Had this dream last night. It was all quite realistic and dramatic.

It was a typical Summer day. Partly cloudy and warm. Our little-league baseball teams neared the end of our game. The score was 5 to 7, and my team was losing. It was the bottom of the last inning. There were two outs and a runner on first.

It was my turn to bat.

I wasn't the best hitter on my team, but I was certainly no slouch. Not known for my power, though I could certainly deliver it on occasion, I was more of a hitter than a slugger. I was third in the batting order.

I selected a fairly light bat, so that I might swing it quickly. Power wasn't what I was looking for. Not this time. This time I wanted bat-control. This time all I wanted to do was get on base, so Tony would get another chance to bat. And hit another home run. It would be his third of the day. If I could give him the opportunity.

I settled into the batter's box, far from the plate as always. I didn't like being pushed away from the plate, and I knew I could reach anything outside. I wasn't worried. This pitcher was a joke. I was 3 for 3 against him already. The first pitch was an overhead lob and, just as it was thrown, the Sun emerged from behind a cloud. The pitch was a called strike. I had to take the umpire's word for it, because I was temporarily blinded.

The second pitch was an obvious ball, in the dirt. I watched it bounce into the catcher's mitt, and I laughed. I was being kind of a dick, I suppose.

The third pitch was side-armed, low and inside, but certainly hittable. I saw the ball clearly. The ball was going bye-bye.

Chris, my teammate on first, took off as the pitch was thrown.

As it turned out, I only caught the top half of the ball. A slow grounder to third would really test my speed.

Chris was already at second when the third baseman got to the ball.

I barely beat the ball to first base, but it didn't matter, because the throw missed the first baseman and bounced to the pitcher covering behind him.

Oops.

Chris didn't slow down as he rounded second.

I took a few steps away from first base and taunted the pitcher as he quickly retrieved the ball. Yes, I was definitely being a dick.

He watched me, trying to gauge if he could tag me out or not. He completely forgot about my teammate until Chris scored, on a weak single, all the way from first.

Now it was 6 to 7. Still bottom of the ninth, still two outs, but now it was my lovely self on first.

I called timeout, and told Coach about being blinded by the sun on my first pitch. I said I was going to steal second, and count on the catcher being just as blinded as I'd been. Coach agreed. I needed to get into scoring position.

I took a long lead, and the pitcher glared me back to the base. I took an even longer lead, and the pitcher whipped around and threw the ball to...

the right-fielder, apparently.

I think he meant to throw it to the first baseman. It was, after all, where the first basemen would normally stand. But not when there's a runner on first who's threatening to steal second.

So the ball went into right field and, I could tell, would make it all the way to the fence before anyone got to it.

I took off, and made it all the way to third before the ball came back to the infield

It was still 6 to 7. It was still bottom of the ninth, and still two outs. But now I was on third.

I was very excited. I let out a loud woo-hoo and my team echoed that sentiment from their bench. The dick trifecta was complete.

The opposing team made a pitching change.

It was a girl!

She had a huge entourage with her. Family members, friends, members of the press. They filled the stands and lined up along both baselines. Many of them stood directly on the third baseline, completely blocking my view of the plate.

In fact, on the first pitch to Tony, I could only stand there and wonder if it had been a ball or a strike. I'd certainly heard no crack of the bat.

I called timeout again, and went and asked the home-plate umpire if he could ask the people on the baseline to move, because I could neither see the plate nor run to it, should the opportunity arise.

The umpire said, "No, you'll be fine. Play ball."

I was incredulous. I pleaded for him to move the people from the baseline, to at least give me and my team a chance.

The umpire said, "No, you'll be fine, those people can stay where they are. They just want to see their girl pitch."

So I did what any reasonable person would do. I borrowed the bat from Tony and I bashed the umpire's head into a bloody pulp.

What's one more than a trifecta, a superfecta?

Stepping over the umpire's body, and still carrying the bloodied bat, I went to the first base umpire. I asked him if he could make the people on the baselines move. He took at glance at the carnage at home plate, nodded meekly, and started shooing people away from the baselines.

Who says violence never solved anything?

I pitched the bat back to Tony, and started walking back toward third base. I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself. I'd driven in a run, and I'd turned a weak single into a triple. I'd given Tony another chance to bat. I'd given my team a chance to tie the game, or maybe even win it.

As I walked by the pitcher's mound, I nodded and smiled at the girl pitcher standing there. She was pretty cute. Probably a carpet-muncher, though.

Then I woke up.