Last night, in my sleep, an overpaid college football coach turned my mattress into astro turf and set his team loose. Their shirts were ablaze with color advertising - men's products and magazines and an odd porn website. On their backs were numbers, but they would change. Sometimes seven-digits, and others two or three. One of the coaches, I think the seventh assistant fullback coach, told me that the numbers represented the first year salary player, should he make the nfl, the player's sat score and iq. A trained seal rushed to the aid of an injured player, who's ear was ripped off by a lion who vaguely resembled Mike Tyson. Gunned agents bullied to the player's aid, his shirt said Obama. I later learned that he was refused medical attention because he had no health insurance. Seven dancing sheep, known as the embraceable ewes entertained at halftime.
The air was sweet perfume.
Later, several players had to explain the white curly hairs to their mothers.