Was it Something I Ate?

OK, so here’s the dream.  One reason I’m sharing this is because I usually don’t remember dreams.   Sometimes in the middle of a dream I’ll remind myself to try and remember it, but once I begin to wake up, I can feel it slipping away and out of reach.  When it’s gone, it’s gone.

Another reason to share the dream is that you might have some insight about what this dream means, if it has any meaning at all.  Probably a better reason is that it was kind of funny. 

Some dreams are just flat out weird and have more basis in Doritos Locos Tacos consumed after a certain hour.  The older you get, the earlier this deadline arrives each night.

Every now and then, I have a dream that stays with me.  Usually they fall into one of two categories: weird or scary.  Wednesday night/early Thursday morning, it was a weird one that stuck with me.  The one contributing factor I know of is that I watched the South Carolina v. Wofford baseball game which went 11 innings.

That saturation was present.  I was at a baseball game in my dream.  Quickly, the coach told me I could play left field (I’m already out there in my mind, so what’s new).  Well I jumped at the chance to move from spectator to participant, but instead of playing left field, I began to walk around the field and talk to other players.

I was over by the visitors’ dugout.  A player from the other team informed me that he had brought a softball to leave inside the statue of Jesus.  I said, “Huh?”  He explained that there was a statue of Jesus nearby that had a hole at the base where folks passing by would leave softballs (some kind of pilgrimage, I guess).  I took all this information as matter of fact.

Well, I began to walk back over toward left while enjoying a pack of Lance crackers (Malt) and a Sprite in a clear Solo cup.  Of course, my repast and stroll across the outfield grass would be interrupted by a batter who rudely hit a fly ball to left field.  I fumbled to put the crackers in my back pocket, noting to myself that this was not good for the crackers, and stashed my soda behind a bush by the outfield wall.  There were two outs, and this would end the inning.  I hustled into position to catch the ball.  I settled under the ball, but there were some tree branches in my way. 

I need to add here that this baseball field was the narrow strip of yard next to Reevesville Baptist Church—before the fellowship hall was built.  I was standing where that little wall used to be, about where the covered walkway is now.  The cemetery fence was the outfield wall.  My guess is that this detail might lend more insight than others—maybe not.

The ball cleared the branches, but I had come forward one too many steps.  The ball cleared my glove and tipped the bill of my cap before hitting the ground behind me and rolling toward the wall.  I ran back to retrieve it, and the center fielder was running over to back me up.  Before we could get there the ball rolled into an open 4” drain pipe in the ground.  I held up two hands to signal to the umpire that the ball was lost and the situation merited a ground rule double.

The coach started yelling at us and marched out to left field to confront us.  I explained that the ball went in the pipe.   The coach hollered, “Yeah, well that’s a drain pipe!  It goes out of the stadium!  That ball’s halfway to Miami.  It’s a home run, and there were two runners on.  We’re down by three!”

To make matters worse, my Sprite had tipped over.  The coach walked past me on his way to the locker room.  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “It’s halftime, and all those guys from the other team want to put a ball in the Jesus statue.”