I Have a Dream

When I fell asleep Thursday night I dreamed I was watching baseball on TV. Which is kind of unremarkable, especially for a dream. I mean, one time I dreamed I was flying a helicopter in Vietnam, only it was a cartoonish Vietnam with Viet Cong that were different species of monkey, firing GI Joe style laser guns and my co-pilot was an anthropomorphic feline that was some kind of combination between Chester Cheetah and Heathcliff.

The point being that my dreams generally resemble bizarre and particularly frightening acid trips, and so a dream where I was watching baseball on TV seemed to be a little weird. I mean, who dreams of mundane shit like that?

Unsurprisingly, in my dream I was watching a Phillies game. And also a Mets game. In the dream, both games began at the same time, and by the end of the first inning, the Phillies led their game 7-0 while the Mets were losing 6-0. Did I mention this was a wet dream?

It was at that point that shit started getting a little weird. Cabrera hit one deep to the wall in Shea; Endy Chavez went up to try and reprise his outfield heroics from last years NLCS; the ball sailed just over his glove for a homer. I rejoiced.

Then, as he came down, he inexplicably tore the part of the outfield wall down with him. At first it was only a small part that kind of peeled away. Then it got bigger and bigger, like when you’re peeling off old wallpaper and all of a sudden he’d ripped down the entire left field fence. Shit went downhill after that; the scoreboard came crashing down on Endy’s head, then the light towers and finally the bleachers and the upper deck. It was really quite awesome.

I’m guessing this dream was some kind of unsubtle left-brain metaphor for the Mets impending collapse. Or maybe it’s the work of residual psilocybin floating around my cortex. Fuck it though, let’s play three.