Posts Tagged ‘baseball’

I had just finished my at bat for the Chicago White Sox.  It hadn’t gone well, and I had pulled a muscle in my leg.  I lay on my stomach in the grass off the right field foul line, stretching my leg.  We were still at bat.  A loud crack signaled the batter hitting a high fly ball.  The ball soared upwards into the sky, hung a bit at its peak, and then plummeted downward to strike me in the leg.  This wasn’t the best place to be doing my stretching obviously, so I climbed up into the stands to sit beside my brother and uncle.

I reclined on my back on the bleacher seats and my grandmother’s dog walked over my face.  “Stupid dog.”  Uncle Mike reached behind him and pulled out a wrapped present for Kevin and I.  We tore the wrapping off in eager anticipation only to reveal a 2-year-old’s coloring book.  “Wow, thanks.”

At this point I dreamed waking up.

I awoke and groggily reached for my iPhone with which to record my dream.  I tried unlocking it, but the screen refused to illuminate and I struggled to see the keypad.  Eventually I got it working and set to record a voice memo detailing the dream I just had about baseball and receiving a lame coloring book.  I simultaneously called up Melanie and told her about it.

Then I really woke up and was confused as hell.  Had I already recorded this dream?  Why did I tell Melanie about it?  What the hell is going on?

I was brought in to interview Charlie Sheen.  We met late at night, outside an upscale hotel downtown.  We went inside and took the elevator up to a floor that wasn’t open yet.  The only people there were employees working after hours.  They were playing miniature golf, so we joined in.

After our game of mini-golf we started the interview over dinner.  Sheen had Chinese.  He used his chopsticks to dip what seemed to be rice balls into sauce and then into his mouth.  After he chowed down on a few I noticed they were in fact balls of cocaine.

“So how are you doing?” I asked.

He chomped on another ball of cocaine and replied, “I’m wearing a fucking Joe DiMaggio Bronx Bombers jersey.  How do you think I’m doing?”

After the interview we strolled down the city streets.  I spotted Steven and waved him to come over.  Sheen turned to Steven and shot lightning bolts out of his fingers, blasting holes into my friend.  Steven fell to the ground in a bloody mess.  I cried until the ambulance arrived.