Pre-match anxieties--real and imagined

It would be nice to think that when I sleep, I dream of liaisons with Victoria's Secret models, but as last night attests, this is not (well, at least not always) the case, as I had what can only be described as a prophetic vision regarding today's exhibition versus Germany. The details are a tad hazy, but went something like this: Germany goes up an early goal (by, I think, Ballack) and adds a second before halftime. After the interval, they ease up, letting us pull one back. In a dramatic final move, a mazy run up the flank results in a pass and brilliant shot at the death to even the score. It ends 2-2, to our elation and to German frustration. Even in the sober light of day, this scenario doesn't seem terribly unreasonable. I can imagine the Germans pouring it on early, then taking their foot off the gas once they feel they've got a comfortable lead. And I can see us finally getting our heads together late on and pulling a couple goals back. Of course, the plausibility of this is belied by the fact that the dramatic late run to set up the final goal was made by non-roster player John O'Brien, and the player he passed to for the otherworldly game-tying final shot was, um, me. Hey, it's my dream, I can have it any way I want.

Anyway, when I awoke from my moment of imagined glory, I learned the sobering news that the power had gone out in my apartment building. Calls to the super proved useless. He once took over a week to respond to an emergency gas-leak situation, and when I rang him today he didn't even have his voicemail on. Normally, this is hardly an emergency: maybe I have to throw out some spoiled food, eventually I reset the electric clocks, nothing of major importance. However, today was different: no electricity meant no TiVo, and no TiVo meant no game. I'd be disappointed not to have a DVR-saved version of the telecast, since that would prevent me from watching the highlights over and over, but this emergency had an even darker side. Without TV access, I couldn't see the game live, and since I live in one of the bleakest most distant parts of Chicago (Hyde Park--"where fun goes to die"), this meant that I had to make emergency arrangements even to see the game live. A series of frantic calls to friends ensued (everyone at work, no place for me to see the mid-afternoon game), but then while I was looking up public venues, I heard the hum of the fridge. It had never sounded so sweet--the power was back on and all was right with the world, with a mere two hours til game time.