Wednesday, May 25, 2005

I hate hearing stories about people's dreams. These rambling and nonsensical tales cause me to immediately adopt a facial expression that is tactfully placed somewhere on the spectrum between "If I Could Rip Off My Ears And Cram Them In Your Mouth, I Would!" and "Oh, How Droll!".

That being said, who wants to hear about my dreams last night? Line forms to the left of the browser.

Last night I dreamt that I was picked up by the San Francisco Giants. This is, of course, an absurd premise. Out of the vast list of sports that I suck at, baseball is at the tippy-top. I can neither hit nor field. I am what baseball scouts would refer to as a "no-tools" prospect. (But I do look good in jeans.)

But, this is a dream, and dreams have little to do with reality. In our dreams we can break the bounds of what is normally possible. We can fly! We can bat! We can field!

So, I'm sitting on the bench when the 8th inning rolls around and the Giants have a lead. I'm then put into the game as an outfielder, a defensive specialist whose job is to ensure that no errors are made. This is my big chance to show off what I can do in the major leagues with my dream-given fielding prowess.

I trot out to right field and immediately begin to feel anxious about my baseball skills. I recall my lifelong inability to consistently catch a baseball in a glove. I decide that a strategy of hoping that no one hits the ball to me is required.

Almost immediately a soaring fly ball is hit to me. I position myself under it and "catch" the ball by utilizing my entire body. I trap it between my glove and my abdomen, using both arms and one leg in the process. It takes a moment for me to confirm that this combination of limbs and gastrointestinal systems successfully held onto the ball. It is, perhaps, the most awkward catch in the history of baseball, and I triumphantly display the ball for all to see.

That miserable catch was the highlight of the game. The rest of the innings are filled with dropped balls and woefully underpowered throws. I'm responsible for at least a couple errors. After the game, one of the Giants' coaches takes me out for a beer and gently suggests that I stay behind during the next road trip to "work on some skills."

It would appear that even my subconscious can't pretend that I'm good at baseball. The dream ends as I'm contemplating what it means to my family for me to be a professional baseball player.

This dream came right after the dream where I was trying to squish a spider and it suddenly flew right at me (it was the jumping kind). I reacted by trying to knock the spider out of the air, only to hear my wife say, "Are you ok?". I realized that I had just thrashed around in the bed.

Yeah, I'm ok. Not crazy about spiders though.

Man, there's nothing worse than dream stories.

Go Giants!


Colby said...

Wait, aren't you too young to be a Giants outfielder?

Mike said...

Colby, I actually laughed out loud (someone should coin an acronym for that), as I was brushing my teeth, when I read your comment. Bits of toothpaste now spatter my keyboard. Thanks.