So I'm getting ready to go driving this morning. The radio comes on, and it's playing the end of that "Devil Went Down To Georgia" song, and the boy, Johnny, he's won the contest. Good for him, won a gold fiddle*, but then he starts talking smack, telling the Devil that he's the best there's ever been. And my first thought was 'You know, pride goeth before the fall, loudmouth.' I mean, really? The best there's ever been**? That's the kind of attitude that leads to old Testament Yaweh meting out hot boils or locust plagues.
Heck, Johnny didn't even dedicate his victory to God, showing he clearly hasn't been paying attention to the lessons provided us by professional athletes. If there was ever a time to thank higher powers for a victory, I'd think it would be after triumphing over the Devil.
I'm thinking Johnny might have soon found himself fiddle dueling with an angel, if he's going to get such a swelled head. I bet those angels know notes that hick's never even conceived of. Notes no mortal was ever meant to hear. Notes that will cause his ears to melt, and fingers to decay just by their presence in the air around him. And that'll be the price of his hubrs. But hey, he'll still have his gold fiddle. Assuming the angel doesn't claim it as a prize for smoking Johnny's ass in the contest, which they angel totally could if it wished. After all, Johnny won't have any eyes of fingers, how he's going to stop it?
* Which as Futurama taught us, will weight several hundred pounds and sound terrible, but it's certainly a conversation starter.
** I hear Wolverine thinks himself quite the fiddle player, and if you beat him, well, he'll probably just disembowel you, so something to think about.