Let me take you back, dear reader, to July 1, 2000 - a time not that dissimilar to our own. A time when the natural order of things was violated by the Yankees not being in first place.
A time when George Steinbrenner got angry.
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General manager Brian Cashman had heard all the stories when he started on the job. "George is the very devil himself to work for. He's like something... inhuman," claimed one employee, crossing himself.
Brian laughed. After all, he was young, intelligent, and knew the value of plate discipline; how could he go wrong? It wasn't as if he hadn't dealt with demanding bosses before. Sure, signing the contract in blood was somewhat unusual, and some of the clauses in the fine print of the contract were a little, um, disturbing, to be sure. But then, some of his friends were in Internet startups, and they had it worse, didn't they?
As the years passed, Brian never regretted his decision. The Yankees made the playoffs every year, and Steinbrenner rewarded him handsomely of the fruits of this world. It was a little disturbing when none of his more, um, spiritual acquaintances would talk to him any more, but that was just silly superstition, wasn't it?
But today, as Cashman reported for work, he began to sweat a little. After all, it had been a long time since the Yankees had been three games out. A really long time. But George had mellowed lately, hadn't he? He understands the ups and downs of the game by now, doesn't he?
Cashman changed his mind when George Steinbrenner's head began to revolve.
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"I am not happy, and the Lord and Master Himself is not happy either," said George, whose face had begun to take on a most sinister aspect. "We are not in first place."
"We have an aging team, Mr. Steinbrenner, and, in baseball..."
"We are not in first place!" Steinbrenner cried, as sparrows fell dead on power lines outside the Yankees office. "If you cannot make this happen, I will have to do it myself!"
"But..."
This was the last word Brian Cashman uttered before he felt a cold hand close over his heart and a trap door open in his mind. He screamed, silently. No one heard him.
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When other general managers in baseball were interviewed afterwards, they seemed bewildered by the whole process.
"It was as if I was powerless to resist him," said GM John Hart, when asked why he traded David Justice to the Yankees. "The sheer force of his willpower is enough to bend steel, let alone the minds of top baseball executives."
"When he began oozing green ichor from his mouth, ears and nose, I thought it best just to give him Glenallen Hill and be thankful that I was still alive," reported a shaking Cubs front-office executive.
"We were led to understand that the very fabric of space-time itself depended on the Yankees' acquiring Denny Neagle," said Reds GM Jim Bowden, mopping his brow and swigging directly from a bottle of Jim Beam. "When the fate of the entire planet is at stake, how could I refuse Steinbrenner's very reasonable offer?"
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George Steinbrenner returned to his office, pleased with himself. It had been a good month. The Yankees had been restored to their rightful throne. All that was needed was another starting pitcher, he thought. Time to remind David Cone of the fine print in his contract, and find someone to take his place.
He perused his copy of Baseball Weekly, which he had obtained without charge from a frightened newsvendor. His finger settled on one name. "Schilling. I want Schilling." He buzzed his intercom.
"Schilling! Give me Schilling!"
"Um, boss... he's been traded to the Arizona Diamondbacks," replied a trembling voice in response.
"What!?"
There was no answer. ("I fled for my very life," the man told a CNN reporter later, on pledge of anonymity.)
George's head stopped revolving. A smile began to spread over his face. "Arizona. Hmmm."
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Later that day, Phoenix residents noticed storm clouds looming in the west. Funny, they thought: it doesn't normally rain much around here this time of year.
The clouds grew more ominous. Suddenly, the birds all stopped singing.