THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM

I watched it behind my very own eyes as I lay steaming in bed.

It was a rugby match.  Their team had hoofed the ball miles down into our half.  It was about to roll into touch when it was picked up by some Nerdy Bloke having a group picnic around a bench-type table on the pitch just inside the touchline.

(What do you make of that, Sigmund?)

Anyway, he tosses it like a girl would toss a beachball to another of his nerdy compadres on the other side of the table.

“YOU STUPID TWAT!” shouts someone on our team.  “That’s a forward pass!”  If we’d talked Astrophysics or something to him it might have registered.  As it was – nothing.

Then a few of us from each team join him and sit down at the table.

After chatting for a couple of minutes someone says, “We’d better get this scrum had”.  So three or four of us get up and start to lift the table out of the way.

“What you gonna do?” asks Nerdy Bloke.  “Have a shit under it?”

Well, we fell about laughing.

But here’s the thing: how come I as lead character in this dream didn’t see it coming and thought it so funny when I, as Dream-Maker fast asleep in bed, had thought it up?

The Impossible Dream, see?

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