Thoughts of Sunday and '52 Buicks

I don't go to church.

There, I said it. God makes me nervous when you get him indoors.
It's not that I'm an atheist or anything. I just associate church with music that I don't groove to and the overwhelming feeling of being a complete fraud when I'm there. Being inside a church always brings to mind all of the horrible things I have ever done and the expectation of a massive lightning strike is a constant worry.

I do believe in God. Too many prayers have been answered and too many undeserved breaks have come to me and my family to be a cosmic coincidence. Atheists have it all wrong when they fail to wager with the house. Whether you're at the $2 or the $100 window, the percentages say:" Always bet the Big Guy to Win, Place and Show".

My parents were of the "Let's try beating God into them" school of religious education. They dutifully dragged my brother Steve and I to both Sunday school and church every Sunday and I guarantee that at this very moment I can pick -up the phone and reach my brother who is also not in church. Sorry Mom and Dad...It didn't take. Call me crazy, but I don't think God is so anal that he or she cares one way or the other about our answering "Here" when roll is called at church each Sunday. That's too much like the Army...and I really hated the Army.

So, here I am on a Sunday in March trying to buy tickets to some of the Padres games for the new season. Hey, I'm pretty sure that God loves baseball and I can't wait to get his opinion on whiskey and cigars. ( I really miss the former.) The whole process of buying tickets on line is driving me crazy. Every time I go to buy a ticket the Padre website starts a timer that gives me about three minutes to decide if I want to purchase a particular seat and at my age that is no easy task. Distance to the men's room is a prime consideration now. When I was a kid and my prostate was the size of a walnut I could go practically all day without a break for drainage. But now, like all guys past the age of forty, my prostate has surpassed my ego in mass and currently approximates the specifications of a 1952 Buick Roadmaster. This naturally means that access to the men's room is of great importance.

Well, thanks for dropping by. Please put some money in the plate on your way out.

You'll have to excuse me now. It's that prostate thing again.
That's something I really must ask God about...just not in church.