SANTANA'S TOWN???

Dear God,

Please let the Mets trade for Johan Santana go off without a hitch. We need this in a bad way.

One, the Mets are The Big Apple's "other team." It's kind of like they're the Ashlee Simpson to the Yankees' Jessica Simpson. Actually, we'd be more like the Rosario Dawson-Anne Hathaway-BBU (Beautiful But Underappreciated) to Jessica Simpson. I mean you take away the "big roster" and what do you have? Not much to look at. (Okay, I'm going off another tangent now. Refocusing...)

Two, a lot of missed opportunities since '86. 1988, they lose in the playoffs to the Dodgers. (Cocaine is a hell of a drug, word to Straw and Doc.) The 90s were pretty much a disaster. Overpriced free agents that didn't pan out and who did more damage than one would expect. Bret Saberhagen threw bleach at a reporter. David Cone was accused of "warming up in the bullpen," i.e. masturbating during a game. Vince Coleman accidentally struck Dwight Gooden with a golf club. Also, Coleman threw a lit firecracker into a crowd of baseball fans in LA. Gooden's escalating cocaine habit caused his career to go up in smoke. (Or would that be "up in sniff?") Eventually, things got a little better with the arrival of Piazza and Mike Hampton. Except for that thing where Piazza got dropped by a Clemens fastball...and no one did shit. And then the incident in the Subway Series where Clemens threw a piece of a broken bat at Piazza...and no one did shit. (Seriously, someone, most likely a bench player who knew he wasn't going to play, should have just run up and snuffed Clemens.) Finally, there was last year's epic collapse which made me want to die...and throw my Mets hat into the Quinnipiac River.

In the words of Jewish philosopher J.M. Nabel, "please, just let me do this." And by "me," I mean the Mets.

Thanks for your time, God.

Your friend,

J.W.

P.S. I kinda think you owe me because you've actually done the opposite in respect to my prayers for the Knicks.