I Just Had the Best Baseball Dream Ever

Last night I dreamed I was in an action movie, and everyone in it was baseball players. A group of us were isolated on top of a city building, being surrounded by waves of enemy attackers. We didn’t know who the enemy commander was at first, but later discovered it was Bud Selig, angry and hell-bent on taking back his throne as Emperor of Baseball.

I was Anthony Rendon.

The battle was hopeless. I raced back and forth on the edge of the rooftop, luckily not getting injured (either in the hail-of-bullets sense or the being-Anthony-Rendon sense). I had a sniper rifle and for some reason was trying to gun down somebody with an American flag shield. My (Rendon’s) teammates occasionally asked for help, and I’d shoot their assailants.

But eventually it was time to give up. Our leader (whom I sadly can’t remember) urged us all to either surrender together or die together. I said “sorry,” and escaped, dashing behind enemy lines, to live and fight another day.

I walked out of the city and up into the mountains, hoping to find refuge. And I found it: a resistance movement of brave, spunky baseball players, led by Jose Altuve. I shook Altuve’s hand. “Welcome to the Resistance,” he said.

David Eckstein was there. Carlos Correa was there. And I saw Willie Bloomquist. “Hey, Willie,” I said, “you’re here too!” He frowned. “Yeah, but I’m not very useful.”

We had to make a journey up the river. It felt a bit like finding Col. Kurtz in Apocalypse Now, and sure enough we were searching for a mysterious lost mentor/leader figure. When we found him, he wore a cloak and hood, and spoke in a gravelly voice. His only visible physical feature was a massive, unkempt beard.

In low tones, Col. Kurtz both spoke wildly and obstreperously, annoying the crap out of us, and gave us fragments of his plan to defeat Bud Selig and reconquer baseball. It was a pretty irritating scene: the guru clearly did not like us, nor did he much want to help. But his hatred of Selig ran deep, deep enough to overcome his general grumpiness. Slowly we all realized who this mythic figure really was. Jayson Werth.

At this point, sadly, I started drifting awake. I think there must be a sequel Return of the Jedi dream to follow this one, in which Altuve, Eckstein, Correa, and Rendon take back what is rightfully theirs and ours from the evil Bud Selig and his enforcers. Questions remain: where do Trout, Stanton, and Harper fit into this story? Who will have the climactic swordfight with evil henchmen Joe West and Angel Hernandez? Which side is A.J. Pierzynski on? Is Willie Bloomquist a mole?

The nature of dreams is that they may never give me the definitive answers. We may only speculate, together, in the now even more disappointing bright lights of waking reality.

A Bucket List, Considered

A Wash

Earlier this week, TV cameras captured former Rangers manager and current University of New Orleans volunteer assistant Ron Washington wearing a pretty interesting T-shirt, one that succinctly itemized his needs in the time before his personal bucket kicking.

It read:

My Bucket List:

1. Beer
2. Ice

As is so often the case when alcohol and ice are involved, I found myself inspired and roused into action. Then, after that feeling passed, I continued to sit on the couch while committing to paper a similar list of my own. That list is precisely what follows here.

My Bucket List:

1. Margarita
2. Glass

3. Chile relleno
4. Plate

7. Second margarita
8. Second glass

9. Tres leches cake
10. Napkin

11. Third margarita
12. Third glass
13. Another napkin

14. More chips
15. More salsa

16. Another napkin

17. Restroom
18. Door that says Push, not Pull
19. Paper towel, for shoes

20. Fourth margarita
21. Fourth glass
22. Scratch that – an entire pitcher

23. Cab

24. Bed!

25. Couch