I had a dream last night that the Phillies signed Josh Hamilton, but the Nashville Predators matched the offer and we lost him. Then, at his introductory press conference, he was wearing the face-breaking Shea Weber shirt I had set to launch once he was a Flyers. The audacity!
I was so angry I threw a Hot Pocket at the television, and then the Nag yelled at me, and then I told her not to worry because it was a stupid ham & cheese one not pepperoni or meatball or anything, and then she yelled at me for thinking she was mad at wasting a Hot Pocket as opposed to launching it at a pricey household electronic device.
But yes, the dream, what does it mean? As far as I can tell, two things:
Thing Number One
I apparently don't even care if signing Josh Hamilton is a financially prudent or sound strategic move- if it's a mistake, to put it a way- I just want the Phillies to do it because of the holy butt factor! Yes, I realize how dumb that statement is, and acknowledge that in not-a-dream mode there's potentially (a little) more nuance to the desire. But screw it, I'm not above saying I want it to happen because he's the best guy our there and he kills baseballs and why the heck not? The thrill in that moment when you push the entire pile of chips to the center of the table, when you're leaving the bar with someone you've known for an hour, when you start making pizza skis down your first black diamond is rooted largely in the risk involved. It's exciting because your big dumb face knows that you're potentially on the precipice of a major mistake... but the alternative is an even bigger score- and there's no in-between.
Thing Number Two
I really, really miss hockey. But if it doesn't happen this year, I'm going to throw a party when the stupid Nashville Predators have to write a $13M check to Shea Weber on July 1, 2013.
Thing Number Three
I didn't even have a Thing Number Three but it just dawned on me. Josh Hamilton's potentially awful contract is a freebie to Philiadelphia, because we aren't responsible for Shea Weber's. We never bet our rent on him. We never went back to his dorm. We never let him lead us down Devil's Fiddle. This is house money.
BOOM, GET IT DONE RUBEN.