Song: “Bleed the Dream” — Broken Wings
Mood: Somewhere between reverie and incubus
Everyone is saying that the Eagles, through free agent machinations and general wheelings and dealings, have assembled a “dream team“.
Mull on that term for a second.
The suggestion is that, were one to drift into slumber, that the roster, as currently composed, would be the stuff of most delirious, unchecked fantasy. An assemblage of players untrammeled by even the most basic limitations of reality. Taken together, they would offer a blissful escape to any who would so much as regard them with plain eyes.
But whose dreams ever truly conform to their deepest desires? None that I’ve had, to be sure. Yet that’s what always represented to us in Hollywood depictions. More often than not, however, dreams comprise a window looking onto our sharpest anxieties, our greatest fears. If anything, a dream team would be frustrating as any other that Eagles fans have suffered through. Maybe even more so.
So I cringe when I hear that the Eagles refer to themselves as a dream team. I gather myself in a fetal position on my bed and I listen to The Smiths. I wrap my arms in wrist bands from wrist to elbow to prevent the wrath of a wayward blade. I quake for my mother’s touch.
In the end, I will force myself to be brave. Adding Dominique Rodgers-Cromartie, Ronnie Brown and Nnamdi Asomugha to the roster of what was already a playoff team is a good thing. A very good happy thing. A joyous thing that I should not question, as much as I would like to. A thing that I should embrace as a sign of fortune’s overdue swing in my favor.
Much as I hesitate to admit it, this could be a signpost that the days of the following are behind us:
And that this is giving way to what’s to come:
If this is indeed a brave new world, I am hoping that it is more than a dream. More than an Inception onion to be peeled. I am dreaming that it is the beginning of a new reality. One where a person need not escape into dreams for pleasure. Or shrink from dreams for fear that dreams speak too much of the self. Basically, to dream of a dream that grants simple pleasure without a reminder of the struggle.
In other words, the championship shall be drugs. With more potency than the ones I’ve already used to escape the world.