Eeesshhhhh – It’s still the middle of the night and I’m already up. That’s because I had a dream that woke me up laughing.. Judy hates it when I wakeup laughing because when I do, it wakes her up.
And then she starts laughing..
This is not good because when she starts laughing she can’t go back to sleep and she gets mad at me.
While she’s laughing..
And the stupid dream wasn’t all that funny to begin with. Actually, it was rather frustrating…
(Dream sequence harp music…)
… I find myself playing baseball for the San Francisco Giants and I’m in the batter’s box. It must be back in the 1960’s because we’re playing the Dodgers and I am facing Don Drysdale, which surprises me.
Drysdale winds up and pitches the ball, and it sails over the catcher’s head and goes all the way back to the backstop. So, as I was brought up to be as helpful as possible in any situation, I run on back to the backstop, retrieve the ball for Number 53 and throw it back to him.
While I am on my way back to the batter’s box, he he decides to take some warm up pitches, which is fine with me because I seem to be taking a long time to getting back to the plate.
When I finally do arrive back “home”, Drysdale winds up and throws another pitch, this one a strike down the middle of the plate. Surprisingly, the ball gets away from the catcher, and, once again, I run to retrieve it… And, once again, he takes some warm up throws while I make my way back to the game…
Again I get back to the plate, and he throws another strike, but again it gets away, and I’m off to do my third good deed of the at bat..
This time, after returning the ball to the pitcher, and while I am on my way back to the box, I notice a new chalk line on the field located between me and the batter’s box. Accompanying the new layer of chalk is a newly, just this moment, instituted rule that says that I don’t have to be in the batter’s box for a pitch to count. The rule states that ‘once the batter has crossed the (new) line, any pitch that the pitcher delivers counts’! – I don’t have to be in the batter’s box to strike out!
I realize that I have just crossed the line and that the pitcher is winding up and his name is Don Drysdale and he is not going to miss the strike zone and I have two strikes against me and he doesn’t care that I’ve been a good guy and helped him out because he’s a Dodger and I’m a Giant and I’m about to be struck out while not being even a little bit close to the batter’s box!
This realization throws me into a bit of a panic and I start running to the plate in order to keep myself from being waved out by the equally ungrateful umpire.
Fortunately, I get back to the box just an instant before the ball crosses the plate and take a lunging swing at it. Unfortunately, I miss the ball. But, fortunately, somehow the ball is rolling toward the pitcher’s mound and it dawn’s on me that I’m not out!
Now would be a good time for me to start running to first base, and even though I know that the pitcher will probably throw me out, I begin the 90 foot journey just as fast as my little legs will take me.
This is good because the pitcher has just thrown the ball over the first baseman’s head and anybody who can move forward at all can get there before the ball is recovered and delivered back to first base – yehaw! The race is on!!
Unbelievably, though, as fast as my legs are moving, I am not making any progress toward the base.. It’s that dream thing where you are running as hard as you can, but not getting anywhere… It’s like trying to run while you are neck deep in peanut butter. Worse yet is the fact that nobody else seems to be having the same problem – everything outside of your body is moving at normal speed… Ugh…
Well, as fate would have it, the right fielder has scooped up the ball and sent it on it’s way back to first base – and, as fate would also have it, I am still 87 feet away from there.. I’m doomed…
But, Lady Luck steps in and the ball sails over the first baseman’s head and toward the pitcher’s mound! I’m saved!
Regretfully, I am still 80 feet from first base when the pitcher catches it and hurls a strike back to the first baseman. I’m doomed…
Joyfully, the first baseman is busy winking at a pretty girl in the stands behind the dugout and doesn’t even see the ball blow by him and back down the right field line! I’m saved!
Sadly, the right fielder, who has not gotten all the way back to right field yet, turns around, gets the ball and throws it back to first base, now being covered by the second baseman.. And I’m still 70 feet from the base… I’m doomed…
Happily, the second baseman somehow has the ball bounce out of his glove and roll back down the first base line toward home plate! I’m saved!
Grotesquely, I am still 50 feet away from the base, now being covered by the short stop, when the catcher picks up the ball and slings it toward first base. And the thing that goes through my mind is “I’ve worked SO HARD to get to first base” and now I’m going to be thrown out…” I’m doomed…
Wonderfully, the ball actually hits the base and takes a wild bounce toward the dugout and Walter Alston gets it and zings it back in the general direction of first base.. This strikes me as interesting because Walter Alston is the Dodgers’ Manager and isn’t supposed to touch the ball while it’s in play – I will be awarded the base! I’m saved!
Unpleasingly, There has been another rule change during the time that I have been traversing the distance between home plate and first base… As a training tool, The manager may now ‘participate in any single play where there have been more than 5 errors committed by his defensive team, assuming he deems it a teachable moment’.. I’m doomed…
And I’ve worked SO HARD…
Delightfully, by this time in his career, Alston’s arm isn’t what it used to be and the ball heads off into center field!!! I’m saved!
Hopelessly, I am still 20 feet from first base when the center fielder Reaches the ball, acquires it and shoots a rocket to the base and it will beat me there by about 5 minutes… I’m doomed…
But… I have suddenly gained speed and am now within striking distance of the bag… If only the ball can just escape the grasp of whichever player, coach, umpire or fan is now covering the base for the D’s… I… Can… Make… It…
Which is only just because I have worked SO HARD to get there…
Disastrously, though, the catcher is covering the base… And he successfully smothers the ball in his glove… It’s over… I’m doomed…
But wait! He is not standing on the bag! He’s 3 feet away!… I may be saved!
Shockingly, at about 8 feet from the base, I trip over my feet and fall on my face… the bag a foot out of my reach… I’m doomed…
As providence would have it, the catcher forgot to remove his mask when this whole thing started and his view is obstructed… He can’t find the base… I’m saved!
Inopportunely, he has removed the mask, found the base and is lunging forward to touch it before I can make contact… I’m doomed…
Hopefully, I slither on my belly, keeping my body stretched – toe to finger tip – as far as it will stretch in the hope of brushing my finger nail against first base before the catcher finds it with any part of his body…
I see his glove coming down on the base… My own hand millimeters away…
And then I woke up…
It’s kinda like politics…
Things With Six Strings 