mouth, leading to an uncharacteristic wild pitch, allowing the tying run to score. The Yankees never recovered, losing that game in extra innings, and losing the series three games to one. The Yankees swallowed some gnats. I don’t know why they swallowed those flies. Their playoff dreams died.

It has been a strange postseason. The New York Mets, the National League’s best team with one week left in the season, missed the playoffs entirely (but enough on that. I think I’ll light myself on fire). The Colorado Rockies, historically known for slugging homer after homer—historically known for serving up homer after homer—have won 19 out of 20 games, mostly with pitching and defense, and are one win away from their first World Series.

You may not have known this, since the playoffs have mostly been on cable this year. TBS has picked up the first round and the National League Championship Series. But, fear not, they have learned from Fox. We could always count on Fox to advertise all those new shows destined for cancellation. TBS has joined in this tradition, presenting us with Frank TV (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIxFyU0gIpE). Those commercials couldn’t be less funny if I punched myself in the face. We get it; Frank Caliendo does impersonations. Next time, find someone who does them funny. It’s like all those Scary Movie, Not Another Teen Movie, Date Movie, and Epic Movie spoofs; it’s not funny just referencing shit; you need to lampoon and satirize it.

But at least when other commercials come on, I don’t forget whose country it is. Whose country is it, again? Oh yeah, “this is ouuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr country! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0HTff63E0I).” Please, just shoot me now and get it over with. But, you better do it soon, or else the calendar will turn to November, and you’ll miss out, because “there is only ONE October! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AV8GV2LIknY&mode=related&search= , this is the SNL parody, because I really would shoot myself if I linked a real Dane Cook commercial). (Okay, here’s one Dane Cook commercial: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBy8nhFx7WQ&NR=1 , really please shoot me now).”

Abolish the Designated Hitter

Once Upon a Time, baseball, boxing, and horseracing ruled as kings, the big three professional sports in America. In the year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and fourteen, dawn of this golden age of sport, the Boston Red Sox signed a young left-handed pitcher from the minor league Baltimore Orioles. This young pitcher won 87 games, losing only 45, between 1915 (his first full season) and 1919, helping the Red Sox win back to back World Series championships in 1915 and 1916, and victory in their final World Series in 1918, the second to last World Series ever played. Sadly, professional baseball collapsed following the 1919 season. The Chicago White Sox threw the 1919 World Series, losing on purpose in an attempt to make money off mafia gamblers. Baseball never recovered, and faded to the dustbin of history, to be followed in the next half century by horseracing and boxing. America never got the chance to see this young left-handed pitcher become one of the all-time greats, although, if you had asked him, he would have claimed capable of being an all-time great slugger. Stories spread and about his legendary hitting prowess in the minors on days he didn’t pitch, but the institution of the designated hitter rule in 1914, right before his major league call-up, prevented any talk of letting some overweight pitcher hit. At any right, with the demise of baseball, no one would be doing any hitting or pitching for a long time.

This young left-handed pitcher is historical. His name, you may recall, is Babe Ruth, and he quickly established himself as an elite pitcher for the Boston Red Sox. His pitching feats described above are no fiction, and neither is, sadly, the story of the Chicago Black Sox and the thrown World Series of 1919. But the demise of baseball, thankfully, is a myth. Baseball, boxing, and horseracing would remain the big three through the 1940’s and ‘50’s. Boxing and horseracing have since faded into niche sports, replaced at the top by football and basketball. But baseball never did fall off the map. The designated hitter rule was not instituted until some sixty years after 1914, Babe Ruth’s slugging feats during his pitching days led the Red Sox to slowly shift him into a full time hitting outfielder, and his record setting 1919 total of 29 homeruns, followed by his record shattering 54 in 1920 saved baseball from the Black Sox scandal. If the designated hitter had been in place at the time, the icon Babe Ruth would never have come into being.

The powers that be ruined baseball forever in the 1970’s with their decision to institute the designated hitter in the American League. In a sport where all nine players must play the field and bat, the American League created the designated “pinch” hitter, a player who would leave his glove at home, bringing the batting gloves and bat to the plate each time the pitcher’s spot in the lineup arose. And, to be fair, I find it kind of interesting and novel to grant the American League a designated hitter while preserving the integrity of baseball in the National League. With the rise of free agency, the distinction between the two leagues began to fade. The DH American League and the no-DH National League: it adds a tangible ingredient to the heretofore mystical differences announcers spoke of when they debated the merits of National League ball versus American League ball.

If only the designated hitter had stayed in the Major Leagues, where it belongs: The problem with the DH is the trickle down effect it has induced upon lower levels of baseball. No longer is the American League a cute little novelty. The American League is the norm, the standard, and the National League is the novelty, the cute little outlier, clinging to the traditional form of baseball, while every other level of baseball above Little League has drank the Kool-Aid and adopted the DH.

Pitchers, let’s be honest, have never been great hitters in the Major Leagues. Babe Ruth, to be fair, is the only elite pitcher who also hit at an elite major league level (Rick Ankiel of the Cardinals is attempting to become a regular outfielder after failing as a pitcher. We shall see how that goes). And, it would be more proper to say of Babe Ruth that he was a great hitter who also could pitch exceptionally at the big league level. But part of the joy of baseball is that every player in the field must hit, every baller with a bat must put on a glove and try his hand at defense. And, just about every major league pitcher was an above average baseball player at other positions, and at bat, while growing up and playing amateur ball. The major league pitcher no longer plays infield or outfield on days he does not pitch, like he did as a Little Leaguer, high school player, and in college, but he has swung a bat at each step up the baseball ladder, so he is not completely helpless standing at the plate against other major league pitchers.

But this DH trickle down effect has left the National League and Little League as just about the only leagues allowing pitchers to hit. Every level of the minor leagues uses the DH. NCAA college baseball plays by American League rules, using a DH for the pitcher. High school baseball even allows the DH (although many high school coaches don’t use it, since often the star pitcher at that level is one of the best hitters on the team and plays shortstop of centerfield when not pitching, or if the DH is used, it is used on the second baseman or rightfielder or another position player who hits weakly). A pitcher brought up to the major leagues will not have swung a bat since high school (not even in practice. Since the DH is allowed, pitchers on college teams and minor league teams don’t even get to take batting practice). If he plays for a National League team, he will be hopeless in his turn in the batters box.

Let’s abolish the DH and return baseball to the way it was meant to be. Do I think we miss out on the chance to find the next Babe Ruth? No. Babe Ruth was a once in a lifetime (once in many lifetimes) player. Do I think pitchers will prove themselves at the plate if given a chance? Again, no. The typical pitcher batting average in the National League will continue to remain firmly below the Mendoza line (that’s below .200, for those unfamiliar with baseball slang). The DH should be eliminated because it separates teams into “hitters” and “pitchers”, with pitchers looked at as if they are these quirky non-athletes who provide a specialty (like the kicker in football), while the hitters do the “real” ball playing. Pitching is as important as hitting, more so for winning championships, and it’s time we stop demarcating pitcher’s and hitters through the tacky 1970’s DH rule. Like hot pants, disco, and That 70’s Show, the DH is a relic from that bad hair decade, and it needs to go.

The Mets are the New Red Sox

The Mets are the new Red Sox. The Boston Red Sox are championship contenders, and New York Mets fans have slid into the vacated role of baseball pessimists. Life is upside down right now; Kevin Federline is the good parent; the Republican frontrunner for President is twice divorced and cross dresses; 40 is the new 30; and the Boston Red Sox have become the New York Yankees. Yes, the Red Sox, those perennial heartbreakers, are just three years removed from breaking the Curse, and they’ve become what Sox fans always hated. The hot girl in blue jeans and a tight Varitek T-shirt is now as ubiquitous as her clone in the tight Jeter T-shirt. Theo Epstein throws money around like George Steinbrenner, matching every Hideki Irabu and Jason Giambi spending spree with a Dice-K and J.D. Drew splurge of his own. Curt Schilling’s mouth matches anything blurting from the lips of the Boss. Rooting for the Sox against the Yankees is no longer like rooting for David versus Goliath. It is no longer secretly hoping Screech gets a girl over Zack and Slater. Rooting for the Sox against the Yankees is like rooting for Exxon versus Mobil, rooting for Microsoft versus Dell, Zack versus A.C. You can’t root against your mirror image.

The Red Sox may have turned to the Dark Side. They may have joined Darth Vader and the Evil Empire. But the Force still lives. The Mets are the new Red Sox and the spirit of Obi Wan, Yoda, and Luke now resides in Flushing, New York. This was not always the case. From 1962 until October 18, 2006, we Mets fans lived with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. Mets fans did not suffer heartbreak like the Red Sox. In 1962, the Mets were lovable losers, setting an all-time loss record and residing endearingly in the hearts of fans forever. Most of our history consists of losing seasons, with enough winning campaigns spread throughout to save us the ignominy of Chicago Cubs fans. We had the Miracle Season of 1969, upsetting the heavily favored Baltimore Orioles to win the World Series in only our eighth season of existence. We had the “Ya Gotta Believe” 1973 team, a squad that won its division with a mediocre 82-79, but caught fire in the playoffs, advancing to the World Series before losing to the powerhouse Reggie Jackson led Oakland A’s in 7. We had the 1986 frat-boy Mets, a team so good, anything less than a World Championship would have rendered us underachievers (thankfully the Red Sox prevented that). Until October 19, 2006, the Mets never really broke their fans hearts. They never lost a championship they should have won. The ’73 team was lucky to be there. The 2000 team lost in the World Series to a superior Yankee team. Even in 1988, when we were better than the Los Angeles Dodgers, Dodger pitcher Orel Hershiser turned into God; no one could have beaten him.

As Mets fans, we’d always been playing with house money. Yeah, we had some disappointing losses. But we never blew something we were supposed to win. Until October 19, 2006, Mets playoff races felt like Cinderella at the fancy dress ball. We were not cynical Cinderella, waiting for, expecting, the clock to strike midnight and ruin the party. We were early evening Cinderella; after wearing dirty rags, cleaning the house for our wicked stepmother and ugly stepsisters, and keeping our sanity by listening to talking mice, we were just happy to be dancing. Wearing a beautiful gown and waltzing with Prince Charming was beyond our wildest dreams. Then, October 19, 2006 happened.

October 19, 2006 will forever stand as the day I popped my baseball fan cherry. Considering I started watching the Mets in 1991, this is a long time. But 2006 marked the first time since 1988 the Mets had a real chance of winning a World Series. True, they went to the playoffs in 1999, valiantly battling back from a 3-0 deficit (with Robin Ventura’s grand slam single) to extend the National League Championship Series to six games before falling to the hated Atlanta Braves. And, they had that World Series appearance in 2000. But those teams had just Mike Piazza and smoke and mirrors.

The Mets were far and away the best team in the National League in 2006 (97-65). But come playoff time, veteran pitchers El Duque and Pedro Martinez got hurt. The mediocre (record: 83-78) St. Louis Cardinals pushed the National League Championship Series to a seventh game. The first five tension packed innings of game seven produced a 1-1 tie. But in the sixth, with one out and one runner on base, the Cardinals’ Scott Rolen laid into Mets pitcher Oliver Perez’s fastball, sending it towards the left field bleachers, bringing almost certain death to the Mets season. But like spring and Easter, out of death comes life, and Mets leftfielder Endy Chavez redeemed the season and saved the Mets chances of advancing to the World Series with the Greatest Catch of All Time. When Chavez extended his glove hand an arms length over the fence and robbed a certain homerun, I had absolutely no doubt the Mets would win that game. That catch revitalized the Mets and demoralized the Cardinals. But somehow, someway, with Karma on their side, and probably Destiny, Mystique, Aura, and every other pole dancer rooting them on, too, the Mets lost. My sunny optimism disappeared. This was like a kid finding out the truth about Santa. My baseball innocence died. As a fan, I popped my baseball cherry.

What do you call it when a death redeemed by resurrection is followed by a second death? A tragedy? A farce? It’s like the nerdy pretty girl in a high school movie who suddenly gets popular when she lets down her hair and takes off her glasses. Once she begins enjoying her newfound popularity, she feels that tinge of guilt from alienating her original friends in the geek crowd. Maybe we Mets fans should have shown the proper pity towards lowly Kansas City Royals, Pittsburgh Pirates, and Tampa Bay Devil Rays fans. Maybe we selfishly reveled in our own team’s escape from mediocrity. Maybe I’m overanalyzing. This loss not only ruined the 2006 season, its aftereffects ruined 2007, as well. The September 2007 collapse would not have happened if not for that damned game.

The Mets had a seven game lead with 17 to play, and I just knew they would choke. I knew it. I knew it when the ESPN talking heads had to mention how no team ever blew a lead that big. I knew it when the Philadelphia Phillies swept a three game series, their eighth straight win over the Mets. I knew it when the Mets returned to Shea to close the season with a seven game homestand, 2 ½ games ahead of the Phillies. I knew it on that final Saturday, when John Maine almost threw a no-hitter, the Mets won 13-0 over the Florida Marlins to pull into a tie with the Phillies, and they started dancing as if they already won the division. We Mets fans in pennant races, since that awful Game 7, no longer feel like early evening Cinderella, just happy to be at the fancy dress ball. We Mets fans, since that awful Game 7, treat every playoff-intensity baseball game like we are Cinderella at the end of the night, well aware of midnight approaching, just waiting for the other slipper to drop, the dress to turn back into rags, and the stagecoach and horses to turn back into pumpkins and mice.

The Mets are the new Red Sox. We expect them to turn certain victory into defeat. We expect them to blow a seven game lead with 17 to play, even if that entails the Mets not only going 5-12, but the Phillies catching fire and finishing 13-4. Like Luke Skywalker, we can no longer live comfortably with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. Owen and Beru are dead. The Force is upon us, whether we like it or not. Like the Red Sox of old, we must face the Evil Empire. But, like Mark Hamill, the Mets are poor actors, unable to win anything. If we are to turn into the 2004 Red Sox, we need Han Solo (Johan Santana, maybe?) to appear, and fast. Otherwise, we will face a third straight season of midnight striking too early.