The Devil You Say Bob's Backstop for August 2, 2004

(Thanks to Esquire Magazine for the Keith Richards joke -ed.)

"Come on it! Sit down! Have an apple? Come on, an apple never hurt anyone!" George Steinbrenner cradled a granny smith apple in his liver-spotted hand, turning it slowly as if he were a pitcher feeling out the seams on a new ball.

We decided to go to work straightaway. After all, it's not every day that the Belfry investigative team has the chance to interview the owner of the New York Yankees only three days after he announced in the New York Post that he is actually not only The Great Satan, but...the one and only Satan, in his current incarnation. "Can we begin, Mr. Steinbrenner?"

He smiled, and motioned us to some overstuffed leather chairs facing an elegant white sofa in the corner. "Certainly, gentlemen. Let's sit over here where we can be more comfortable."

We settled into our chairs, and asked the obvious question. "Mr. Steinbrenner, if it's true that you are, indeed, Satan, as you have recently claimed, how can you be so...pale?"

Steinbrenner waved at us dismissively. "SPF 45. It's amazing how good that stuff is."

"Why are you coming out in public and revealing this? I mean, people have been whispering about this for years, and you've always denied the charges. What's so different now?"

"Well, a couple of things have happened. First, the timing just seemed right. I mean, this body I'm in now isn't going to hold out forever, you know. Besides, it just seems like it's time to have a little fun with the whole thing. Those boys over in Beantown have been making all their Darth Vader jokes, and all of that. I just decided it was time to show them who they were really up against." (Grins)

"Well exactly who are they up against? What name should we be calling you these days?"

"Well, God calls me Satan. My formal given name is Mephistopheles. But you can just call me...The Boss."

"Did you take over George Steinbrenner's body, like some Invasion of the Body Snatchers type of thing?"

"Well, selling your soul could be seen as that sort of transference, yes. George had sort of run into some bad times with the Yankees, as you recall. He couldn't buy a free agent worth a damn, no pun intended, and the Yankees looked nearly as bad as when that television network owned them, so he was pretty desperate when he called for me. But he still managed to drive a hard bargain in those days. Today, a lot of people overestimate what they can get for their souls. Frankly, it's a buyer's market. If you don't believe me, just ask Albert Belle!"

"So, what's it like in the hereafter for the ones who sold you their souls? Tough going?"

(Shrugs) "Well, it's rough, but you know, people can make their own hells right here on Earth. You've heard the expression that 'hell is other people?' Well, it's true, especially if the other people are from Boston. Hell may not be fun, but at least you can still smoke in the bars. And we do have bottled water. The problem is, of course, that no one has any money!" (Laughs.) Turning towards the knock at the door, Steinbrenner waves in a man carrying a silver tray. "Here we are, gentlemen, some refreshment. Will you have something? Deviled egg? Reggie Bar?"

Shaking our heads, we plunge forward with the next question. "How do you respond to those who say you're ruining baseball with the creation of this no-holds-barred-damn-the-cost approach to competition?"

"Well, I'm glad the work we're doing is finally getting noticed. You know, I can't understand why I can't get better press. After all, I have so many publicists working for me down there, you'd think that I'd have a better image! The ruination of baseball is itself, not me. I'm only the tool. It's their own  greed and shortsightedness that has damaged the game, not what I've been able to do."

"Aren't you understating just how devastating you've been for baseball?"

"Oh, I don't know. I mean, I'm bad, sure, but if you want to meet someone really diabolical, talk to my agent! Well, ley's just say he's my agent until Scotty Boras shows up. I haven't looked at his agreement recently, but considering the quality of his recent negotiations, I'd say his time is just about up!"

"Since you bring that up, is anyone joining your ranks soon?"

"I don't usually have reporting dates in the contracts. Sort of takes the fun out of it. Sometimes even I can be really off base trying to figure it out. I had a 'Welcome Keith Richards' banner hung up every day for forty years. Eventually I just gave up!"

"What's next for The Boss?"

"There are so many things left to accomplish. Whoever wrote that "idle hands" crap didn't have a clue. You've got to be on your toes to create misery on Earth...war, pestilence, reality television, cell phones...this stuff doesn't just happen by itself. I know we have to win another World Series so that Mike Mussina and Jason Giambi have their personal services contract with me fulfilled on my end. (smiles) And there's the building of the new Yankee Stadium, which will drive the Red Sox brass and the Mets people right out of their minds, as well as to create a continuing cash cow for this franchise so it can continue wreaking havoc on the baseball community. O, yes, I guess I'll finally deal with that schmuck Angelos and place the baseball team in DC. Ever since that time that he backed my devils in their class action suit against me, I swore I'd get even! Asbestos in Hades...how did I know? They told me it would hold in the heat! Any way, it's time to stop making the people of Montreal suffer for being part French, and to lower the boom on old Petey and his Orioles. I'd say those things, and finding a suitable replacement for Bruce Conte, ought to about do it!"

"Interesting. Any last thoughts on your overall legacy?"

(leaning forward) "You're Damned if you do, and Damned if you don't."

END