Joel's Letter to Santa

 

Traditionally the most effective way to petition Santa regarding one's Christmas and/or Channukah wishes was to accompany one's mother to Jordan Marsh, Filene's, or Kennedy's, make one's way to the Enchanted Village or North Pole or Toyland, get in an impossibly long line, and eventually hop onto Santa's lap and tell the ol' coot which Revell model one was hoping to snag.

Using this method, your lame blogger was able to score the U.S.S. Missouri and a  Bradley Tank in successive years. Not a bad haul.

And to be clear it wasn't Santa's fault that I shmeared model glue all over the tank's turret rendering it completely immobile, thereby leaving the unfortunate crew at the mercy of some nasty Panzer Division.

Oh well. C'est la guerre.

But that was then and this is now. I don't need WWII models, or Miles Davis albums, or blue button down Oxford shirts from Filene's; however, Dear Santa, with all due respect I REALLY need any or all of the following:

...Good health for all the people I love. Actually, if it's all the same to you, Santa, let's include all the people I like also. Oh, and dogs obviously.

...Santa, it would really be great if I could shoot my age sometime before the end of 2024. That would mean scoring a 76 (or 77 after February 1). With all due respect, Claus, I don't think this is very much to ask. After all, I've shot those scores and lower in past years. They just didn't happen to match up with my age at the time. So let's just coordinate a good round of golf with the appropriate calendar year and we're done with this particular obsession. Simple, really. Put an elf on it for goodness' sake. 

...Oh, before I forget, let's have Peace on Earth and Good Will toward Men, Women, Children, and, yes, Dogs.

...Santa, do you have any influence with appellate courts? Can you get them to rule quickly on the numerous current and future appeals that have been and will soon be filed by the lawyers for he who must not be named. If you have to skip my golf request in order to get this one done, feel free, Santa. It would be the gift that keeps on giving. We need to move on, doncha think?

...This next one is a little embarrassing Santa. Do you think you could arrange it so that whenever I sit down or get up, I don't groan or sigh or strain like a water buffalo with sciatica. For the love of God, Santa, please make this a priority.

...Oh, before I forget, please make the Red Sox relevant again. You'll probably have to bring them two starting pitchers to accomplish this. I'd recommend both of these guys:

 

But, Santa, really anyone you bring will be better than what's there right now. Oh, if possible, make one a lefty and one a righty. And, Santa, I realize the Red Sox could take care of this problem themselves and bypass your whole North Pole deal by dipping into the free agent market and spending some of John Henry's cash. Frankly, I think they are depending on you just like I am so please don't disappoint. If I have to trade Peace on Earth for this one, well, let me get back to you.

...Santa, please don't do anything to Maine or the people who live there. I guess you could consider this a negative request, Santa. Please ignore anybody's desire to make Maine warmer or closer or friendlier or especially more of a foodie destination. Fried clams, lobster rolls, and onion rings are just fine, thank you very much. Judging by your jolly ol' girth, I know you know what I'm talking about, Santa. Keep those fryolators  bubbling Baby.

Thanks for your patience Santa. I see where the line has grown quite a bit so I'll wrap this up quickly. Please bring respect for teachers and nurses; scorn and ridicule for hypocrites, especially religious ones, and the book-banners; a bottle of Newton Unfiltered Chardonnay for a certain beauty in Destin, and a magnificent aged hard salami for the schmo she lives with.

Thanks a bunch, Santa.

Ain't life grand!