in which Our hero has a quasi-religious Experience before discovering the one True faith

Seems there's this thing called religion, been getting a lot of play lately. But even though I'm considered a wild-card candidate for the next Pope, along with Lubomyr Husar and Oscar Andres Rodriguez Maradiaga, that's not what I'm here to talk about.

As mentioned in a previous post, I was on a never-ending search for the elusive Cadbury Cream Egg. With Easter a distant memory, it seemed all hope was lost. Easter '06 or a trans-Atlantic flight where my only hopes of sweet, eggy goo. In times of strife, I've often heard people speak of a guardian angel. My guardian angel apparently goes by the name Sucrose, because this weekend, as if by divine providence, I found a lone egg in the bargain rack at a Target in Virginia. It was nestled between the fake grass and a bunny filled with M&M's. I picked it up with trepidation, afraid the delightful foil rapper, with its jaunty primary colors, would yield no egg. But those chicks on the wrapper didn't lie. It was just like when Indiana Jones found that gold monkey in Raiders, except that the whole adventure didn't end with Nazis melting like Cream Eggs in a microwave. The holy grail was in my hands--and it was delicious.

On a similar note of near-religiousity, today was opening day for your new look Seattle Mariners. After the trials of listening to Jon Miller and Joe Morgan butcher their way through yet another Yankees/Red Sox telecast on ESPN, the dulcet tones of Dave Henderson doing color commentary were pure pleasure. Ichiro singled to start the bottom of the first, Beltre reached on an error and Richie Sexson launched a slider that didn't slide out into the left field bleachers. Mariners win! Hallelujah! Because Jesus might save, but so does Eddie Guardado.