Welcome To My Nightmare

For years now, as the sun sets in the Arizona sky, when "Suupper's reeaadyyy" cascades across countless southwestern ranchettes, the walls of my stucco castle reverberate with less welcoming wails.  

"Luuuuvvvvverboyyy's ooonnnnn!", my wife derisively yelps.

"Daaaddy! Time to see your booooyyyfriend", the preteen giggles.

And so, I, the ostensible king of this casa, sheepishly trudge to the family room, where the TV is inevitably tuned to ESPN's Baseball Tonight and the source of my humiliation, the object of my lampooned "affection" - Peter Gammons.

Now, I do like Peter. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It seems everybody, including my family, thinks Peter's terrific. So, the fact that I enjoy his body - of work I mean - hardly makes me a target for ridicule.   

The only reason I get broiled at home is because, one too early morning, before I had recaptured my senses from slumber, I told my wife that (god, this was such a dumb thing to say) ...I told my wife about a...(geez, I'm an idiot)...I confided to my wife that I...(dont EVER confide to your wife)...aw, he11...I told her I HAD A DREAM about Peter Gammons!

Why, it... seems... like... just... yesterday...[fade to spectacular farmhouse on rolling hill, cue chimes] when Peter graciously hosted me one crisp spring morn at the sprawling grounds of his New England estate, for no conceivable reason. We chatted from Adirondack chairs Gammons had lovingly turned from northern white ash. I complimented him about how he tended the property and he volunteered that I wrote well. Imagine that! Maybe he was just being nice - but I remain steadfastly open to alternative diagnoses. I awoke, gleeful and chatty, and honestly dont remember much else.

My wife, however, wont let me forget. That her husband of fourteen years dreamt of a sportswriter is, somehow, perversely funny to her.  She thinks I ought to dream about our future, vats of dark chocolate, or, if one can even imagine, her.

Well, I may be married, but I'm not dead.

Take my advice and visit this farm of Peter's if you find yourself wandering New England way. I can vouch that, one on one, Peter's even nicer than he appears on TV, and his fields are well kept - as are all proper dreams.