A baseball dream

I’ll write later this week about our Montreal weekend, which featured at least a couple of points of interest to baseballrelated fans, but today I’m busy with work, so I’ll just share the dream I had right before waking this morning.

I was dreaming about the Cubs/Marlins doubleheader today. The Marlins announced their starting lineup for game one:
Leading off: a sesame red bean ball
Batting second: a cute, furry kitten
Batting third: Stacey

I thought to myself, “But . . . but . . . but . . . those aren’t major-league ballplayers! The Marlins are throwing this game!”

Then I woke.
Now, I love eating a sesame rice ball, and I love petting a cute, furry kitten, and I love playing catch with Stacey. But my dream thought was right: none of those is a major-league-quality ballplayer.

Marlins should be announcing their starting lineup for game one in minutes. You heard it here first.

Original comments…

thatbob: Wait, were Mike Piazza and Ichiro Suzuki playing for the Expos, too? Because maybe they decided to field Stacey’s All Cuite Team for a change.

None of them may be major-league quality players (except Piazza), but any one of them (except Suzuki) could get me to switch my allegiance from the Cubs to the Expos. And I bet the cute, furry kitten pulls a lot of walks, but I doubt (s)he’s as good at fielding as a certain canine playing shortstop somewhere up in St. Paul.

Dan: You’re goddamn right about Snoopy.

stacey: aw bob, i’m not on the all cute team! that’s just silly.

levi, i have to say that i’m disappointed it that it took the mention of MY NAME to bring you to your senses. sure, a sesame ball can lead off, followed by a furry kitten. but once they mention your wife, you suddenly realize it’s a bad idea?

thatbob: Stace, I just figured you’d be the manager of your All Cute Team, which I think means you could put yourself in if the situation, or cuteness, required.

Levi: I think it was Cap Anson (and if it wasn’t, it should have been) who a couple of times, as player/manager, announced himself as entering a ballgame just in time that he could hop off the bench and catch a foul popup that was headed his way.

Rules–those damnable things–now prevent such action.

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