Monday, November 17, 2003

Knight Rider

I rarely have dreams about famous people.  I did have one a few nights ago, but don’t remember too much of it.  I was in a small cramped room with Bobby Knight, the boorish assaultive college basketball coach.  For international readers, he’s got a reputation built over a career of decades for hitting players, throwing chairs onto the court during games, and generally being a gaping flamer of the highest magnitude.  I don’t care much about basketball, and I care much less than that for Bobby Knight, but there he was in my dream, looking like he was doing a razor commercial.  Then again, so did I, in my european-cut shirt and a pair of sharp new black chinos.  I was trying to deal with something in the corner of this cramped room, and Bobby Knight (I can only refer to him by both names, otherwise he could be Bobby McFerrin or KnightRider) is standing right by my side.  I bend over a low table to pick up something and Bobby Knight slaps my ass and tells me approvingly, “That’s nice and firm.” That’s all I recall from this dream. 

He didn’t feel me up.  I was not excited by this dream, but this is the only part of it I remember.  I do recall, in the dream, thinking, “what the hell is Bobby Knight doing here, and why would he be slapping my ass, much less expressing an opinion about it?”

I think I need to go hunting or blow something up.  Quickly.