It was the top of the seventh inning, and Cubs pitcher Kyle Farnsworth's duty was to hold the Marlins' bats at bay. If he could do that, and if Sammy Sosa and the rest of the Cubs' offense were able to mount a comeback, Chicago would reach its first World Series since World War II. But Kyle's mind was somewhere else this fateful night. In the same pocket in which Gaylord Perry might have kept his Vaseline or emery board, Farnsworth kept a cell phone. Not a pitch would go by after which he would not reach for it as nonchalantly as possible and check the phone, which was logged on to AIM. He was interested in talking to one, and one alone.

kyl3 f4rnsw0rth: whats up d00d
Boiskov: Holy shit man, what the hell are you doing? You've got a game to pitch!
kyl3 f4rnsw0rth: i kno but i needed to ask you something
kyl3 f4rnsw0rth: brb pudge is up
Boiskov: USE THE FLOATER, KYLE. THE FLOATER

You have received a PCS Vision Picture Mail from user Boiskov. Accept?

kyl3 f4rnsw0rth: <yes>

kyl3 f4rnsw0rth: lol brb
kyl3 f4rnsw0rth: fuck pudge singled
Boiskov: Told you to use the floater.
kyl3 f4rnsw0rth: n e way i just wanted to kno if i can post an article on ur site
kyl3 f4rnsw0rth: i can give u exclusive rights to everything i write
Boiskov: You're more than welcome to post something in the forums so people can read it.
kyl3 f4rnsw0rth: fuck that i hate forums, just put me on the main page
Boiskov: Fine. Win this game and you can write on our site.
kyl3 f4rnsw0rth: sweet brb
kyl3 f4rnsw0rth signed off at 10:23:07 PM.

Standing as another ticketholder in the crowd, a man worth $250 million named Alex Rodriguez stood in bemusement.

I mean, fuck. The Rangers? What the hell was I thinking?

They stood and sang the seventh-inning stretch, as if all was well with the world, as if the ride to the stadium never happened. They couldn't even draw a sign together anymore without bickering. He was in charge of drawing the red letters, while the blue letters were her job. "The U isn't the same size as the other letters," he had said. "It's supposed to be like that," she replied. "It gives it depth. And why did the hell did you draw the word 'NOW' at the bottom? It's stupid. Is it that you always have to get the last word in? Is it?"

He clenched his teeth. He held it in as long as he could, but he could do so no longer. "I'm just stressed out, okay? I'm not going to take orders from some bitch who looks like a man." Her lip trembled, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm...sorry", he started to say, but the moment had already echoed several times in their heads. They turned and pretended to watch the game for four innings, until the seventh inning stretch. Their eight-year-old son, huddled near the TV so the babysitter wouldn't hear it, saw them on TV. He was happy to see them on his screen, but happier to see that they were together and singing. Maybe things were going to work out after all. He told Tufty, his stuffed bear, all about how Mom and Dad were going to stop fighting, and that they would still be able to go on family picnics every Sunday, and how Mom would cheer him on while Dad would play catch with him and help him practice his swing.

He woke up late at night to the sound of a set of china plates breaking, Dad yelling about a pennant, and Mom sobbing. The divorce was formalized a few days later.

OOF

*

get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready

Chicago Sun-Times dispatch

WRIGLEY FIELD - In the bottom of the seventh inning, 79-year-old Ethel Hughes, of nearby Crystal Lake, Illinois, died. Those sitting near her were unaware of her passing for the duration of the game.

"I don't know," said fan Paul Bowman, who was nearby. "I just figured she was sleeping. I didn't know why anyone would be sleeping at at time like that, but hell if I knew."

"Me and Timmy were playing around with her, we didn't think she was dead or anything," reported nine-year-old Brad Paynor. "We even found this weird sailor hat and put it on her head. Timmy yelled 'SET SAIL FOR THE CUBS GAME!' We were laughing for like, forever."

Ms. Hughes' death wasn't discovered until one in the morning, when Wrigley Field employee Josh Allen was collecting garbage near her seat.

"I was all like, "Move, b----". he said. "'I want to go home.' Then she didn't say anything, and I was like, 'HEY', and she didn't move still. So I poked her and she fell over the right-field wall and I was like, 'FUCK'."

Ms. Hughes' corpse teetered on the rail for a few seconds before landing ten feet below, fracturing its skull and spinal column. Funeral arrangements have been made for Monday at 10 AM. For information, call (773) 419-2908.

Tonight, I will drink myself to death.

They were Neo-Nazis, but they hated to be called that. They were the Northern Illinois Chapter of The Brotherhood of Prosperity and Freedom (NICBOPF). Wrigley Field had once been a haven for peaceful, decent white people to gather and cheer on fellow whites. But social winds had taken a toll on American values, and the Windy City, of course, was no exception. Since 1992, when theWhite Sox traded Sammy Sosa uptown and spread a cancer of equality and understanding throughout the Cubs' clubhouse, the proud Aryan values embodied in such greats as Ryne Sandberg and Mark Grace had eroded. The Northern Illinois Chapter of The Brotherhood of Prosperity and Freedom (NICBOPF) could not let this stand. The Northern Illinois Chapter of The Brotherhood of Prosperity and Freedom (NICBOPF) would not let this stand.

They had reserved all the right-field seats for this occasion to cheer for their pitcher and brother, Kerry Wood. Upon Wood's improbable home run, hundreds of "SEIG HEIL"s rang from right field. The Northern Illinois Chapter of The Brotherhood of Prosperity and Freedom (NICBOPF) wasn't holding back tonight. It was aiming to rattle some cages.

Holding their Nazi salute until Wood had reached the dugout, they quickly resorted to boos upon the appearance of the  non-white heart of the order, and anxiously awaited the bat of Eric Karros. It was a compromise that their forefathers would not have had to endure. Such was the plight of the turn-of-the-century Northern Illinois Chapter of The Brotherhood of Prosperity and Freedom (NICBOPF).

It was the bottom of the ninth. The Cubs were down by three. A man named Steven Bartman wrung his hands furiously. Tonight, he had established a habit of ensuring that 1) he wasn't anywhere near the playing field, and 2) no foul balls were presently being hit to him. Steven Bartman, of course, was the asshole from Game 6 who prevented Cubs left fielder Moises Alou from making a vital out by jumping out of the stands and knifing him in the jugular. It's a natural reflex; any fan would make an attempt to reach out and shank the left fielder in the neck.

Watching the game from home, I was very surprised to see that Steven Bartman had the cajones to show up for Game 7. Steven Bartman, fascinatingly, seemed to hold the same facial expression that he held in Game 6, when he looked like he was trying to imagine himself far, far away.

Indeed, Steven Bartman was in his own world. A much better world.

WHAT? WHAT? RANDALL SIMON HAS HOMERED! WE'VE WON! WE'VE WON! I'M NO LONGER A GOAT! I'M NO LONGER A LAME-ASS DEUS EX MACHINA FOR THE FLORIDA MARLINS!

He woke from his daydream with help from a beer bottle that someone pelted at his face. They had found him. They had found Steven Bartman. He looked up, and saw that his Cubbies were down to their final out. And the awful truth was all but confirmed. As Marty McFly rightly claimed, the Cubs would not win the World Series until 2015. And he began to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught from sports talk radio and Photoshop Phridays that put Admiral Akbar's head on his body, and make him say "IT'S A TRAP" to Moises Alou, who is riding on a Segway.

They'd hate me anyway, though. I look just like the guy from the ditech.com commercials. You know, if the Cubs come back and win, I should totally stand up and yell, "D'OH! LOST ANOTHER LOAN TO DITECH!!!"

Whoa, shit! We won?!?

*stifles laughter*

Aw fuck, this is just too rich. I'm gonna go beat some cripples now.