As You very well know, in his magnum opus "Song of Myself", Walt Whitman asked: "Do I contradict myself?" To which he replied: "Very well then I contradict myself (I am large, I contain multitudes)." Well, God, like dear old Uncle Walt, I also contradict myself---again and again and again. I acknowledge that in my last blog entry I bashed Tito Francona, who finally woke up and put Ellsbury in the line-up, and J.D. Drew, who took Cleveland out of the game with a first inning salami last night. So here I am, a pathetic little penitent, asking again for Your help.
Please, God, can you find it in Your benevolent omnipresence to please allow The Red Sox to win tonight's game? My children, as You know, are 2 and 4-years-old, respectively, and I rarely get out of the house, and another week of baseball on television will make all the difference in my life. Is that selfish? Besides, I want to see this obnoxious Cleveland sports writer, Scott Petrak,
choke on his own false prophesies and suffer a lifetime of acid reflux for his haughtiness. I realize my vindictiveness is a mortal sin, but please, God, loosen the lease. We're talking about the Red Sox.
I also realize Trot Nixon has already implored Your son, but I'm hoping that by going straight to You, we can get some results (meaning no disrespect for J.C.). God, please. I'm begging. Please allow The Red Sox to advance to The World Series. Allow me to see Yourself in Cleveland's misery, so that every time, for herein forward, when I visualize those jack-ass fans waving their little tampons (Tribe towels) at Jacob's Field, I can laugh derisively. Fuck the Indians, and may You please bless Boston.
Nate Graziano (peon)