152 Seasons

On August 29, The Great Plotnik wrote about baseball, and again on September 6. Between innings, a world class disaster befell America's vibiest and most unique city. Plotnik and his fellow citizens wrote and thought about practically nothing else during that time, but, in the end, the baseball season continued, as it does every year from April through October. Coincidentally perhaps, October also signals the end of hurricane season.

The Great Plotnik's friends all have given and will continue to give to New Orleans's revival, even though they are fans of the Saint Plotniko Braindead Caribbeans, while Plotnik still supports the team of his childhood, the Stiletto City Plotzers.

Baseball is not life, no matter what we all think. In the end, when the Caribbeans blow another late inning lead to the Plotzers, or when the Plotzers fall on their faces in their next series against the despised Saint Patooty Piffles, not much will have really changed. When the games are over, people will file out of the stadium and go drink beer. In real life, not everyone gets to file out of the stadium and there can suddenly be no more beer.

Outside the stadium, out in America, we still have a large class of powerless citizens without the means to even get out of the rain. What does this say about us? It has been 152 years since the end of slavery. 152 years! We can't say we haven't had enough time. We can't say we were busy at the ball game. And if we've seen five minutes of TV in the past week, we can no longer say we didn't know.