The Giants and your subconscious

It's not enough that you have to deal with baseball three to five hours every day, your brain shovels more at you when you're sleeping. Let's talk each other through it.

Talking about your dreams is like talking about your fantasy baseball team. And if you have a dream about your fantasy baseball draft ... you have to keep that crap bottled up like it's that fire in the third grade. Nothing can be gained from making it public now.

But like most things, it's interesting when I do it. Really, though, if this site is Giants-nerdy enough to talk about Brett Pill for several hours a day, there should be a monthly repository for Giants-related dream psychoanalysis. Most of us are past the healthy-obsession tipping point, which means we'll have dreams about baseball and the Giants.

Let's talk about those dreams once a month or so. Well, if y'all don't hate this initial entry, that is. Maybe every other month? Never? We'll see.

Really, though, I need psychoanalysis help with mine before I forget it. And it beats talking about the waking-life Giants right now.

I'm at Candlestick for a Giants game, sitting in the upper deck between third base and the foul pole. It's near the end of the game, and I'm almost done with my post-game thread. I think the Giants are winning, but I'm not sure. I know there's time before the end of the game to get a bite to eat, so I leave with an unnamed companion. I don't recognize him. He's a quiet 20-something.

We leave and go to some hip organic-themed cafe. He stays in the car and rifles through my CDs before setting on Johnny Cash. I get food in a sack and we head back to the Giants game. When we get to our seats, we notice people going the other way, toward the exits. The scoreboard still says it's the seventh inning. What gives?

Someone says, "Oh, man, you didn't hear?" and nods to his left. The section next to us is completely demolished -- a heap of dirt and rubble that extends down all the way onto the field. There was some kind of avalanche, and the stadium is ruined. The sections to the left and right aren't affected, but the field is ruined. My dream brain immediately registers that this means half the season will be cancelled.

As I leave Candlestick, I say loudly to my companion, "Oh no, this means they'll have to play at Candlestick now," and I realize that I was at AT&T Park the whole time.

It was kind of Planet of the Apes, to be honest. YOU ANIMALS.

I go back to get my laptop, which is under a seat down the aisle, and a Dodgers fan steps on it on his way out. He looks up sheepishly and says, "Sorry," but all I'm wondering is why I'm keeping my laptop under someone else's seat down the aisle.

So that's my dream. It's no Darryl Strawberry playing KISS songs on an oboe, but it was enough to shake me long after I woke up.

Now you. Which one of you is having weird pudding dreams starring Jean Machi? C'mon, level with us. This is a safe place. Talking about dreams in other threads is tacky. But doing it in this one? Encouraged.

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