I imagine myself to be a grown-up, as, presumably, do you. You think that because you negotiated puberty and developed secondary sexual characteristics, and got qualifications and opened a bank account and subjected yourself to the scrutiny of anti-terrorism laws and anti-money-laundering laws and learned to drive and got a job and perhaps a spouse and maybe children, and quite possibly even pay your taxes, you are a grown-up.(Thanks to Albert Mohler).Sometimes, things strike you as a bit odd. It strikes you, for example, as out of kilter that between getting off the plane and reaching the outside world at London Heathrow there were, at last count, 93 notices telling you off for things you hadn't done or which it hadn't even occurred to you to do.
The plain fact is that you are being treated like a baby. You, I, all of us are on the receiving end of a sustained campaign to infantilise us: our tastes, our responses, our behaviour, our private thoughts, our decisions, our buying habits, our philosophies, our political sensibilities.
In the heat of passion, many crazed baseball fans have said they would die for a championship. But are they willing to take that devotion to the grave?
With a new venture that will put Major League Baseball team logos on urns and caskets, the league and a company that makes funeral products will find out just how many fans want to be decked out in their team colors and logos for eternity.
With the qualification that "for eternity" should be replaced with "until the Last Judgment"—and the further qualification that wearing some teams' colors might qualify as eternal punishment, and others' as eternal bliss (on a low level)—I commend this story to your reading, but not to your wallets (I hope).