At times, I see things out of the corner of my eyes that aren’t there. It’s usually something minor, like I think that I see an insect or a Red Sox Fan. Something that if I stamped out, nobody would miss, but it would do no harm to ignore. I look a second time and it wasn’t there.
The stranger of the two is the vivid dreams. So vivid, in fact, that I act them out at times.
I’ve had violent dreams and athletic dreams. My wife has awakened me in the middle of the night, asking me what I meant by something that I was yelling about. So far I’ve been successful in covering up my lustful desires for Sweet Polly Purebred.
As I’ve stated before, many of my dreams tend to be sports related. I’ve dove for volleyballs, shot hockey pucks, blocked basketballs and swung baseball bats in my sleep.
Sometimes I wake up happy, having enjoyed the dream. Sometimes I wake up angry, having made a strategic error in the dream. Sometimes, I wake up on the floor.
One time that I woke up on the floor, I dreamt that I had hit an infield grounder and in order to beat it out I slid into first base. Ignoring the fact that I was never fast enough to make such a play that close, I was pissed, because you never slide into first base!
Another time it was equally vivid. In fact, I even imagined an announcer.
“OK, here we go, we got a real pressure cooker going here, Two down, nobody on, no score, bottom of the ninth, There’s the windup, and there it is, a line shot up the middle, Look at him go. This boy can really fly! He's rounding first and really turning it on now, he's not letting up at all, he's gonna try for second; the ball is bobbled out in center, and here comes the throw, and what a throw! He's gonna slide in head first, here he comes, he's out! No, wait, safe-safe at second base, this kid really makes things happen out there. Batter steps up to the
plate, here's the pitch-he's going, and what a jump he's got, he's trying for third, here's the throw, it's in the dirt-safe at third! Holy cow, stolen base! He's taking a pretty big lead out
there, almost daring him to try and pick him off. The pitcher glances over, winds up, and it's bunted, bunted down the third base line, the suicide squeeze is on! Here he comes, squeeze
play, it's gonna be close, holy cow, I think he's gonna make it”
Now any Baseball fan knows the problem here. Why would the suicide squeeze be on with two outs?
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