Saturday, February 25, 2017

The Knicks were in a playoff game, and winning it, thanks to a short white guy who had become an unlikely standout. I was watching the game on TV at some bar. Then the dream was about the player: he belonged to some Christian sect, like Mormonism or Jehovah’s Witnesses or something. It required him to live an austere life and to be completely honest at all times. His wife had mixed feelings about this, and it was unclear whether they were together anymore.

Bob Dylan was playing guitar on a street corner. He sang a blues. It was a you-done-me wrong kind of blues, sung to a woman. I can’t remember the first two lines, but the third was: “You better get up in your spaceship and go.”

Chris Hayes was my new supervisor at work, or teacher at school. He pointed out some distinction between Trump and John F. Kennedy. “That’s not the only difference,” I said, and he laughed, and I was pleased that I’d made such a witty remark.

The UConn Huskies women’s team was about to play Syracuse. In my dream that was the last team to beat them, which isn’t actually true. There was some fanfare before the game, because the Huskies are who they are and because Syracuse are their rivals. Various assistant coaches were recognized and stood up to acknowledge the crowd. The coaches were invited to take the remaining few minutes before the game for final preparations. Jim Calhoun was there for some reason. He huddled with the other Husky coaches and began diagramming furiously; who covers who, where they go, and so on. The scene took place in what looked like a university lecture hall, not a sports arena. I spoke from across a few rows to J.L. about how much we hate the Oscars, and he introduced me to a Dutch person who felt the same way.