Now that the wailing and rending of clothes about Barry Bonds' hideous crimes against humanity has finally been allowed to recede slightly, it is time to consider the cottage industry of righteous indignation about the possible modification and augmentation of the human body in the furtherance of personal achievement with a calm and relaxed eye capable of seeing the larger threat in the background.
While we rail against the dying of the pure light of the perfect human sporting endeavor we remember falsely from our youth, a greater challenge looms large over every sporting event. Outside powers linger just out of view, changing the outcome of the sports we treasure so deeply. Their unseen hands guide the players to commit acts previously unthinkable, threatening to turn all sports into mere exhibitions of talent without any of the true meaning we desperately need to imbue each game with.
Naturally, I speak of God.
Or, to be more accurate, all the omnipotent and all-knowing deities we subscribe to on this little muddy ball we inhabit. From Pop Warner football to World Cup soccer and every game of tiddlywinks in between, someone says a little prayer with their heart, pride, and cash riding on the result. Certainly, almost no one has seen the harm in asking for a little divine intervention to get a win that will help him feel better and more successful.
However, few have considered the ramifications of injecting God into their performances. It's one thing to destroy one's body with your EPO and your creamy clear crystal blue persuasion for a tiny advantage in recovery or performance; it's quite another to maul the space-time continuum to change the present and future through the intervening whims of the Almighty. How much pride can anyone take in their working, knowing their merest effort is an affront to their entire belief system and could send them to eternal suffering? (Even you, Shawn Green.)