“Sir” Andrew Lloyd Webber, the concept of a brainchild beyond the mayhem and charmingly 1980’s and 1990’s musical transgressions touched on the shoulder by the Queen, epitomizes the surreal. The whole fiasco of cosmic chaos emanating from the producer of Cat’s, Starlight Express, and the Phantom of the Opera should demand at least a write-in part for the late and great Ralph Kiner describing Erik’s realization that waif-like vixen Christine unconditionally loves the soul behind the mask and the baleful superficial repulsiveness. With all the subtlety of the late intoxicating innings of a Sunday matinee on the diamond, the Hall of Fame slugger turned broadcaster and known for his forever “Kinerisms’ could describe Raoul’s arduous and harrowing expedition deep into the Phantom’s catacombs beneath the familiar confines of the stage in a daring rescue attempt of Christine. “If the Phantom were still alive, he’s be spinning in his grave,” Kiner’s quip from the heavens would be the ideal set-up for slapstick subversive, yet dynamic conflict of the Phantom appearing at a ball in disguise, and discovering that Christine and Raoul are secretly engaged, as the cast bursts into song with the appropriately titled “Masquerade”.
The metaphor proves applicable to the current obsession of the “mask or stay home” policy of most progressive Democrats, suburban dog moms with too much time on their hands, and Major League baseball, which first officially joined the officially licensed consent of the political fray by moving the All-star game from Georgia to Colorado. The dubious relocation aside in apparent protest to Georgia’s legislature adopting reasonable voting laws designed to reestablish fair and ethical elections, the 2021 season with a fan presence is now nearly 20 games in and ranges from full capacity in Arlington, Texas for Ranger faithful, to a 25% restrictive experience for Seattle Mariner supporters, or in other words masochists celebrating the insanity of sustained mediocrity over a 44-year span.
At a recent journey to Seattle’s desolate mecca of nonexistent tradition at T-Mobile Park on an unseasonably warm and sunny April Saturday, the Phantom cast was out in force blaring their contemporary rendition of “Masquerade” in the sparsely populated ballpark, an environment of intolerance that had Kinder turning in his grave.
The ceaseless reminders to “mask-up” was reinforced by public service announcements lauding MLB’s alleged commitment to public health. Not even the $12 beers, or $10 fast food hamburgers could erase the constant rhetoric, which was daintily topped off with signage on the facing of the center field bleachers egregiously virtue conjuring (signaling) “MLB=BLM”. The only thing that separated this experience from a ballgame under normal circumstances, was the police state mentality of the organization and county support staff, and the blatant politicization of what should be a fun and joyous atmosphere of leisure, and not a low-level university course consisting of incessant brainwashing coupled with slogans flooded with platitudes describing every angle and manifestation of the current definition of what is “privilege”.
It’s bad enough the game ended in a 2:40 marathon of a 1-0 nothing Zach Greinke gem for Houston that emphasized his perfect gait catwalk from the pitcher’s mound to the dugout in deftly shaming the weekend warrior physique of the crowd. Paid athletes are well-oiled machines, and broadcast and apparel revenues do not lie. However, professional baseball is not ready for the influx of the public with the ingrained flaws of folks paying their hard earned dollars and shuffle their way in an awkward purgatory of $80 drinks for a jaunty group of four. The on the field product is just not that exciting, when compared with the NFL experience, and coupled with the insufferable antics of a wannabe franchise pawning underachievement since the Ford-era, is the last thing people want to encounter. This is before the indoctrinated billionaire self-apologists enforce the Andrew Lloyd Webber- infused guilt trip of a wavering musical on the remaining pros who still have faith in the ideals and morays of a functioning Republic, and have not surrendered to the special interest lobby.
While the concession and restroom lines were non-existent, the MLB template of foisting a fabricated gameday in attempting to generate a falsified memorable ambiance, piped in crowd noise complete with chants and boos, which complimented the nagging reminders that Covid-19 can definitely not be forgotten over a three-hour tired punchline of a pathetic attempt to escape reality. The entire (fan)tastic experience was culminated during the seventh inning stretch when “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”, followed by “Louie, Louie” reverberated around the ballpark with all the artistic freedom of a hoarse kazoo. At that moment, assorted members of the “Hamilton” cast in town for the weekend and on temporary loan with the Seattle baseball franchise chimed in with a resounding rendition of “Masquerade”, acclaimed performance that resonated with the progressives and vehicle campers in and around the stadium sharing a kumbaya moment, as the remainder of the fans hoping for a true sporting experience after a year’s hiatus, just shrugged their shoulders and sighed.
After all, T-Mobile Park is only 1.67 miles as the decrepit Raven flies to the infamous and autonomous CHOP/CHAZ occupied territory, over derelict vehicles, human waste, islands of detritus, and countless used drug needles shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. Unfortunately, the misguided and politicized tolerance and enablement has crested over the stadium walls as the homeless industrial complex and professional sports collide resulting in a disturbing mutation that not Sir Webber with all his post-modern zaniness is unable to choreograph. As for the remaining individuals still in possession of their sanity, just know that the masking formality will not end anytime soon, as societal engineers have discovered their iconic branding logo. The Vegas odds favor that pro football will not make the same critical miscalculation of forcing the hand of trivial human behavior that is not supported by empirical evidence.
This editorial is powered by Duckduckgo.com