Posted on 03/05/2003 10:40:19 PM PST by The Drowning Witch
Last night I had a dream.
I saw myself as the young man I once was, when every possibility was hanging like heavy ripened fruit from the Tree of my Life, a-swing and begging me only to pluck it and sink my teeth into it, letting the juice run down my chin in rivers. It was Spring, and I was auditioning for a play with thousands of other hopeful souls, and every face I cast my gaze upon looked into eyes as bright and gulieless as my own. The parts were few. And all of of us wanted more than life itself to get onstage, even for a mere walk-on role in The Show.
And still I dreamed...I dreamt of those who were good, but perhaps not quite good enough. Their desire was great, but sometimes the wanting of a thing to be, just won't make it be. Happy are those that come to the place where they accept the knowin' of this cruel thing, bereft and empty are those who cannot. I saw these poor souls in my dream...and I wept for them.
And still I dreamt on...I saw the eternal cynic, and he was of many faces. And his faces were as the faces upon all the sides of a pair of dice, rattling around in the palm of the Hand of Fate. He was beseeching me to cast his die, to give him peace and choose his future for him. But I could not.
And still I dreamt on...I saw a naked man, running as if the very teeth of every demon of Hell were a-gnaaw at his very heels. A-clench'ed in his fist was a parchment, and upon it was writ what will come to pass. I begged him to see what was writ, but he shrugged me off, with the strength of the mad and the driven, fixed his empty gaze into me eyes, and whispered in a swooping hiss, breathless, exhausted:
"Follow me. We will see the end together."
And then he ran on, and disappeared into the shimmering heat and swirling dust.
And then, my friends...I awoke.
And I prayed. I prayed for every minor leaguer who didnt make it to the Show this year. I prayed for the ones who knew enough to chase a different dream before they were devoured by the one they could not achieve. I prayed for the eternal fan of the Grand Old Game. God help me, I prayed for the hapless hacks who hold hostage my hopes and dreams for a baseball team I have lived and died with for the last 25 years.
But most of all my friends...I say a prayer for Phiddippides. It was he who ran from the plains of Marathon, delivered his message...and promptly died. I consider him the Patron Saint of Baseball, He Who Ran Until He Dropped.
Or perhaps Saint Jude...The Patron Saint of the Lost Cause, particularly relevant lately...if you happen to be a Braves fan...
But as usual I digress....
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