Worshipers of the Church know that I have strange dreams pretty often. Last night was no exception. I can't remember exactly why I was standing in an apartment building looking out a window in the hallway - the hallway was lined with windows - but I think it had something to do with waiting to scream at someone who lived in the building, for I was very angry for some reason. It certainly was not because it was Cal Ripken Jr.'s building, even though I stood in front of his door. While I was standing there, Ripken came out talking on a cellphone. The very odd thing was that not only did he have hair, but he had long, gray hair. He wore a suit with no tie and looked like he had just come from Miami.
My mind raced through all of the Ripken things I own that I wished I had with me then - a 1983 Topps Rookie Card, a specially issued Rawlings Major League Baseball used in the game he broke the consecutive games record, and a beer stein in the German style commemorating The Streak (yeah, I really have all of those things). Then I thought of anything I had on me that he could sign. I had a baseball in my backpack (I have contemplated carrying a ball in my bag in case I ever run into a Nationals player somewhere in DC), but in the end I just decided to leave him alone. He got off the phone and I walked past him, saying something polite but pretending I didn't know who he was.
Update: I had forgotten until just now that when Ripken came out, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's song Yankee Go Home was coming from his apartment. What a perfect song for the Orioles (or Red Sox or any other team that plays the Evil Empire) to play.
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