Are you there God? It's me, Seagraves

Dear God:

Thanks for the lesson in humility. One week after I badmouth some of the players on my softball team, you visit upon my person great pain and embarrassment.

First, You reminded me that I can no longer take 205-plus pounds of flesh from standing still to a dead sprint. You reminded me that I should probably go through about two more phases of increasing speed -- by ripping something in my thigh muscle, causing me to walk with a limp for the foreseeable future.

Second, you showed me that I can't criticize anyone's talents, not when the best I can do with two outs and the game on the line is hit an infield fly. I think the guy at second just held out his hand to catch it and looked bored by the time the ball got there.

Ho! Ha! You really showed me! Very funny God, very funny.

And since we're gabbering, I'd also like to take the time to say thanks for the rain. Yes, many people have lifted up their throats and sometimes their fists -- self-righteously shaking their tall boys -- against the Water That Fell From The Sky And Would Not Stop. And I wish the best for those who were flooded out or those who thought a Ford Escort could make it across water two feet deep and moving at thirty feet per second.

But how easily we forget we've been griping about a drought for ten years now. The lakes are full, and we're midway through the summer and we haven't had a single 100-degree day yet.

Yay, God, for the levels of sweat I emit are not yet overpowering my deodorant, which really helps, let me tell you.

Let me end with the usual stuff: Please look after my wife, please help her to forgive me for whatever I do wrong in the next three hours, watch over our soldiers in Iraq, and please keep Mike Leach from getting lost on the way to Jones Stadium. Again.

Amen.