Please. Believe I’m teetering myself between intrigue and not caring. I can’t say I’ve ever been a baseball fan. It has been, to me, a bit like watching paint dry. Plus, I don’t drink beer. I’ve lost a lot of friends saying those two things out loud and in that order. Yes. I’ve set this post up in this way. Even at the risk of forever turning future husband, Matt Kemp, off to me for good. I do this for a very good reason. To make a very important point. Duh.
I had a dream. I would like to say MY dream was even a smidgen as compelling as MLK’s blockbuster. And yet, I won’t know until I share it. Shall I?
My dream was actually a movie. Serious. I couldn’t tell if I was watching the movie or in it. But I’ll assume I was watching it because I had no speaking parts. The dream felt a lot like I imagine how Scrooge felt being dragged about time at the hand of those awful spirits to witness his treachery as it played out in other people’s lives. Boooo.
So in my dre-ovie er…mream…er…involuntary picture show with dialogue by people I do not know– the whole deal played out like this:
The lead character was a brown haired woman who apparently wanted to play baseball. She and this blonde haired lady traveled around the country in hopes of meeting this baseball player (that the brown haired woman didn’t recognize once she finally met him *shrug*). He was gorgeous, dark haired and played for the “LA Angels”. <It’s a dream movie–go with it.> He was also profound, apparently. When she finally caught up with him at a diner, she was trying to reason with him that she was awesome. So she showed him her baseball sizzle reel so he could see how good she was. But he rebuffed her, saying something to the affect of “So what. Do you know how many people can do that too? You have to broaden your perspective.” He said these words rather curtly and then got up and left the two women sitting at the table looking rather foolish. But the brown haired lady wasn’t finished. She took that foolish feeling and did something rather fly with it. Apparently, whilst she was traveling the country looking for this guy (who turned out to be like every other asshole in baseball who was impossible to recognize up close). During her journey, she had interviewed a whole bunch of amazing baseball players who were women. And they were fly. Most of these women were of color and play baseball with a unique perspective on how the game is played and won. AND they all had unique baseball hats which was uber cool. They all had uniforms, but were functionally unique. It was baseball in a woman’s world. Fully. It was baseball for women, by women. It wasn’t some hunkered down version the game the guys play. It was truly a unique, compelling version of the same game. Down to the uniforms.
This is one of those times I wish I could take pictures of what’s happening in my brain, particularly my dreams. They are quite vivid. Plus, it would be easier to write the movie later. Anyway.
I woke up shortly after the one black lady with a really cool baseball hat finished sharing her perspective. I can’t remember what she said, but I imagine her perspective went something like this.
Protester: It’s always been done the way it is now.
Baseball Player: So what.
Protester: But you’ll ruin it. Don’t you worry that people will think you’re ruining it?
Baseball Player: Ruining it for who, you? So what.
Protester: Nobody wants to watch this.
Baseball Player: How do you know? Are you everybody or nobody?
Protester: I’m protesting.
Baseball Player: Okay AND So what.
You can almost see the Black lady with her dry indifference sending a chill through the bones of the person challenging her. But in my dream it was nothing like that. This woman I was watching in the movie in my head was warm, vibrant and passionate. And a woman of few words. She was a woman of action. She loved baseball. But coming up in her small town she wasn’t allowed to play with the boys. And she didn’t like the uniforms much anyway. In time she met other girls like her who wanted to play baseball in their own way. So they created their own league and along with it, designed their own uniforms, including their own baseball hats. I have to admit, the whole ensemble was fly. Functional. And nothing like anything you would probably create in your own head.
I think the key to what was going on in my dream was that these women–who turned out to have a WORLD LEAGUE– didn’t do that separate but equal thing that we Americans seem to think is so noble and just. They created a whole new league that only they would fit in. So rather than protest admission into the bullshit that didn’t want them in their club, they started their own and it thrived. They started their own and made it their own. I never understood why people protest that stuff. But they do. It’s like they don’t want you to have theirs and they don’t want you to have yours either. And to that, the baseball player said simply, “so what”.
This dream was significant for me in part because it was highlighting a lesson through a sport that I don’t normally follow. It was showing me something in my own life that I have been unwilling to see. That we as a collective have yet to take full ownership of. We are innovators. If “they” don’t want us in their club. If “they” don’t want to produce our movies. If “they” don’t want to create our WORTHY television programming. If “they” don’t want us to be a part of anything they claim to be theirs… all we gotta do is get a few “girls” together and create own… WORLD LEAGUE.
If “they” tell us we can’t, we’ll tell them: “First of all, So What. And secondly, we’re taking the advice of some asshole baseball player from one of Envy’s head dreams and broadening our perspective.” That’ll get em. Interestingly enough, with all of that said, I had zero idea I was even looking for baseball (that whole watching paint dry thing was a clue). Apparently, though, I found it. Hear that Matt Kemp?
The moral of this story? Ummmmmm…. nope. No idea. Just some food for thought. Thank you for reading this though. Peace and Abundant “pick your team” blessings. Love, -e-