As autumn stadium lights flickered across Imperium Americanum, Trumpius Caesar appeared before his subjects to deliver a proclamation of such historical importance that even the teleprompter stood at attention: Baseball was tremendous. Always had been. Naturally, it had become considerably more tremendous under his reign.
The World Series, His Imperial Magnificence declared, was the crown jewel of the national pastime. That a world championship overwhelmingly featured teams from his own empire struck the palace as exemplary foreign policy: At last, an international competition in which other countries contributed constructively by staying home.
For generations, baseball had shaped the American character. Trumpius had personally improved that character, of course, although certain troublesome historians insisted the game predated his birth. A palace commission was investigating whether this constituted a clerical error or an organized attack on greatness.
From dusty neighborhood diamonds to glittering major league ballparks, the sport taught the essential virtues of dedication, patience, and standing around for hours before suddenly running in circles. In other words, baseball was an imperial Cabinet meeting with better concessions.
Caesar particularly admired the rules. One man threw a ball, another tried to hit it, and a masked official decided whether everyone else should become furious. A magnificent system of government. The umpire’s independence, however, would require a thorough loyalty review.
The practice of stealing bases received enthusiastic imperial approval. Finally, a sport that rewarded decisive territorial expansion. His Majesty immediately asked whether the same procedure could be applied to neighboring islands.
This autumn, the Tampa Bay Radiant Legion would face the Milwaukee Brewers’ Guild for the legendary Commissioner’s Trophy. Both names pleased the emperor. Radiance complemented his complexion; brewing supported the essential infrastructure of public applause.
Why the trophy still carried somebody else’s title remained a troubling administrative oversight.
Together with Empress Melaniissima, Caesar extended his warmest wishes to the faithful. May the games be unforgettable, the athletes magnificent, and the television cameras sufficiently patriotic to locate the imperial suite whenever something important happened.
The empress offered a smile of such exquisite diplomatic precision that it conveyed neither agreement nor anything admissible in court.
Palace officials had already cleared space for the trophy. A Tampa Bay victory would demonstrate the radiant strength of imperial leadership. A Milwaukee victory would confirm that prosperity was brewing throughout the realm. Any rain delay would be blamed on the previous administration.
As for sportsmanship, Trumpius encouraged both teams to accept the result graciously, provided the result had first been accepted by Trumpius.
Finally, His Majesty raised one commanding hand.
“Play ball!”
Then he instructed the official scorer to credit him with a home run.
He had never picked up a bat, but he had made it all the way home—and persuaded the taxpayers to maintain the house.
