When St. Peter came to Irvine High School, he bid the people to “give an account of the hope that is in you.”

It fell to Bob Hamelin to introduce to the world “apologia via placard” …

“Bob Hamelin,” St. Peter said. “Why do you present to me a placard that reads ‘Bob Hamelin'”?

“Because,” Bob Hamelin said, “You told me to account for the hope that is in me. Bob Hamelin is in me. Thus, ergo, and therefore: Bob Hamelin is the hope in me. Q.E.D.”

Bob Hamelin wandered off, and the slapping and fapping of his weathered leather huaraches heralded a new day.

A fire burned in his heart. Eventually, the fire consumed the walls of his heart as though it were a Lutheran hayloft in drought conditions. The flames, though, lit up all of Kansas City for 101 games in 1994, Anno Domini, thereby allowing the municipal power grid to shut down and save the county millions. When Bob Hamelin was non-tendered by the Brewers in 1998/1 Anno Hammo, the transaction log read, “His heart is the shape of a fire; Thus, ergo, and therefore: He can no longer play baseball.”

To this day, when someone must defend an unaccountable faith in worthier days, in betterment of the self despite a history of flatulence during job interviews, that person holds up a placard of the name “Bob Hamelin.” Then things change, but not for long.