God Drops Ball on Giants

he Supreme Being, variously known throughout the world as God, Jehovah, Allah and other aliases, admits to fumbling the San Francisco Giants' chances for post-season play in the recent Friday night game against the Los Angeles Dodgers. It was a mistake that was more costly than -- and almost as memorable as -- the time Jose Canseco had a fly ball bounce off his head and over the fence for a home run. Score that E-Almighty One.

"Yeah, I guess I kind of fucked up on that one," Mr. Being said with a sheepish, omniscient grin. "What happened was, I got so excited by seeing Barry Bonds break McGwire's home run record that I like totally forgot that they needed to win that night to stay in the pennant race. The plan had been for them to win all three games against the Dodgers, while I was going to have Arizona lose a couple to the Milwaukee Brewers, then I would favor the Giants in the one-game playoff against Arizona, but I guess that's all just academic now."

God admitted that He was a bit sidetracked by Bonds' repeated entreaties for help in breaking the home run mark, and his pointing to the sky and thanking Him every time he crossed home plate.

"We got caught up in a couple of those 'You da man,' 'No, YOU da man!' exchanges, and I just lost track of the larger scheme of things. Plus, I was still pretty pissed at the failure of the Houston Astros to pitch to him until the very last at-bat of that series down at Enron Field, and I've been busy devising ways for them to suffer next season. How does a plague of locusts in the infield and a couple of nine-game losing streaks for that bunch of Nancy-boys sound?"

When it was pointed out that Houston made the playoffs this year by virtue of the Giants having lost, He replied, with a hint of irritation, "Look, just because I'm omniscient doesn't mean I can be everywhere at once, all right?"

Another factor, God said, was the length of the game. He also suggested that alcohol may have played a part in his team-deflating error.

"Man, that game went hella long," He said, while shaking his eternally unfathomable head. "Excuse me, I should've said 'hecka long,' heh. But besides that, I'd had a few brewskies by the time the late innings arrived. In fact, quite a few, to say the least. So, you know, I was maybe a little asleep at the switch. But hey, at least I wasn't driving or operating heavy machinery, if you know what I'm saying."

The Lord then abruptly ended the interview, saying he had a lot on his mind lately, and really just needed "a couple aspirin and some quiet down time." Reporters were left with His spokes-object, a charred and smoldering bush that refused to answer any further questions.

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To all those who have ever made fun of me, I have one thing to say: Eat a rotten cow out. For everyone who said or insinuated or made some kind of rude hand gesture suggesting my sister was more talented or smarter or cooler than I was in any case, I have one thing left to say: My sister is a gigantic sci-fi nerd.

That's right, my sister, Cassandra Coleman, the big-time successful lawyer and Harvard grad, the big-time book author, she's just a big old Trekkie underneath it all. Nobody was shocked more than me, I'll tell you that. The last thing you expect when you show up to a major metropolitan sci-fi convention is to find your sister at the head of the Terry Pratchett book-signing line dressed as Xena, Warrior Princess. In fact I'll make the bold declaration that any time you find your sister dressed as Xena, Warrior Princess, outside of a traditional costume party, is bad news.

She noticed me right away, and the mortification set in her face right away. She knew her cover was blown. Anyone who doesn't know, my sister sees herself as the downright respectable member of the Coleman family, although the rest of us like to put her in her place with a random insult or well-placed firecracker once in a while. But once word got back to our family, she knew all the jokes that had come before would pale in comparison.

Finally! That's all I have to say. Every time I show up to her office or palatial apartment she rolls her eyes like a bigshot or whatever and asks real condescending-like, "I suppose you need to borrow some money?" She's such a pretentious dildo all the time, thinking she's better than everybody and just chomping at the bit to put people in her place, and I would tell her so whenever I go there, but then she wouldn't lend me the money. One of these days I'm going to show up and pay her back, then really let her have it. And now I got all the material I need. It's my turn to roll my eyes and "tsk tsk" her, back to the stone age.

Since I was getting paid to show up to the convention, wearing my Queen Tongue outfit and signing autographs and such, I couldn't wait to blast her for it. That book-signing line was too long and ornery to wait around, but I knew I'd see her again since most of the convention spazzes show up for the filk prom. I was supposed to be on hand as a celebrity square dance conductor, so I would corner her there and give her the business.

To cut this story down to column length, let's just say the rest of the convention went splendidly and I was treated with supreme dignity and respect by all the pasty nimrods in attendance. A few of the guys asked me to dance, and some of them weren't all that bad looking, by sci-fi convention standards, and I would have danced with them, too, if I hadn't been wearing my Metallichick costume to the prom, since those bullet bra points can pierce the skin pretty easily with little force. I was the belle of the ball, like… well, like one of the handful of girls at a sci-fi convention. But my sister was off in the corner, sulking like the ugly duckling and staring at me guiltily.

When I caught up with her she was all but begging. "Please don't tell the folks, Clarissa," she asked me. "You know they get on me for every stupid little thing. You mention one thing about my Voyager fan fiction and the Spock jokes won't stop over the Thanksgiving dinner table."

Well, she was right about that. Give her credit for knowing the mom and pop, she's at least smart about one thing. And school subjects, so that's two things. So I told her I would keep her secret safe from the family, as long as I was allowed to tell anyone else I wanted to. She agreed, and then proceeded to tell me about the fantastic lesbian undertones of Xena and Gabrielle, and I pretended to care, a real sisterly moment.

It was a half decent time, for a sci-fi convention. And as soon as I figured out a way to tell everybody what a nerd she was, except my parents, I had some fun myself. I know they won't ever find out if I just put it in my column, reading something I wrote would be too much like showing support.

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I am furious. Perhaps you are not aware of this, but the network has canceled The Drew Carey Show. You all know how accustomed I am to being outraged, but this time it's even greater. Outrage, plus 1, I call it.

Worse yet, they canceled it even though I haven't watched it in two or three years. It was my favorite show! How can they cancel it without warning everyone and doing a dramatic send-off? When they canceled that Friends show they gave them a huge two-hour good-bye. It doesn't take me that long to say good-bye to real friends, although none of them have ever co-starred in Bruce Willis films. I couldn't get one lousy newspaper article telling me that dear Drew Carey fellow was leaving, too? Fuck you, Friends. Drew Carey was my friend and your big to-do party distracted everybody that he was going.

From the first time I saw it, I identified with The Drew Carey Show. Here was a fellow who worked in an office, much as I do, and drank beer. I do that all the time. Like Drew Carey, I have tons of friends and a portly arch-nemesis at work. At least he seems to be an arch-nemesis, he doesn't return my hellos when I pass by the newsstand. It was like they saw my life and put it on the TV, and paid me nothing. Here was a show worth watching!

Of course, I'm a busy man, and I couldn't really watch it every week. But I did tape it with one of those video echo machines, whatever they're called. I never watched the tapes, but I knew they were there. So now, instead of a limitless supply, I have maybe three or four years worth of Drew Careys to hang out with, then it's all gone. And I haven't even remembered to tape it in the past few years—like I said, I'm a busy man. But just because I never watched it and can't remember the names of any of the other characters doesn't mean I wasn't the show's biggest fan.

A lot of you are probably saying, "Get over it, Rok. It's just a TV show. They all get canceled sometime." That's just like you, Camembert, siding with the network now that you and your new Elvis girlfriend are always going to the movies and no longer watch television. Well, forget you, I stole your favorite coffee mug and put it somewhere you'll never find it. The Drew Carey Show was more than a TV show to me. It was a video tape, too.

I've been into a great many TV shows over the years. The Rifleman, Charles in Charge, and that C-SPAN show. Why do they always get canceled? Or else become filled with wise-cracking youngsters, like that C-SPAN show. Why can't they leave perfection alone? When will they realize America doesn't want new TV products, giving us fresh spins on old situations and making our drama more and more like our actual lives? We want the formulaic, the uninventive, and the comfortable, predictable world of sitcoms and cop shows. I say more shows where an ex-cop is framed for a crime he didn't commit. More shows where the characters work out their problems after getting locked in the basement. And anything with Tony Danza, I love it.

The worst part is, Drew Carey went away and I didn't even get to say good-bye. Just like my father, only Drew Carey probably wasn't clawing his way out of a burning strip club. But then again, I don't know, I didn't see it. I suppose I should look on the bright side, that even though one bright television star has faded out, we still have a sky full. Craig Kilborn isn't going anywhere, at least.

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