True story
As if the world needed any more evidence that soccer can be a sickness, here's one more piece to add to the pile.
Last night, I had this incredibly vivid dream. Somehow, Bob Bradley had discovered me and called me up to the senior national team for tonight's World Cup qualifier against Guatemala. It's still unclear how exactly he found this 32-year-old middling midfielder who failed to score a single goal in 18 games last season in a co-ed pick-up league in Brooklyn. But suffice it to say, Bob saw a speck of talent here and thought I could bring something unique to the squad.
So I flew down to Guatemala City, and it's about a half-hour before kickoff, and I realized I had forgotten my cleats and shinguards. I imagine in real-life there's probably an equipment manager who handles this for the men's national team, but it seemed perfectly logical in my dream that I would be expected to bring my own. Obviously, I was incredibly embarrassed by this gaffe, particularly since I had to wait for my mother to fly down with my shoes. The clock ticked. I was sweating bullets. Thankfully, at that point, I woke up, sparing myself the humiliation of trying to play in my stocking feet.
It's probably a bad idea to share one's dreams on a soccer blog, but I thought this one was funny. It could have been worse, right? It could have been Pia Sundhage calling me up to play against Brazil tomorrow.
- Tom Meagher
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