Dear God,

I know we have not spoken since the dire days when the Red Sox were down 3-0 to the Yankees in the 2004 playoffs. God knows I appreciate your help on that one, plus the Patriots Super Bowl wins. As promised, I did go to church, even if it was only that one time in Florida. I did volunteer at the nursing home, too, if only for a few days. You know how it is.

Now I need another favor. Hey, the Sox and Pats are on their own now. What I need are some lightning bolts.

It started at the Emmylou Harris concert in Boston last month. As you know, it was eight hours round trip, plus the $85 ticket price.

As usual, the biggest morons in the place sat behind me and talked through the concert. I don’t know where these people come from or why they bother going to concerts. They started with the first song and exchanged recipes and gossip through my second favorite singer (Bonnie Raitt is first, as you know). When the music got too loud and drowned out these vital communications, they simply talked louder.

Last weekend at the North Atlantic Blues Festival their cousins showed up. First, on Saturday there was a moron who talked through the intermission in a polite bellow about how much he knew about each and every act. You knew what was coming. He talked through every act, too.

I assumed he was mentally ill or brain damaged from a horrible accident. I noticed that he had a wrist band for Saturday only and we would be free from his mouth on Sunday.

You know what happened, because you are God. Four more idiots sat behind us on Sunday and talked for every minute they spent away from the bar.

Why do these people bother? So they can have something to talk about when they go home?

Do I attract them, God? Are you trying to tell me something? Or are they just everywhere?

I think these people no longer deserve to live. I would like a few lightning bolts per concert, if you can spare them. Lyle Lovett is coming up in August so we have to get right on this.

I will use the lightning bolts judiciously. I will leave the tailgaters alone, even the Republicans and Yankee fans. No innocent bystanders will be harmed.

What I want to do with these people is to turn them into that powdery ash that remains in the oven when the three- hour self-cleaning process is finally concluded.

If, in your infinite wisdom, you cannot grant this plea, can you at least put all of these people in one section of the auditorium so they can get to listen to each other?

And then can you send a plague of locusts to gnaw on their intestines?

Please, God.

Then we can talk about the 2006 World Series with the Sox and Mets.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.