My Thirteenth Labor – The Contest Of Selig

By Hercules of Thebes

Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig mewled to the national sports media regarding following Barry Bonds in his epic quest for Home Run #756 stated he (Selig) was “making a Herculean effort.” Ha ha ha, Lord Selig – I mock your puny claims! The magnitude of my labors are rather well documented. Indeed, it is more than my pride that would claim that compared to my efforts, this sniveling about the “suffering” you have endured during your sports junket depict you as less of an epic hero than a seeping taint-sweat stain in the tunic of an ale-whore.

To wit: The following tale is an epically-told narrative of your efforts. Given the test of time - say around 2500 years or so - any recounting of any one of my twelve labors will clearly be the more heroic tale barring a civilization of toga-bedewing emo milksops somehow retaining the exclusive ability to spawn.

At the outset, Lord Selig braved the harrowing Milwaukee commute from the McMansion he called his home to Miller Park. For three long days and nights he braved the afflictions of his personalized luxury box in order to perform the task laid before him, but to no avail. Haggard but unbowed, Selig boarded his league-sponsored private jet eight days later as his burden would demand and fly to Los Angeles in order to fulfill this damnable charge.

Again for three days and nights did our hero endure his labors: enjoying sport in his appointed loge suite at night, while happening across the unending sea of legendarily gorgeous women which inhabit the land of Los Angeles. The task yet undone, a harrowed Selig again boarded his corporate-sponsored airliner for the arduous 30-minute flight to the site of his next test: San Diego.

San Diego, like Los Angeles, presented our Selig nigh-unendurable hindrances - free baseball at night, the sight of scantily-clad beauties gamboling about a world-class metropolis during the day – yet all for naught. As he feared, Lord Selig’s execrable errands were to take him to the very lair of his tormentor – the cay-riddled region of San Francisco.

Selig’s first night in San Francisco echoed Los Angeles and San Diego – luxury jets, limousine rides to exclusive stadium suites, constant service and pampering with all expenses paid – yet our Selig found the inner strength to persevere until the ultimate quest. On Tuesday August 7, 2007 AD, the task of witnessing another man accomplish greatness was at long last completed. With the physical countenance of the accidental arse-borne love child of Mick Jagger and Dr. Stephen Hawking, Lord Selig rose, hands in pockets, to acknowledge the historical moment, then resumed his seat - slumped with fatigue, yet blithe with vicarious accomplishment.

Hail Selig! Shall your efforts remain in the lore of the great heroes for all times!

(Did I say "heroes"? My apolgies... I meant "whining self-indulgent man-vaginas".)