|By Chris Rodell
Men's Daily News
I've never seen Ted Williams play baseball, shot pool with Minnesota Fats, nor had sex with Marilyn Monroe. But I'm an optimistic that all three things could still happen.
I've been mystified by the bitter reaction to attempts to have the Splendid Splinter cryogenically preserved until a better day when he can be thawed and restored to upright health.
Decent people everywhere expressed disgust. They said, just like the ungodly cloning issue, man was waging war against nature and would suffer divine consequences.
If he were my father, not only would I freeze him, I'd clone the ever living daylights out of him. Heck, I'd sell franchises so anyone who wanted one could have their own personal Ted Williams to teach junior how to hit a curveball, or just to sit around jaw about baseball, politics and fishing. There's only been one Ted Williams, and what a man. He was an American hero in every sense of the word. Why not bring him back? In fact, to extend the baseball and cloning theme, why not bring him back! Back! Back! Back! Back! Back!
You can gauge an improvement in almost every single manufactured item in the history of mankind, except for man himself. Cars, computers, televisions, Big Bertha drivers -- all our essential tools and toys -- have improved. But when it comes to the passing of a legend like Williams, we all shake our heads and say, "Well, they just don't make 'em like that anymore."
We need to prepare for the day, and it won't be long, when we can make 'em just like that.
It's high time man does something about death and dying.
Life is resplendent with choices. We can be good or we can go bowling. We can mow the lawn or we watch reruns of "The Simpsons." Every moment of every day is about making choices.
If life is a technicolor rainbow, then everything about death is black and white, that is if you believe the theologians.
We die and are laid on our backs in a coffin. There's no choice. In the posture of death, everyone's toes up. That's no good. I sleep curled up against my soft, sweet wife, and that's the way I'd like to be buried. And, yeah, put the stupid cat in there, too. He's always on the bed and something would be missing if he weren't disrupting my otherwise peaceful slumber by stepping on my face with his
Then, depending on the choices we've made in life, we go to heaven or hell. There is no Door No. 3 and that's infuriating.
I don't know anyone who is all good or all bad. Most people are a blend of both extremes. I don't feel worthy of heaven and I'd sure see a lot more friendly faces in hell, but I don't want to go there because I'd hate to think I'd get stuck with a really, really bad roommate.
There should be a place that is sometimes heaven and sometimes hell, sort of like the state of Indiana, which is not without its charms, but mostly offers ample evidence of why the government conceals nuclear weapons under its yawningly endless corn fields, thus guaranteeing the whole miserable place will be vaporized in any respectable first strike.
But since that's not an option, I'm going to embrace cryogenically freezing the dead and cloning the living as an alternative to eternity in heaven or hell, places both likely to make me feel awkward and out of place, which would make the afterlife seem disappointingly like high school.
I'm proposing that every funeral include a panel of judges who get to decide whether or not a person is worthy of preservation until a day comes when they can be restored to fitness.
A standard set of minimal requirements would need to be met. A person would have to have been kind to children and old people, they would have to have been generous tippers, and never tried to win an argument by shouting thoughtless interruptions. Slow golfers and anyone who'd ever been caught hogging the passing lane would be automatically disqualified.
The world would be better off if we had a larger pool of people who lived by those minimum standards.
Oh, and as a nod to Red Sox great Ted Williams, the great man responsible for getting this snowball rolling, one more hard-fast rule: No Yankee fans!
They can all go straight to hell.