From "The Cards of Unknown Players"
I dozed and dreamed again that Timothy was playing baseball. First, as a kid, his present age, ten years old, the best kid on his team, a pitcher with a fastball so mean, the other kids are scared to face him and always swing late. When he isn’t pitching, Timothy plays short. An all-star, naturally. A .500 hitter. Runs like the wind and is aggressive as hell. Reckless sometimes, too, a fierce competitor who hates to lose. Suddenly, he is older, almost a man, the star of his high school team, recruited by Arizona State and after four wild years helping them to four national championships, he is the first round draft choice of the New York Yankees. As a rookie shortstop, he hits .327 and is named Rookie of the Year. The next season, he is named to the All-Star team and the Yankees win the World Series for the first time in seventeen years. But I know I must be dreaming. It is impossible for him to do any of this. My son, Timothy, cannot even walk.