We will periodically be posting dreams that are especially noteworthy and fun, and encourage/insist/demand that people put their best psychological interpretations in the comments. In case anyone missed the earlier posts, one of the exciting side effects of the anti-malarials we are taking is vivid, lsd-like dreams. The best explanation will be selected by our resident psychologist after consulting our panel of experts.
The winner will receive any number of exciting prizes, including: one (1) rapid malaria test kit, hand-delivered in September; one rolex (2 fried eggs wrapped in chipati) sent via standard mail; one bootleg chinese DVD of Rob Schneider vs. Anthony Hopkins (40 movies! 0 intellectual property laws! Yay!). But you can't win unless you enter. So just do it. Humor us.
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Last night I dreamt that I was playing baseball at Oak Hill, the small private school that I went to for middle and high school. Pretty much a baseball diamond like any other, but with me playing third. Of course, I never played much baseball as a kid, due to an uncanny ability to get hit in the face with the ball, but whatever. It's just a dream.
But there I am, glove in hand, ready to play. I look over to the shortstop to say something hepful like "here we go, now" or "two outs, cmon." And I notice something odd. The shortstop is a certain basketball player. A certain famous basketball player. A certain Sidney Dean.
OK. So that in itself would be weird, but fine. We talk a bit, mostly trash about the relative shortcomings of our respective races and how that might impact the ability to play baseball. A lot like the movie. It's funny, without going into too much detail because I can't remember any. And naturally, the same guy is playing all the other positions for our team. So this is getting more weird by the minute.
Then I look to the plate. And who should be coming up to bat, but another famous cinematic baseball player. I'll give you a clue: He's very fast, a little flashy and can't hit to save his life, but ultimately a good guy.
Yup, Wesley Snipes again. Willie Mays Hays vs. me and an army of Sidney Deans. After some more trash-talking from all parties, Willie hits a dinger into center field. He's rounding second as the throw comes in and gets caught in a run-down between third (me) and home (him). After a lot of fakes, throws back and forth and general chaos, Willie just beats the throw home, sliding under the glove and scoring the game winning run.