Right about now, long-suffering Giants fans and men with bizarre, dyed-black facial hair
are suddenly finding themselves with lots of company.
Whether you like it or not, wearing traffic cone orange and throwing oneself into the spectacle of postseason baseball has become an incredibly hip thing to do. Motoring a plus-sized vehicle through a parking-starved city like San Francisco is a pain, but the Giants' bandwagon is a behemoth. How big? Big enough even for bizarre religions to comfortably snag a seat. To wit:
Adorned with thumbnail sketches of the players and Charles M. Schulz-like handwriting, this Jews for Jesus pamphlet is entertaining -- until one realizes it's a crude attempt at proselytizing opportunistically tied to the outpouring of emotion we have over a game in which men hit a ball over a fence with a stick.
As such, readers know it's only a matter of moments until the transition from cartoons and rah-rah sports reports to heavy handed talk of the Christian messiah. How's this for unsubtle?
We're ready for the playoffs. Don't expect a cakewalk, but win or lose, we know our Giants will give their all.
There's someone else who gave his all. And he suffered far more than we can even imagine.
Hey, don't tell us about suffering, zealot. We're Giants fans, remember? But it gets better:
His appearance was so disfigured beynd that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness (Isaiah 52:14).
And he did it so we could have victory over an opponent far more imposing than the Atlanta Braves. DEATH.
Yes, death is more imposing than the Atlanta Braves. But, then, Jesus didn't have to beat death three times out of five. The Giants do.
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