Communicating with God about the tsunami

On wednesday morning I woke to this text:

"Hey boar did you hear about quake and tsunami in the samoas?"

My phone failed to recognise the number, so it wasn't in my contacts, but the writer clearly knew my name and that I had a Samoan connection (I spent a couple of years around the millenium bring books to the Samoan masses)

I replied:

"I do now! thanks mystery caller!"

And got the reply:

"Youre welcome, love from god."

This explains a lot. God is all knowing of my name and work history, but I'm the last person likely to have His number in my contacts. I said:

"Well god, might i suggest that you spend less time loving atheists like me and more time loving your adoring samoans. Stop working in mysterious ways! "

He said:

"I love all my kids, even prodigal librarians. Sounds like youre back on board tho if you think im responsible for the samoan earthquake..."

"i know you exist because you keep txt ing me. So, why attack the samoans.. They luv ya!"

"They went against god when they swapped road sides"

So there you go, that's it straight from the top. I tried ringing the number but it just rang out and no voice mail. Can't say I blame God for not having voicemail.

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I can't offer prayers, but my thoughts and best wishes are with the beautiful people of the Samoan Isles.

Frolicking with the footy gods

I don't believe in God, the one who loves me and has a personal plan for my salvation, but is quite happy to send me to eternal damnation if my reason (given by Him) leads me to conclude that He doesn't exist.

I'll believe in the footy gods though; they love no-one but the game, they are as capricious as the bounce of the Sherrin. They love the great spectacle, but understand that it must be given sparingly. I give praise that they bestowed a spectacle yesterday, and wore a red & black scarf whilst they did so!

They slew Hille in the opening minutes then steeled Ryder with the spirit that the day is about, to step in for a fallen comrade. They slighted Rocca, then took the dream of a boy called Zakaharis and made it true.

All to the good, but a small god took the time to play a little trick on Boarking, who thought himself 5 out of 5, after tipping all yesterday's upsets, who thought himself on for 8, a collection of the work comps' $250 jackpot, and the kudos of tipping 8 when few can. But the little god has messed with his tips, or else he forgot to save his changes, and finds he hadn't tipped the tiggers after all. Amid much gnashing of teeth, there was a powerfull whiff of deja vu.
Oh well...

Some bemoan the mixing of footy with the ANZAC sacrifice, and the depiction of players antics with the terminolgy applicable to real soldiers in real wars. I don't mind. Football and other team sports were founded in the English public school system as a preparation for war. I, for one, am quite happy when sport becomes a replacement for war.