A cloud is descending over Cleveland. Their hometown heroes are getting whip-wiped all over the place. Is this already another lost year? Are we to expect a cruel summer-winter of crystal-shattered hopes?
Adam looks on this and laughs his tushie off. What fools there be in Cleveland!
Look, o Adam, the Fates must deem this perdition just for the Clevelanders; heavy must be the debt they owe the gods; for lo! herenow the bases are JUICED.
Beckham, Pierre, and Mushroom Morel stand at the bases, pointed toward Adam as at an idol. Doctor Fausto, beset on all sides, groans under the weight of the cloud.
Whip-whap goes Adam's bat, and he knocks a double off the right field wall.
Begone, Doctor Fausto! Peradventure in the locker room you will rue whatever blight-besotted bargain you struck to curse your city so.
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