Life is a Banquet : Field of Dreams

Caylis and I have this recurring fantasy:

We're playing Frisbee at the mammoth ball diamond field a block from our house. Suddenly, a talent scout appears out of nowhere. (The bleachers of a little league game perhaps?) . He watches Caylis, flying effortlessly through the air, pushing her head far out in front of her, like a cherry picker poised to grab the fruit, snatching the disc in midair and bringing it back in a smooth motion, ever ready to go again.

"You two are amazing," says the crusty old talent scout. (Clint Eastwood perhaps?) "Won't you play out field for me tonight?" (Or maybe Santa Claus?)

And we bask under the hot glow of the field lights, our jersey's crisp and sparkling. We make perfect play after perfect play. We are the Stockton and Malone of the out field. And the crowd roars its appreciation.

After the game, the talent scout comes back out onto the field and tells us "Now every team wants you. Name your price, we want to sign for the whole season." And Caylis, who plays for ice cubes and heaping praise, shows what she thinks of that idea by wandering off to sniff some weeds.

And I begin to laugh. I laugh loud and long, peals of glee filling the empty park. I laugh until my stomach hurts and I have to crumble to the dirt, a mass of tears streaming down my face and body-shaking laughter.

"No, I think we'd rather play by our selves, than play again with YOU," I manage.

And the girl picked last for every team in every gym class for 13 years to the audible groans of the team saddled with her ineptitude, whose lack of grace and uncoordination is legendary, struts off the field with her wonder dog. A winner at last.

*This fantasy has been sponsored by the Repetitive Stress Injuries From Frisbee Hurling Section of the Universal Chiropractors Association and by the Fine Folks down at Overpriced Frisbee Golf Drivers R Us*