I'm quarterbacking a flag football team. A tiptoe-on-the-sideline catch by the athletic secretary at my old school impresses teammates. An over-the-middle pattern to a character actor whose name I forget has us knocking on the door. Former Denver Bronco Rick Parros is upset that I'm not throwing him the ball. He's wearing gold chains (and I remember his hair with surprising accuracy). I am the ultimate field general, diagramming plays on my stomach, and someone is always open. On the goal line, I send everyone to the sideline except teammate Walter Payton. The rusher blitzes, and Payton sneaks in behind him in the end zone. I lollipop the Nerf over the rusher to Walter Payton. There's nobody within 15 yards of him.
He juggles, then drops, the Nerf football.
I'm incredibly angry at Walter Payton. This was a sure touchdown. He apologizes repeatedly, but I'm not sure his heart is in it.
I gather in all of my teammates for the second down play.
I wake up.