Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia Awareness Day

Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia: The fear of the number 666.

Seems like everybody's in a tizzy over the ol' 06-06-06. I like to think of it as a biblical version of Y2K. Some people belive the sh*t's going to hit the fan. Some people think it's a bunch of hooey. But subconciously, I think most people are keeping their eyes peeled for the Anti-Christ... just in case. Fortunately, the seven heads and ten horns should make him easy to spot.

I've planned out an immersion-therapy course for sufferers of Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia.
First, a road trip to (where else?) Hell, just for... well, the hell of it. Hell, Michigan doesn't have much to offer, aside from a souvenir shop, a smoky lounge, and a gas station where you can mail letters postmarked from Hell. I've certainly been worse places... though spending eternity there might get a little boring.

Step two of our immersion therapy course requires a little music for your road trip. I strongly recommend listening to Iron Maiden's 1982 metal hit, "The Number of the Beast," which, contrary to popular opinion, isn't an homage to Satan, but instead a song about a poor schlep who stumbled across a satanic ritual in the woods in the middle of the night:
Torches blazed and sacred chants were praised
As they start to cry hands held to the sky
In the night the fires burning bright
The ritual has begun Satan's work is done
666 the number of the beast
Sacrifice is going on tonight
This can't go on I must inform the law
Can this still be real or just some crazy dream

Of course, the Sportslady's Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia immersion plan isn't complete without some sports. Unfortunately, the New Jersey Devils aren't in the hunt for the Stanley Cup Playoffs, so you can't watch them. Instead, perhaps you could watch the Tampa Bay Devil Rays (who are considering changing their nickname to a more Jesus-friendly "Rays"-- or "Tarpon." Really.) If you're a baseball fan, then watching the Devil Rays play a full nine innings on the diamond is just about the closest experience to hell on earth that you can probably reach.

So, that's my three-pronged plan for curing your Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia. Of course, if you're not up for laughing in the face of evil, you and your Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia can just spend the day in bed with the covers pulled over your head. That's perfectly ok, too. And when that guy with the seven heads and ten horns shows up, you can feel free to tell me "I told you so."