Brian McGrory slips off the wagon

Dear Easter Bunny,

I realize you might be hard at work right now. God knows, you work harder than just about anyone I know, except maybe John Silber's charm school coach.

But I need you to understand something. I'm writing from Boston. I'm a 47-year-old male with precisely nothing going on in my meager little life. Nothing, that is, except for one indisputably annoying fact: Today is Opening Day at Fenway Park. And Brian McGrory, who has one of the most visible columns in the daily paper, the better to uncover the gritty/heartwarming side of life in the big city, is once again sucking his thumb and exercising (if not very strenuously) his fantasy of being a baseball writer.

What I'm saying is, I don't need any Easter eggs, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. I don't even need a basket filled with that plastic grass stuff or a chocolate bunny. But in their place, in light of Opening Day, there is one thing I want from you, Easter Bunny:

A metro columnist who actually gets out of the office and tells us something new.