Low And Outside

The bottom of the ninth inning and the bases loaded.  The score 3 to zero in favor of the team fielding.  Two outs.  The count on the batter three balls  two strikes.  Victory or defeat riding on the last pitch.  It has to be a homer.

The team fielding has stolen bases, tried to injure opposing players sliding into bases, threatened referees, been at the top of its raunchy game all season long; yet carrying the support of the masses by bribing them with encouragement when they riot in the streets for more foodstamps, more welfare checks, against alleged police brutality, for open borders for illegal immigrants, terrorists, criminals, diseased people, and demanding that such people be able to vote without identification, and demanding their rights from a country that they're not a citizen of, always bellowing:  "No justice no peace!"

The team at bat has endured insults of being called racists for believing that people have the right to choose whom they want to associate with; are called persecutors of the poor and are cursed for being against abortion; disparged for not wanting to distribute their hard earned wealth among those who refuse to accept responisbility for their actions.

The team at bat has prepared intelligently, has studied the opposing team's favorite pitch from all angles, knows by the pitcher's blink or twitch of a jaw muscle how fast the pitch will come.  It is that team's bread-and-butter pitch.  Years of perfecting the tactic of bending the truth, of labeling anyone a racist who dares criticize some low-life criminal "of color," or of condemning some race-hustling preacher or politician rides in this pitch and when it reaches the plate the batter slams it out of the park and rounds the bases shouting:  "There's your Justice!"