In honor of the impending Day of Thanks, I have opted to hand over the reins for today's celebratory post to Boston's very own Curt Schilling, who had asked me if he might use this blog as a forum to give his very own special thanks for those things he is, well, thankful for. Hope you enjoy.
Dear Lord,
I know we talk all the time, and I'm sure you're busy right now dreaming up new ways to punish Michael Vick and stop anyone from taking pro cycling seriously -- because they shouldn't. That shit's not really a sport. Whoops, sorry Lord. Anyway, I wanted to take a minute today to give you special thanks for all of the many blessings you have showered me with this year.
Thank you, of course, for another year of inflated defense budgets and predictable Supreme Court voting. Thank you also, Lord, for smiting Barry Bonds, as you know I hoped you would do. Thank you for sending an army of children to be the starting rotation of the Red Sox so that a veteran like me looks like an attractive option to the front office rather than a fat, washed-up fastballer whose early days of glory are all being negated by slumping performance on the mound and diva-like behavior off it. Thank you for Hungry Man frozen entrees, Lord, especially the ones that come with mashed potatoes, although Thou knowest I can no longer eat those because of the weight clause in my new contract. So, in that case, I guess I should thank you for the Lean Cuisines my wife keeps buying me.
But above all, Lord, I am thankful for your deliverance of the Red Sox through our exodus from the misery of finishing a season behind Toronto in the division standings to being World Series champions. Thou knowest it was not an easy journey. First you assisted us in vanquishing those so-called Angels, lord, who claim to be emissaries of Thy kingdom, but lay down in the face of our breaking balls of righteousness. Plus, Thou knowest they were only there because the AL West is a pushover division. Am I right, Lord? Then, Thou sent us to bring Thy word to the red-faced heathen peoples of northern Ohio, where I faced the man who sold his soul to the very Devil, and we were once again triumphant in bringing news of Thy word, just as were our Pilgrim forebears on this very day so many years ago. Also, I am sorry I gave Ryan Garko the smallpox, and that I got Grady Sizemore to trade me all the land in center field for a handful of beads.
But, Lord, you had other trials in store for me: we were to face your supposed Chosen Team, those on whom you had, uh, made your Face to shine when they defeated the snakes in the desert (despite having failed to even secure the NL wild card in 162 regular season games, Lord, but I shall not question your divine plan). Yea, but they were false prophets, and Thou knowest that a team that couldn't manage to win more than 44 games before the All-Star break does not truly belong in the playoffs. Oh, wait, maybe Thou doesn't know that. Still, the Rockies too were conquered in the face of our righteously outscoring them 29-10, plus their starting pitching has no idea how to work through an AL lineup. Yes, we went to the top of the mountain, where you banished your Chosen (or, "designated") Hitter to first base for 6 long innings, but we came down from that mountain in a blaze of glory and Dropkick Murphys songs.
Yes Lord, Thou has truly blessed me this year, and for that I give you thanks today.
Also, thank You for Everybody Loves Raymond. That show is awesome.
xoxo,
Curt
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Big ups to the Gavster for letting me know Curt wanted in on this one. I'm getting up early to do a 5K with my mom tomorrow, so it's time to turn in. Remember to follow in Curt's footsteps and give thanks for all that you have this year, unless you're a Dolphins fan, in which you may want to consider making a pact with some sort of evil deity. It worked for Bill Belichick, and for that I am thankful.
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