Possibilities Aren’t Endless, but They Are Inter-Esting

I just looked at a baseball schedule, for later this week. It made me blink a few times. All of the teams were mixed up, like a typographical error, or like Bizarro tricking Superman into a parallel universe, where vegetables are bad and cigarettes are good for your health. I had to look at the schedule more than once:

THURSDAY

* Los Angeles at Oakland

* San Diego at Anaheim

* Colorado at Seattle

* San Francisco at Texas

And then I looked up the following day, because everything seemed upside-down, inside-out, as weird as a schedule pitting the Dallas Cowboys against the Mighty Ducks. No team was where it was supposed to be. Square pegs were in round holes. Jerry Lewis was playing Hamlet. Meryl Streep was mud-wrestling. Everybody was in the wrong place.

FRIDAY

* Boston at New York Mets

* Baltimore at Atlanta

* Cleveland at St. Louis

* Kansas City at Pittsburgh

* Chicago White Sox at Cincinnati

* Minnesota at Houston

* Toronto at Philadelphia

* New York Yankees at Florida

* Detroit at Montreal

* Milwaukee at Chicago Cubs

Well, I stared and I stared. Could this be big-league baseball? No, this must be spring training. This was some Grapefruit League schedule. Cleveland at St. Louis? Uh, I don’t think so. The only thing Cleveland has in common with St. Louis is that they both once had teams called Browns. One has a rock ‘n’ roll museum, the other has a bowling museum. Otherwise, the twain never shall meet.

Boston at New York Mets. How preposterous. Everybody knows that the Red Sox never go to Shea Stadium, unless the planets are in the right place, the moon is in the seventh house and Bill Buckner is practicing his impression of a croquet wicket. The Red Sox are supposed to play the Yankees, whose guts they hate with the proper respectful tradition. George Steinbrenner would be spinning in his grave, if he were dead.

White Sox at Cincinnati. How ludicrous. What is this, 1919? I thought we all agreed that the White Sox would never play in Cincinnati again, on the off-chance that Arnold Rothstein’s descendants might try to lure the Sox into another gambling fix. I mean, what if Albert Belle goes 0 for 12? What if Frank Thomas drops a popup? What if somebody spots Pete Rose in the upper deck, using a cellular phone?

I’m having trouble adjusting to this.

Interleague baseball. It begins this week. I think it’s interesting as heck, baseball finally catching up with the NFL, NBA, NHL and all those other leagues that permitted anybody to play anybody. It only took baseball a little more than a century to bend the rules. Baseball’s so traditional, you know. Why, someday, it’ll even let all of its pitchers hit.

Los Angeles at Oakland. Ah, a replay of the 1988 World Series, which we all lovingly remember. Who can forget author-outfielder Kirk Gibson’s mighty home run? Who can forget Dennis Eckersley’s “backdoor slider” being driven over the right-field fence? Who can forget turning to someone next to you and asking, “What the hell is a backdoor slider?”

Interleague ball. And you thought an American-Russian joint space venture was cool.

This is even better than that. This is like interdenominational church. Catholics are coming to the temple. Baptists are inviting the Buddhists to the water. It’s about time. OK, so maybe a brawl will break out. You can’t please everybody. I just hope and pray that just because a Padre can get together with a Cardinal, it doesn’t mean he can’t get together with an Angel.

Purists used to worry that a World Series would be “watered down” if American and National League teams had contact during a season. Oh, sure. Utah’s basketball fans sit around saying: “It’s no fun playing the Bulls. We already played them.” I don’t think Gibson’s homer would have meant any less, if Eckersley had struck him out that previous June.

The interregional interleague games, they’re also on their way:

JUNE 18

* Mets at Yankees

* Cubs at White Sox

* Reds at Indians

* Angels at Dodgers

Get used to it. Remember, it saves gas money. Opponents can carpool. And, so what if the Yankees get swept by the Mets? What’s the worst thing Steinbrenner can do, besides firing the whole team? Suppose a Cub hits a homer at Comiskey Park? Throw it back on the field. Can’t we still sing in the seventh inning together? Can’t we all get along?

As for the Angels visiting the Dodgers, some of you have been waiting all of your lives for this. I wish Sandy Koufax could pitch to Reggie Jackson. I wish Don Sutton could start Game 2 for both sides. I wish each Dodger fan and Angel fan could exchange ceremonial gifts before the first pitch, a grilled frankfurter for a cinnamon bun.

Interleague baseball. Next thing you know, mice will be playing with cats.