O, Lord,

I understand that you hate me. The last five years of postseason baseball has taught me that if we ever meet, you’re likely to spit in my mouth. I’m okay with that. But, Lord, I implore you to reconsider your current stance of being a total bitch.

You see, o Merciful One, I’m supposed to go to Cooperstown this weekend. This may be the only time in my life I get a chance to go to Cooperstown. And you, o great and benevolent Jehovah, have decided in your great wisdom to take a big shit on my plans.

It’s been snowing for how long, Creator? Twenty-four straight fucking hours now? I have shoveled four times tonight, Lord of Hosts, and there appears to be no end to this. Do you know what I saw during Lost, my Light? It’s supposed to snow until 6:00 Friday. P.M., my Father! That’s pushing forty-eight straight hours of snow at the worst possible time.

I beseech you, Magnificent One, to quit being a dick. Please, let my flight get out on time. I don’t ask you for much, and you certainly never deliver when I do ask. But please do me this one favor. Cut with the snow bullshit. I need one fucking flight to take off tomorrow. Do what you will with all the other schlubs trying to get to their dumbass business meetings, but let one little flight get out to New York. I have plaques to read this weekend.

Amen.