I have recurrent baseball dreams, most of them nightmarish. The most frequent is that I hit a sharp line drive to right, start for first but run as if I were stuck in a sea of mucilage. My legs won't move. The right fielder throws me out before I'm halfway down the line. I leave the field in disgrace, thirty-thousand fans vigorously booing. What does it mean? "I can't get to first base" sounds like an adolescent sexual worry, but I suspect that such an interpretation might be too specific. Let's just say that the theme of the nightmare is ineffectiveness and frustration.
What a relief, then, that this World Series time I can report on a very pleasant dream. My team (Dodgers or Phillies or just a bunch of nameless guys) was pounding the Yankees. (Cultural context for you non-Brooklynites out there in Bloglandia: the New York Yankees represent all that is evil in American society, and have done so since the days of Joe Page and Snuffy Stirnweiss and Charley Keller, or for some sixty-plus years. There is no question but that the rich, whiny, crybaby Yankees are the special favorites of Bernie Madoff, Ann Coulter, and Dick Cheney.) In the dream, my side hit one opposite-field line drive after another and the score went from 5-0 to 13-0 to 17-0. Finally, we brought to the plate a cute, tow-headed four-year-old boy. He blasted the first pitch over the head of their center fielder and knocked in three more runs. I woke up elated, and in an aroused condition that gave me confidence that, yes, I could get to first base. Possibly to third base. Perhaps even score. .
A classic syndrome, known in the psychiatric literature as pre-1955-Dodger-fan wish fulfillment. The opposite-field HRs come under the heading "Carl Furillo transferrence." The cute 4-year-old boy is obviously Chase Utley, who with Ryan Howard, if there's any justice, will hit about eight HRs into the Yankee Stadium RF porch.
And Red Barber was better than Mel Allen.
Posted by: Otis Jefferson Brown | October 26, 2009 at 08:59 AM