Dear eight pound, six ounce, newborn baby (Baseball) Jesus, don't even know a word yet, just a little infant, so cuddly, but still omnipotent-

I know I'm not really in a position to be asking for anything from you right now, Baseball Jesus. I know all three of my favorite teams made the playoffs this year (and for the Phillies and the Cubs? that's basically a miracle). I know the Red Sox won it all, and I was there at the World Series in Colorado to see them do it. I know we re-signed Curt Schilling, and we're jettisoning Eric Gagne, and I know we've all been bugging you night and day about Mike Lowell and Mike Timlin- so you're sick of listening.

But, tiny (Baseball) Jesus, in your golden fleece diapers with your tiny, little fat balled up fists- when I read something like this, it makes me think that maybe - just maybe - this is possible in Boston:

And dear Lord baby (Baseball) Jesus, lying there in your little ghost manger, lookin' at your Baby Einstein developmental videos, learnin' about shapes and colors... that would be so freakin' amazing, I do not even have the words. The Texan model late reliever would be a massively huge improvement over that broke-ass Canadian busted model. And you know how I heart the Cubs, but if there's even a SLIVER OF A CHANCE OF A POSSIBILITY that we could unite the two flame-throwing Texas gunslingers on the same ballclub? Baseball Jesus, you gotta help make that happen.

Brought to you by the same state that produced
pitchers Nolan Ryan and Roger Clemens and Greg Maddux
and John Lackey and Huston Street and Scott Kazmir and Chris Young
(oh, and Clay Buchholz and Mike Timlin and Kyle Snyder)

With apologies to Ricky Bobby for lifting his shtick.