Monday, April 10, 2006

Good Advice From A Nun

Before I came down with a near-fatal illness, I was a workaholic.

The work didn’t always pay grandiose sums, but I had no qualms at all with putting in a 12- or 15-hour day. Even on salary. You would be correct if you think that I was a little nuts. The Catholic clergy, while not sexually abusing me, certainly had left its perverted mark in other places, namely in the work ethic department.

You might remember the maxim “Idle hands are the devil’s playthings” from Sister Mary Bulldog’s greatest hits list. Even if you never heard that one, you get the idea.

Our heroes, the Phillies, need to apply Sister Bulldog’s philosophy if they are to make it through the All-Star break without a case of full-blown Satanic possession.

The bats are far too idle if they expect to enter the afterlife and sit next to their lover, Jesus, astride ole Bulldog. Before yesterday’s doubleheader – a rarity in this baseball era – the team was a winless 0-4. When all was said and done, they came away with a win in the first game, but lay down and played dead for Game Two, which was a reasonable expectation since Chollie The Manager rested half the regular starters. After all, a six-hour work day is asking a lot from the boy millionaires who ply their craft in Major League Baseball. The bullpen was not afforded a like rest – the team had no choice in this department. They got banged around late in the game, the worse for wear.

All of which got me thinking about my old work schedule. Unlike the world of baseball, there was no rest for the weary in my working world. You wanted a day off, you paid for it with a vacation or sick day. After that, you paid for it out-of-pocket.

Baseball is more civilized, humane and obviously closer to Jesus. Ballplayers luxuriate in its grace, in the form of millions of dollars, pouring from a spout drawn from the boatload of dollars team owners collect from television deals, sponsorships and, most pathetically, fans that pay $40 for a single ticket that used to run ten bucks, max.

Not even Hollywood is that greedy at the box office.

Maybe it’s the Scientology.


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