Years, as many as twenty, ago, I dreamed that Golf Digest had managed to get the USGA to allow a subscriber, drawn completely at random, to play in the U. S. Open.
I was the lucky winner and arrived at the course, not identifiend in my dream, to tee it up with the world's best. I was remarkably calm in the dream and when my name was called I teed it up. Then when I addressed the ball and looked down the fairway for a target all I could see was trees. Like the Light Brigagde I had trees to the left, right, and in front of me. And I mean right in front of me. Nothing but trees and growing impossibly close together.
I kept looking for the fairway while all those around me were growing impatient. I was told to play and I asked "Where's the fairway." "There," several voices replied. This exchange went on several times until I increasingly desparate, asked "Where, I can't see it."
"Well,' one voice spoke offering clarification, "It is kind of narrow."
I never did get to tee off in my one and only opportunity to play in the U. S. Open.
My wildest sports dream involved football. I was playing for WVU against Maryland and on one of the last plays of the game we blocked a punt and recovered it for a a go ahead touchdown. The resultant celebration was so prolonged the referees were ejecting players left and right. I was trying to get my teamates off the field because I knew there was still time for a kickoff, and that a return for a touchdown would tip the game back to Maryland. When all the dust and yellow flags had settled I was left with only two teamates to cover the kickoff. I pleaded with the referees and they agreed to let us use two cheerleaders as well on the coverage team.
As is the case with so many of my dreams I moved on to something else and so never got around to the kickoff.