Just when you think that you have the edge in pitching over the vaunted Evil Empire, the Yankees go out and trade for Javier Vazquez. This will be the 2nd go-round in the Bronx, but he is a staple for 200 innings, and really stabilizes that 3rd slot in their starting rotation. But the problem with this is the player they traded away: Melky Cabrera. Trading Melky means that they no longer have a left fielder since they have all but severed ties with Johnny Damon. As far as I know there are 2 marquis free-agent left fielders left in the open market, and now the Yankees have an opening, but do they have the gall to go above the 5 or 6 year offer at 15-16 mil per? Odds are they do, but will they?
I'm a big believer in the underlying nature of dreams. So I would LOVE for someone to explain my latest theatrical production in my head from last night. To preface, I fell asleep last night watching this program on Sir Isaac Newton and his pursuit of being a Nostradamus-esque character by trying to find hidden clues in the bible for Armageddon (great show by the way). The style was that it sort of bounced from era to era finding the dates that Isaac Newton pegged as the critical points in the demise before the resurrection of Christ.
Now, onto the dream. It sort of started with some of the big events that I have seen in my lifetime. The first was the Oklahoma City Bombings. This was by and large the worst attack on US Soil until the Sept. 11 cowardice attacks 6 years later. And I was thrust in as the officer that pulled Timothy McVeigh over shortly after he had just set off his van in front of the building that killed over 160 people. As I was driving I noticed a car without a license plate and had no idea of the ramifications that would follow.
The next instance was the Columbine shooting. And instead of being the "hero" I was the spineless antagonist, Eric Harris. See the thing is, I was 10 when this happened and I couldn't remember the names of these guys if you tasered me, so for me to know that I was Eric Harris is very strange. All I remember from this particular part of the dream was coming into a library yelling peek-a-boo and shooting anything that moved or was attempting to be concealed. When I woke up my nose was killing me, I'm not sure why, but just for shits and giggles I looked up this ordeal and it told me that Eric Harris broke his nose from a recoil on his shotgun. Creepy.
The final thing was something that was not real. It was a complete fabrication of anything and have absolutely no idea why my mind concocted it, but I was riding in a car to go meet a still alive Michael Jackson. And I'm going down a dark, windy road (supposedly Neverland) and I pull up to the front of the palace and there are no lights almost pitch black. When I open my door and step out of the car a spotlight highlights The King of Pop sitting in a lawn chair with his hands behind his back. The next thing I recall is him moonwalking towards me and clubbing me over the head with a crowbar.
This is BY FAR the most creepy dream that I have ever had and would REALLY like for someone that has an opinion (other than my insanity) to tell me what the hell is going on in my Cabeza.
Stay Tuned
Ryan
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