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"Me and the Devil" -
Randy Burns
July, 2002

He was no impostor, no second banana. The Devil is, was, and always will be the Devil. When you see him you know it instantly. Yes, he was the real thing. This was no proxy setup meant to acquire information about evil, this was meeting evil in its purist form. He sat in from of me and he was charming. Sure, being the Devil, he was crude, raw, opinionated, angry, but overall he seemed to be content within himself.

Hell was his lot in life and he didn't bitch about it.

I had interviewed God during the summer of 2001, and the Devil knew about it. God, for some unknown reason, had been exceptionally rude to me throughout the entire interview. I was summoned by the Devil the moment he finished reading it. He really wanted to talk.

I got into my car one rainy morning and found a note hooked to the rear view mirror. The note read, "Call me, 666-971-5740, if you would like to have an interesting conversation." Funny thing though, it was signed "James Lucifer Fogarty." The rather strange signing intrigued me even more than actually meeting the Devil. Well……almost more. A good discussion with the "King of Evil?" Up, down, sideways, or dead in front of me-I wouldn't have missed it for a goldmine!

I went back into the house and called him immediately. He answered on the first ring. "Hell?" We arranged the meeting with no problems, it was easy and disarming. I'd had harder times with Saints. I guess I should explain. After my interview with "God," I did not return home as his biggest fan. You can read the interview in my column archives, or write to me for it, I'll send it on to you. It's unusual, if nothing else.

The Devil and I arranged to meet at a barn in Upper New York State. His choice; sounded good to me. "Nothing scary," he assured me. "I hadn't thought it would be," I answered. Rough voice on the phone, not bad or evil sounding, but rough on the edges. Extremely worn.

All right, okay, I'll say it! His voice sounded like Hell. Is that what you wanted to hear?

I drove up to Buffalo and found the barn right away, using the perfect directions he'd provided. I parked the car on dirt, got out, then walked to the barn door and opened it. No hesitation on my part. When I looked in, he was sitting on a barrel toward the back of the room. He saw me, then he straightened up. With a wide smile on his face he waved me over. Now, this was a comfortable place for an interview!

I sat myself on a barrel that he'd dragged into place for me.

"So how'd it feel getting the bums rush out of Heaven?" I wasted no time. His charm wasn't going to influence me, although I felt it coming.

The Devil laughed heartily, rocking back and forth on his barrel. "Oh, Hell," he guffawed, "I've been thrown out of better places than that!"

"What's better than Heaven?" I asked the question and let it hang.

"Hell is, this barn is. Do you have any idea how boring those Heaven people are?" Then he caught himself. "Of course you don't, how could you. You'd have no idea. They spend every day being perfect, trying to impress God! They do that for eternity, for Christ's Sake! That and play Bingo. Does that sound like your ticket to a good life ever-after?"

"So, you're saying Hell's better, better than Heaven?"

The Devil leaned in toward me, resting his forearms on his knees. "Look, Randy, anything is better than Heaven, anything at all. Hell is a good time, man, it's like life. It's as good as you want to make it."

The Devil had called me by name. At first I was taken back, then I remembered something.

"Why did you sign your note to me, James Lucifer Fogarty?"

"Because that's my real name! Did you think I was born Lucifer or the Devil? Do you think my Mom first looked at me and said, I know, let's call him Satan? I was born a Mick in County Kerry, I came to America at a very young age-and Baseball was my game. I caught without a mask. That's how the game was played in those days, and that's why I'm so Goddamned ugly!" He started laughing again. "Did you ever see a nose this flat and twisted on anyone's face? Well-have you?"

"No, I haven't. I thought it might have been from fights you'd had."

"No, no, I won all those, but you can't fight a ninety mile an hour fastball that's been fouled off your face!"

"No, I suppose not."

"Randy, I'll tell you, man, I loved that damned game with all my heart. Wish I could play again."

"Why don't you?"

"Can't, that's my Hell. I'm not allowed. It's against the rules for me. Nothing else, just no baseball for eternity. Haven't played in hundreds of years, but the Red Sox….they'll never win it all. Believe me, that's never gonna happen!"

"Why?"

"God likes them, and from the first day I got involved in the Black Sox scandal-who loses has been up to me. For someone that can't play, I sure have a lot of influence between the old white lines. Yeah, God's gotta deal with me for that one, and when he does, and he will, you know what I'm going to say?"

"I'll bet I do! You'll ask to be reinstated into Heaven!"

Satan's mouth dropped wide open, like his jaw had been shot dead. He looked at me like I was a complete asshole. No one ever looked at me with such disdain. He got himself together before he spoke again. I could see it took all the effort he could possibly muster.

"Look, man," he said quietly, "Bingo is not my game. In case you missed it, I'll repeat myself. I hate Bingo, I love Baseball. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"Yes I do, guess I was missing your point completely."

"Apology accepted," he said. Then he held his hand out in a friendly way. I froze, afraid to shake the hand of the Devil! He held it out there for quite a while, then he took it down slowly.

"Now I got a real problem," the Devil said. "You're afraid to shake my hand. That's bad. I should have thought that might happen before I offered it."

"Why is it bad? What could possibly happen if I don't shake your hand?" He was staring at the ground with a worried look on his face, a very worried look.

"You see," he was almost whispering, "I told you about the baseball stuff, how the Red Sox will never win it all….well, I accidentally extended my hand in friendship. I shouldn't have done that. I know that some people won't shake my hand. Don't know why I did that." I could hear the despair in his voice and it was genuine. "All I can tell you, Randy, and I'll keep this simple, if you don't shake my hand after I accidentally extended it to you, I will lose my control over baseball. The Red Sox will be free to win what they can."

Immediately, I jumped from my barrel extending my hand to him. His face began to glow, his eyes were sparkling with delight. He grabbed my hand as if it was a trick, like I would suddenly pull it away. We stood next to each other shaking hands until our fingers ached. God, old Lucifer was happy again, and so was I.

"Randy, my good man," he was almost yelling with enthusiasm, "sit yourself back down over here." He was patting the top of my barrel, with an overflow of natural happiness. "I've got things I'm going to tell you, because I owe you big, man. You can tell anyone you want. This, I can assure you, will be more than worth your trip! Ready?"

"Oh yeah" I declared, my anticipation exploding. "You bet your ass I'm ready!" ~

"Me and The Devil." (Part Two) Continues Next Week.

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