I hit a ball sharply to right field into the cosmos and made it safely to second base. (By "cosmos" I do not mean that I hit the ball into the universal void, but rather into the cosmos i.e. cosmos bipinnatus, the common herbaceous perennial that was growingly thickly against the stadium wall, something like the ivy at Wrigley.) I was standing on second, enjoying the applause of the 80,000 spectators at the old Yankee Stadium, when my daughter-in-law suddenly appeared with her two-year-old toddler and handed him to me saying, "you're in charge." She disappeared, so there I was on second with the boy in tow. I told him to stay put, but on the next pitch he broke for third, running as fast as his little legs could move. So I called out to the shortstop, "Now you're in charge." At which point I cannot recall anything further, except that I tied to follow the boy to third but I could not move at all well and it felt as though I was running through mucilage.
A curious dream. Dream professionals will no doubt analysts be attracted by claim to significance embodied in "cosmos" and by the dreamer's urge to shirk responsibility.