Why a Yankees/Florida World Series proves there is an intelligent design to the universe

The Yankees just won. And there was much rejoicing and spraying of Cristal. They go on to face the Florida Marlins in the World Series (this recap for my readers who habitually avoid the sports page, bar chatter, or the last five minutes of the local news, which is to say, all of my readers).

In the last few weeks, everyone was talking up the possibility of a Cubs/Red Sox title match. And Fate, in its infinite and cruel jest, almost let it happen. But there was another force at work in the last few nights, an imperceptible hand guiding the destinies of four teams. Call it God, karma, thermodynamics, or the Galactic Overlord Xenu himself, but forces were arrayed to keep the unthinkable from happening. For you see, a Cubs/Red Sox World Series threatened to unravel the delicate threadwork of society, if not the very fundament of the space-time continuum.

For you see, Major League Baseball dictates that one team must win (unless it's deep into extra innings during the All Star Game and the commissioner needs his beauty rest). But here we are faced with a conundrum. Both the Red Sox and the Cubs can't mutually lose. This would necessitate a universe in which either the Red Sox or the Cubs could somehow win a World Series. Needless to say, this universe is not our own, but some dire fubar'ed cosmos in which you can probably kill your own grandfather before you were born.

Don't believe me? Here's a complete breakdown of this fantasy World Series (note: do not read on unless you have a doctorate-level understanding of astrophysics and apocalyptic theology, or are already insane):

Game One: 1-1 tie is broken in the 17th inning when a house cat, driven wild by a sudden ultrasonic noise heard by animals around the world, streaks onto the field and claws out Red Sox shortstop Nomar Garciaparra's eyes, allowing a blooper up the middle to score. Cubs win.

Game Two: 109-4. Massive onslaught of Boston runs in the 8th as gravity reverses itself for 15 minutes. Sox win. Also, Don Zimmer becomes Earth's second natural satellite, occupying a permanent orbit at L-5.

Game Three: The Dread Cthulhu, having risen from his sunken tomb of R'lyeh, throws out the first pitch. Most of both teams' starting lineups are instantly driven mad from fright. Dusty Baker offers to mate with the Deep Ones as a sacrifice to the Great Old One. Cubs win 2-1.

Game Four: After a rain delay which lasts forty days and nights, a faction of suicide bombers led by a coalition of Al-Qaeda operatives, the IRA, Sri Lankan separatists and radical anti-Papists wipe out the entire Chicago bullpen during the 7th Inning Stretch. Sox win 5-4 in 13 innings. California falls into Pacific Ocean for some reason.

Game Five: Cubs win 9-7. Not a bad game actually, only no television viewers see it due to unprecedented electromagnetic anomalies in the upper atmosphere interfering with global satellite transmission. Aurora Borealis seen as far south as Honolulu.

Game Six: Conventional mathematics fail as Red Sox somehow score runs equal to the square root of -1. Unable to determine whether the result is positive or negative, it is still deemed higher than the Cubs's score of 8 divided by 0.

Game Seven: Both teams perish as the Earth opens beneath them and swallows them whole. Archangels with flaming swords declare the series null and void. California somehow falls into Pacific Ocean again.