I'm not the kind of person that actually remembers much of their dreams, much less discusses them on the Internets. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to tell you about a weird freakin' dream that I had Tuesday morning, baseball related:
I dreamt that there was another Yankees/Sox ALCS, and that throwing aside all logic, I was at the game at or near field level. Batting practice was going on, and the Red Sox were each taking their turns at the cage. Then things got weird. There was one guy coming to the batting cage, it looked like his skin had been cooked off. Regardless of this fact, this Burnt Man took batting practice, launching bombs toward the leftfield seats. Although Burnt Man didn't look at all like Jason Varitek (aside from looking like something out of a monster movie, BM had the build and swing of former Yankee and Red Sock Jack Clark) I knew he was the Red Sox captain. So I said "Why is this guy playing, for pity's sake?" A helpful Red Sox fan nearby told me that the Burnt Man had cleared himself to play--lots of stuff about this being a big game and morale and all.
I couldn't pay more attention to the fan's rapt speech about Burnt Man's dedication, since it looked to me like the guy might just die at any moment. Burnt Man's mode of dress recalled the Incredible Hulk--uniform pants scorched, torn, and ruined to the extent of being shorts now, otherwise bare-chested and barefoot.
The game started, and Mike Mussina took the mound. Quickly, a Mussina Inning started, first with a single, then a pair of ten-pitch walks to load the bases. Burnt Man batted cleanup, in his same getup, only with a batting helmet on.
For some reason, I was incensed that Burnt Man was allowed to play out of uniform. It's one thing for a team's helmets to be loaded with so much crud that it looks like an elephant crapped on all their heads, quite another to send a shirtless, shoeless burn victim onto the field.
"Couldn't they at least get him a new pair of pants?" I asked.
"What, are you crazy?" a slightly meaner Sox fan interjected. "He's got second and third degree burns over 90% of his body. They try to take those pants off him, he'll die."
The mean Sox fan said it as if I'd intended to sign Burnt Man's death warrant by depantsing him.
I tried to retort, but before I could do so, Burnt Man sent a drive to dead left field, into the main section stands. As Burnt Man circled the bases gingerly, my emotions weren't anxiety or anger at Moose for putting us down 4-0. More, it was a sense of queasiness, knowing that at any moment Burnt Man's skin could crack and slough off like so much pustulous mud.
Then I woke up.
I got no clue what this means. Any dream interpreters in the audience?