San Francisco, CA (AP) August 7, 2007

I have the sad duty of reporting the death of professional baseball. The one-time ‘national pastime’ died a painful death in San Francisco last night in the presence of fifty-five thousand close relatives and viewed by millions of casual friends.  Its age is estimated at one hundred fifty years, although no good records of birth are readily available.

The coroner reported that its demise was expected, given its decades-long dependence on performance-enhancing drugs, exorbitant salaries, rock-star player status, mindless adulation by millions of co-conspirators (aka fans) with too much disposable income and too little regard for the concept of the qualities necessary to be regarded as a ‘hero’. Sources close to the deceased indicated that the sport had been sick for a long time, but with constant infusions of capital and steroids, managed to hang on.

Last night, wearing a batting helmet approximately the size of the average bathtub, Barry Bonds hit the 756th home run of his career, breaking the record of Henry Aaron and sending the sport over the edge, past the point of no return. The patient died approximately two seconds after the last camera flashed.

As of this time, no definite funeral arrangements have as yet been made, but it is rumored that the deceased will be buried in Cooperstown, New York, next to its enshrined predecessors.