It's a bit of a late start this morning. Good thing it's a Friday, as I'm having problems getting started. Mostly, it took me a while to shake a bad dream I had last night.
The whole thing started innocently enough. I was me as "just some guy", living the life, la de da, and all that. Then I was informed I would be coaching a football game against Urban Meyer. I remember the moment at which I was told, and thinking, "Why does something like this happen to me? Why would I have to coach against Urban Meyer? Why me?"
The game was scheduled for late morning, or early afternoon. The setting wasn't Lincoln, Nebraska, nor anything like it. There really wasn't a stadium, more like it was a high school field with a smattering of small offices around, concessions, storage, the typical smattering you'd find at a small town football field.
An hour or so before the game was to start, helicopter gunships attacked the area. Mostly they attacked me. They were just like those damned things in Battlefield 3, the ones that swoop in and destroy your M1 Abrams or your T-90 with you being pretty much being unable to do anything about it.
I hate those damned things. I can't fly them, and when I try I run straight into the ground in about 10 seconds. If the other guy has a mike, he's yelling "idiot!" or worse. I still try sometimes, so, hey, if you happen to be playing Battlefield 3, don't get into a helicopter piloted by "cornblight". Your life will be short.
The gunships destroyed my office, and then destroyed all the buildings in the area. They chased me down a never-ending dream road, bullets spraying at my feet, gravel flying into my face creating chaos.
Thing was, I wasn't terrified of the gunships at all. All the while running down that road I kept thinking "I have to coach against Urban Meyer! I have to coach against Urban Meyer!"
At one point, I saw myself running. It was a gorgeous scene, actually. Gunships swooping back and forth, fires from the buildings, smoke in the air, except for my destination - a beautiful green football field with a building still intact where I was supposed to meet the media.
I know you're probably wondering - so what happened in the game? Fortunately I never got that far. The last thing I remember was standing in a media room, still covered in dust and my own blood from the gunship attack.
About 20 or 30 media guys asked the same question simultaneously.
"What do you think about coaching against Urban Meyer?"
I didn't answer. I was shaking, filled with dread.
Then I woke up.