Angels, a Holy Owned Subsidiary

“We are prepared to make a play for the Angels,” the bishop said, softly.

“I think it’s great that you pray for the Angels,” said a team exec. “We need all the help we can get, especially with our pitching.”

“No, I said we’re prepared to make a play for them. I believe the team is for sale. We want to buy them.”

“Excuse me, Father, are you saying the Diocese of Orange wants to buy a baseball team?”

“Not just any baseball team,” the bishop said. “The Angels. According to the paper, the asking price is $200 million. That happens to be the amount we have in our investment portfolio. It’s no secret we haven’t done well in the market the last couple years. We’re looking for new opportunities. We looked into restaurants and nail salons. We settled on baseball.”

The exec took a breath and looked deep into the bishop’s face. He wanted to make sure this wasn’t some weird kind of holy humor. The bishop was dead serious.

“Besides, we like the name.”

“And the pope?”

“We’ve talked it over with him. He’s more of a soccer fan, but he’s cool with it.”

“Well, this is very interesting. Do you have any ideas about how you’d run a major league club?”

The bishop smiled slyly. “Actually, we have. We think we’ve got some interesting ideas.”

“I’m all ears.”

“For starters, we replace ushers with nuns.”

“That’d be different.”

“They work very cheaply, and they don’t take any guff. When they tell someone to sit down and shut up, they’ll do it. And imagine going to a game with no profanity. Nobody cusses in front of a nun.”

“OK, that might work. Any other thoughts?”

“Yes. Every ballpark in America has the seventh-inning stretch. We’re thinking along different lines.”

“Such as?”

“Seventh-inning communion.”

“Hmm.”

“Optional, of course. We’d station a priest in every section. We could do it very quickly and efficiently.”

“That might offend non-Catholics.”

“Not if we flash it up on the Jumbotron. We turn it into a race, to see which section gets done first. The fans will eat it up.”

“Well, they certainly love the Rally Monkey. How would you use him?”

“Wouldn’t need him. We have a rallying force much more powerful.”

The bishop looked skyward.

“You’re not suggesting -- “ the exec said.

“Oh, yes,” the bishop said, serenely. “We’ve already got people working on graphics and marketing possibilities.”

“All right,” the exec said, “but how about the team itself? What style of play do you like?”

“We would stress fundamentals. Of course, there would be no base stealing, but we’d play an exciting brand of baseball. And we have a good idea for helping players having a bad game.”

“What’s that?”

“A confessional booth in the clubhouse. Imagine the attitude improvement if, instead of throwing a helmet or yelling at the umpire, a player who had a bad game could talk over what he’s done wrong with someone who really cares. To coin a phrase, confession is good for the earned-run average.”

“What concerns me,” the exec said, “is that there are a lot of traditions in baseball. You can’t just come in and uproot them.”

“You’re talking to me about traditions?” the bishop said. “We invented tradition. Baseball is a fly-by-night operation compared with us.”

“I’ll have to think about this,” the exec said, “but I’m not sure it’s a good match.”

“O ye of little of faith,” the bishop said. “Of course it’d work out. It’s a marriage made in heaven.”

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Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. He can be reached at (714) 966-7821.