Things like this make me wonder if anyone up there is paying attention:Rose book will top best-seller list
Rose seems to think that now that he's confessed to betting on baseball, all will be forgiven. My idea of poetic justice sounds a little more like this:
An Iowa farmer, heeding strange voices, builds a baseball diamond in his cornfield. One by one, baseball players of times past -- from legends to one-at-bat wonders -- appear in the field. These players spend their days practicing and playing ball, at night vanishing into the cornfield. Word spreads -- via the Internet, radio, TV, what have you -- and fans come from far and wide to fill the stands.
Rose is signing books when someone asks him, "Hey, have you heard about the Field of Dreams?" Excited, he drops his pen and hops the first plane to Iowa. When he arrives, a game is already in full swing. Rose strides up to the plate, shoving Shoeless Joe Jackson out of the way, and snatches away the other man's bat.
The umpire calls time and motions Rose over. "Son," he says, "I've just got one question for you. Are you sorry?"
Rose stares at the ump. "Hell, no."
The ump stares back, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. Rose doesn't move.
"Excuse me." Rose turns, to find Shoeless Joe holding out a hand. "I'd like that back, please."
Rose glares at him, then thrusts the bat at him and stalks off. As he steps off the diamond, he turns back to yell at the ump ... and sees nothing but dirt and a few lonely stalks of corn.
(Apologies to the folks behind Field of Dreams
for my plot borrowing/embellishing.)Technorati: sports, baseball