Literally every night for the last two weeks I’ve dreamed that I and another woman or two have broken down the sex barrier in baseball and made a professional team. Every dream is different. The settings are different. The teams are different. The people are different. Each dream also usually includes a man I know from real life, who isn’t a baseball player in the waking world, but in the dream is also on the team with me.
Last night’s dream had me trying out for the Cincinnati Reds as a catcher. This is the first time in the dreams that I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through final cuts and actually make the team. Andy, who I worked with for a week last year on a youth retreat to Hinton Rural Life Center, was clearly going to be the starting catcher.
I usually have a softball dream or two this time of the year, a dream that I’m late for a game and stuff keeps happening to keep me from getting there. Stuff like needing to put in my contacts, but they’re the size of breast implants. Or I’m lost. Or a flood happens.
Softball season is imprinted in my brain after all this time, even though I haven’t played in six years. But I don’t remember having any baseball dreams before. And I’ve never had a dream that has recurred every night for weeks.
I wonder what this is all about. My brain is full of mysteries!
Sunday morning was cold and rainy. I had thought about going into Savannah for a trolley tour of the city, but I decided I just wanted to get home. I walked in the rain across the street from Ocean Plaza over to The Breakfast Club for a waffle and their hand-made sausage, went back to my room, fed the seagulls from my balcony and then headed out. But I knew there was one more place I had to stop for pictures before I got to the expressway. The beauty, wonder and joy of baseball knows no season!
Fort Pulaski National Monument is located on Cockspur Island between Savannah and Tybee Island, Georgia. It preserves Fort Pulaski, where in 1862 during the American Civil War, the Union Army successfully tested a rifled cannon, the success of which rendered brick fortifications obsolete. The fort was also used as a prisoner-of-war camp. The National Monument includes most of Cockspur Island (containing the fort) and all of adjacent McQueens Island.”
I kept trying to figure out what I was enjoying so much about the broadcast of this World Series. I was thinking, “I really like that Harold Reynolds. And I’ve always enjoyed Joe Buck. And I don’t know much about Tom Verducci, but he seems OK.”
And then I realized it. There’s no Tim McCarver anymore. Praise Jesus! God is a baseball fan.