Padres Dream Diary: Bud Black, Whiskey, Social D and two first baseman's mitts

Denis Poroy

I rarely ever have dreams I can remember but I woke up today from a really strange one. If I had to attribute it to something, I'd have to say it was the melatonin I took to get to sleep. The stuff gives me bizarre dreams and makes me feel hungover when I wake up but sometimes you find yourself staring at the walls as the sun comes up and something has to be done. That's how I ended up in spring training for the Padres.

That's right. My puny, no-talent self was in spring training for the Padres in this scenario. The first thing that I can remember was hanging up my shirts and hats in my locker when, of all people, Pedro Ciriaco walked up. "You didn't have to do that," he laughed. "You know they give us all that stuff, right?" The dream cuts forward and I'm taking ground balls at second base and fly balls in the outfield because even in my dreams it's imperative that everyone on the team be able to play just about anywhere. Bud Black took me aside and told me that he wanted to give me some reps at first base but I didn't have the mitt for it. Knowing that I'm ambidextrous, he told me to come back the next day with two first baseman's mitts so he could see if I was better lefty or righty.

Next thing I know, I'm back in my old hometown, getting drunk and creating a cloud in my little brother's old conversion van that he hasn't had for almost a decade. We cruised around and stopped at the park where we used to drink and smoke hippie cabbage as teenagers. I was huddled behind a large tree, trying to stay out of sight as I turned up a bottle of Evan Williams. My best friend Tyler then informed me that there was no reason to hide because there was a new police chief in town and he was "cool". This actually isn't that farfetched because Ravenswood is basically Hazzard County; if you're on their good side you can do whatever you want. We just never happened to be on their good side.

It was at right about this point that I remembered my assignment from Bud Black, so Tyler and I started walking to the only store in that one horse town that might even possibly sell first baseman's mitts. When we got there, I saw my friend Emily talking to an energetic guy who looked to be in his late-thirties. She introduced him as the aforementioned police chief. After exchanging pleasantries, I started to head in the store.

"Hey, since you're going in there anyway, could you grab my CD for me?" asked the chief. "I left it at the service desk."

"Sure thing," I replied. "What is it?"

He answered "White Light, White Heat, White Trash" and I got all excited and told him that Social Distortion is my favorite band (which it is, in real life as well as dreams). He told me he figured it was because of the Social D tattoo on my neck. As I was walking to the service desk, I remember seeing a huge 50 pound bag of yogurt pretzels and then felt a twinge of the bubblegut. I took a detour to the men's room and as soon as I sat down I woke up. And, man, I have never had to unleash the brown fury as bad as I did then.

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