He Can Dream, Can't He?
I can see it in my mind’s eye - a gentle, almost graceful man, perhaps a dancer living somewhere in the roughneck wilds of Idaho, who reads the sorrowful news of the sporting day and sighs while pulling his favorite deer ever closer. He closes his eyes, perchance to dream….
It’s five o’clock in the morning and the nightmare isn’t over. The prom dress lies ripped, torn, tattered in the corner – the big dance only a desperate memory now. Millions of thoughts race through his mind as he tries in vain to put order to an insane world. A world where heroes are fallen, not from mortal combat engaged with some equally matched foe, oh no…. but by the blasphemous calendar impaled upon the walls of our existence. It is like the screenplay to his own failure of a marriage, the princess watching in horror mixed with sadness, with a little bit of pathos thrown in as well, at the inevitable crumbing of her storybook life – the realization that the once and future king would not fare well in his final battle with old man time.
Fear not Adrian, for he will always love you. With a longing heart he thinks back to the time, when he first saw your face. You were walkin' across the delta, to your cold and lonely place. You know, he took you for a small girl, really not quite seventeen – but Oh, lord, Oh, Oh Lord, he was wrong, oh so wrong - You're like a strong safety he’s never seen. Dark eyed Cardinal safety, where are you coming from?
But more importantly where are you going to? Better not be the ****ing 49’ers.
He probably dreamt then about some symbolic stuff, like Hercules and his struggles with the Lion of Nemea or some dude flying too close to the sun – smart crap like that, stuff that we all know we should know, but unless we’re a frickin’ English professor or game show contestant - why on earth would we bother with learning this highbrow BS? Anyway, his dreams go on and on…and then on some more with visions of cookies attaching themselves to his slender, cellulite covered hips. Which is also symbolic, but Lord knows of what.
Then he’ll post this fevered dream on the internet and get his ass justifiably banned. And so it goes.
Anyway, Adrian, we will miss you. You don’t even know any of our names, but in a crazy, mixed up way you know of us and our little corner of insanity that is ASFN – and that’s all that counts. Thanks for the memories, buddy, and here’s to you – my favorite Cardinal ever – and that, for once, is no ****ing joke.
JTS
