Selene, Selene

Once upon a time, tales were told of those who fell in love with the moon. They were madmen, as likely to rave and howl as they were to do nothing. All for the love of the moon, all in the name of that which a mortal could never reach.

So then, we advance the ages. Old gods brought heel by new ones. In this way, the Blaseball Gods have supplanted themselves into our lives. They can be seen worshipped everywhere now, their monuments resting atop the altars of the old. They have touched our lives and changed them for the worse, yes. But also undeniably the better as well.

I recount these things, dear reader, to remind you of the truth of the past. So that the next thing I posit will not be cast away immediately.

Think of the next time you read of a 'Rogue Umpire' turning a bale gaze upon one of the 'heroes' we keep upon the field. These player who are so much more than man. Who wield powers and abilities that would make it easy to lay a normal man low in an instant.

What becomes of them when the moon makes it's baleful presence known, when it usurps the sun in it's rightful place at it's rightful hour? When, at it's most powerful, the moon calls to it's beloved?

Could we survive the answer?