I had a very vivid dream last night. And, sadly, I actually remember it this morning.
It started out with me going to my old high school to interview for a head football coaching position that had just opened up. Only an interview. Well, that's what I thought anyway.
I show up at what is decidedly not my old high school and, instead of being taken to an interview, I am led by my new secretary to my new office, which looks eerily like my old bedroom at my parents' house complete with all my old furniture, and am asked to set up what I felt would have been the ideal starting lineup for every sports team the school has offered for the last decade. "Wow," I thought. "And here I was just coming in for an interview and I've already got the job and it seems to be a bit more involved than just head football coach."
My brother, who is apparently my assistant coach, is there to help me sort through all the rosters, which are set up like Weight Watchers Points sliders -- a really cool idea that I should try to market, by the way -- only to discover that they are not complete. Several sports are missing in random years and there are oddball sliders thrown in such as one that determines nap periods throughout the day for specific athletes.
My brother and I sit on the bed and begin to compile a list of the missing roster/sliders when my old buddy, B, comes walking in. He's drunk and is treating my office as I viewed it upon entry, as my old bedroom. There is no realization on his part that he just came walking through a high school to get to it. Instead, he just plops down on the floor and regales me with tales of his drunken exploits with our mutual friend, J.
"You'll never guess how much our bar tab was," he says.
"You're probably right," I reply dismissively. "Why don't you just tell me."
"Let's just say it was a couple hundred dollars," he continues. "And it was all spent on just the two of us."
"Wow," I say offhandedly. "That's a lot of booze." And I continue making my list of missing rosters.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"C'mon," I say. "Let's take a walk."
My brother and I help B to his feet and we walk out. I'm trying to find a delicate way to tell him that I'm the new head football coach, a job he has always wanted and that we both realize I am way too underqualified to take.
We walk out the front door of the school to a dry dirt courtyard. On the other side of a low brick retaining wall is a line of people standing there obviously waiting to catch their first glimpse of the new coach. A few clap (thank you!) while some jeer and hiss and the rest stay silent.
"Wait a minute," B says as he turns to face me. "You're... us?"
"Um yeah," I reply.
All of a sudden all the old coaches, led by the former head coach -- a guy who, in real life mind you, has not been the coach of our school in several years -- come walking around the corner like an honor guard. My mind's eye starts panning down the line of coaches as they stand there facing me. Some are openly weeping. I'm not sure if this is because they are out of a job or because it's me taking over. The old head coach steps forward to hand me something. A passing of the guard, I suppose. I take the box of whatever from him and...
... I wake up.
Thank God. That could've been disastrous.
Totally Unrelated Aside (TUA): I know he's not my mayor, but I love Chicago Mayor Richard Daley. I know he's had his issues like any elected politician, but here is a man who knows how to handle the press. In a press conference (not sure if registration is required to view this article or not) regarding police misconduct charges and a push by the public to have the names of multi-charge offenders released, Daley replied to a question with, "We have a very good police department. You cannot say there are a few bad apples and write them off just like the media does.
"You [the media] have a few bad apples as well."
Considering the Amy Jacobson scandal just a couple weeks ago, his timing on that quip could not have been any better.
That man is my hero.