Quarterback Tim Tebow, traded from the Denver Broncos to the New York Jets as a result of the Broncos acquiring the services of future Hall-of-Famer Peyton Manning, was praying in a New York hotel room when the Lord, as he usually did, appeared to the young football player.
"Jesus, am I glad to see you," Tim said. "I have been cast forth from Denver, where we worked many miracles together, to this sinful city. I am glad you have not abandoned me."
The Lord appeared distracted. "Right, Tim. How's it going? Nice place you have here." He went to the minibar and poured Himself some wine. As He did so, He glanced at the minibar menu. "Ooooh. Twenty-four bucks for an airplane bottle of syrah? I should have just changed one of those Vitamin Waters into a decent red," He muttered. "Sorry, Timmy."
"It's okay, My Lord. I didn't know you drank, though."
"If you had My Mother, Tim…" Our Savior paused. "Never mind. What can I do for you?"
"I just want to make sure, My Lord, that you will be with me here in my exile in this city that never sleeps or stops sinning."
"Got your back, Timmy." The Lord took a deep pull on His syrah.
"And I will continue to be your most favored quarterback."
"Well…there have been some developments there."
"My Lord! All those divinely-inspired fourth quarter comebacks! They're not going to happen anymore?"
"Tim, it's like this. Me and some of the guys have a little fantasy league Up There, and there was quite a bit of manna riding on last season…"
"There's gambling in Heaven, Jesus? I thought gambling was a sin!"
"It is down here, Tim. Up There, well, let's just say eternity is a long time. The rules get stretched a little. I did happen to have you on My fantasy roster and when you started wafting all those prayers aloft starting about the middle of the third quarter in all those comeback wins, well, what could I do but answer them? I went from dead last to a solid season winner in the standings. My Father was okay with it…technically, it wasn't breaking any league rules, but the Holy Ghost can be a bitter SOB. He hasn't spoken to Me since the Super Bowl. And I'm pretty sure it was the reason the tires got slashed on My chariot. I suspect Peter or one of the archangels…they hang out at the tavern where I left it parked. So, long story short, I'm not going to be drafting you next year."
"Jesus! You're cutting me from the team?"
"Tough decisions have to be made sometimes. Best of luck to you kid, and I mean that sincerely."
"But here? New York? There's hardly any Christians here! The place is full of atheists, Muslims and Jews! And they already have a quarterback, Mark Sanchez! Could you at least break one of his legs?"
"This is New York, Timmy. There's plenty of guys who will do that for you here without Me getting involved. Talk to one of them. And Timmy, one more thing…"
"What's that, My Lord?"
"Annoy the Muslims and the atheists all you want, but the Jews are my peeps. Keep that in mind."
"Jesus, am I glad to see you," Tim said. "I have been cast forth from Denver, where we worked many miracles together, to this sinful city. I am glad you have not abandoned me."
The Lord appeared distracted. "Right, Tim. How's it going? Nice place you have here." He went to the minibar and poured Himself some wine. As He did so, He glanced at the minibar menu. "Ooooh. Twenty-four bucks for an airplane bottle of syrah? I should have just changed one of those Vitamin Waters into a decent red," He muttered. "Sorry, Timmy."
"It's okay, My Lord. I didn't know you drank, though."
"If you had My Mother, Tim…" Our Savior paused. "Never mind. What can I do for you?"
"I just want to make sure, My Lord, that you will be with me here in my exile in this city that never sleeps or stops sinning."
"Got your back, Timmy." The Lord took a deep pull on His syrah.
"And I will continue to be your most favored quarterback."
"Well…there have been some developments there."
"My Lord! All those divinely-inspired fourth quarter comebacks! They're not going to happen anymore?"
"Tim, it's like this. Me and some of the guys have a little fantasy league Up There, and there was quite a bit of manna riding on last season…"
"There's gambling in Heaven, Jesus? I thought gambling was a sin!"
"It is down here, Tim. Up There, well, let's just say eternity is a long time. The rules get stretched a little. I did happen to have you on My fantasy roster and when you started wafting all those prayers aloft starting about the middle of the third quarter in all those comeback wins, well, what could I do but answer them? I went from dead last to a solid season winner in the standings. My Father was okay with it…technically, it wasn't breaking any league rules, but the Holy Ghost can be a bitter SOB. He hasn't spoken to Me since the Super Bowl. And I'm pretty sure it was the reason the tires got slashed on My chariot. I suspect Peter or one of the archangels…they hang out at the tavern where I left it parked. So, long story short, I'm not going to be drafting you next year."
"Jesus! You're cutting me from the team?"
"Tough decisions have to be made sometimes. Best of luck to you kid, and I mean that sincerely."
"But here? New York? There's hardly any Christians here! The place is full of atheists, Muslims and Jews! And they already have a quarterback, Mark Sanchez! Could you at least break one of his legs?"
"This is New York, Timmy. There's plenty of guys who will do that for you here without Me getting involved. Talk to one of them. And Timmy, one more thing…"
"What's that, My Lord?"
"Annoy the Muslims and the atheists all you want, but the Jews are my peeps. Keep that in mind."
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