Date: Sometime in October, 2010

If there was a place where evil was a palpable presence, this would be it. Blood red light tinged with a nauseating yellow filled the hall, flickering as if produce by an unquenchable fire. The smells assaulted his senses, acrid brimstone cutting through the undercurrent of stale spilt beer, decaying dome dogs and older, more disturbing odors. A cacophony of industrial growls and hopeless screams was made all the more terrifying by an endless loop of 101 Strings performing Rebecca Black's "Friday."

At the end of the hall was a great wooden desk that seemed eternal and decayed at the same time. In the panels of the desk were carved scenes of humans committing unspeakable acts, including a second baseman blowing an easy pickoff play and Joe West umpiring a professional baseball game. The top of the desk was dominated by a huge red swingline stapler.

The figure behind the desk spoke in a voice that sounded eerily like a bad impression of Hans Conried as the supplicant appeared before him.

"So you've come at last. Of all of them, I never thought it would be you."

"You know why I'm here then?"

"Of course. But you know how it works. You have to tell me what you want. You have to reveal to me the depths of your wanton desire for what you seek."

"It's been my lifelong passion. The one single thing I've always wanted. The one team that I've supported with every breath I take, even before I could walk. They nearly got a taste of winning it all on my first birthday. I was just 13 when they played for the cup again and had it ripped from their fingers at the very last moment."

"Actually, as I recall, they never led in that game …"

"That doesn't matter. It was a game seven. All I know it's been 17 years and more than half my life since we've even sniffed a championship. It's time. They've never hoisted the cup, ever. If it doesn't happen now I may never see it in my lifetime. I have to do this."

"You're willing to drain your own team's mojo and transfer it to another team? You know what happens to a team with no mojo? The Royals gave me 30 years of their mojo for George Brett and Bret Saberhagen. You guys aren't that talented. You've been getting by on mojo for years. You think your fans will will sit still for the worst imaginable performance by an athletic team possibly ever? Think carefully before you answer."

"They'll get over it. We've given them the most successful decade the franchise has seen, ever. We've created a pleasure palace for them to drink themselves stupid in even if the games on the field stink to high heaven …"

"Please, we try not to use that word around here."

"Sorry. But what I am saying, is the fans will come. They'll hate themselves for doing it, but those scandinavians are too cheap to waste a season ticket, even if we are playing like something nasty on the bottom of their shoe."

"Very well. I will start making the arrangements as soon as you sign the contract. All the qualities that have made the Minnesota Twins a premier athletic franchise will be drained from its players for a year and infused into the Vancouver Canucks. There are a few details I will need assistance with. You will have to convince the front office to trade or release Punto."

"Why? Is Nick some sort of divine messenger or something?"

"No, he just bugs the crap out of me when he slides headfirst into first base."

"Me too. Anything else?"

"Well, there is the matter of your eternal soul …"

"You got that for my MVP season and a half."

"Right. Oh yes, you should know that your curse will go along with the team's mojo."

"All the mojo disappears if we play New York or Boston? That shouldn't be a problem. They would both be in the other bracket if they make the playoffs and neither one has made a final in decades. No, I don't see that being a problem. It would take a miracle for either New York or Boston to make the finals."

"Well, miracles aren't my department, remember that. Very well, Mr. Morneau. By June 1 the Canucks should be in the finals and the Twins should be out of the playoffs. Enjoy the season. Both of them."