I awoke in a sweat last night. Look around, quivered. Shook my head and laughed a little. It was just a dream meeting Brian Urlacher in a dark alley - just a dream and one of my biggest nightmares. After watching football for practically twelve hours every Sunday, it's not unusual that I dream of the sport. Often I'm suited up in the Colt's uniform, helmet, pads and all jumping up and down, a pea in the end zone, begging for Manning to throw me the ball. But he never throws me the ball and I argue with him on the sidelines. He towers over me, pats my shoulders and shakes his head like I should just know that he's never, ever going to throw me the ball, but I'm a good decoy. I lurch around my bed as I rush around the field in the dream, wake exhausted and refrain from telling too many people that practically every Sunday night I play for the Indianapolis Colts when I sleep and the guys on the team, they like me, they are sweet but I still don't get the ball.
Last night after watching Urlacher pummel Green Bay. I couldn't get that mammoth shaved skull and dark, seething eyes out of my head and one of the last things I remember saying before going to bed was, man I wouldn't want to meet Urlacher in a dark alley and I wouldn't want to be playing for anyone's O-line when they're up against him after a few weeks of losing. I can almost hear his feet thundering and heart pounding, when he leaps out of nowhere onto the likes of Brett Favre, Bubba Franks or Charles Woodson. He's omnipotent when perturbed,when his team's not up to snuff. He can turn any game around, nostrils flaring, eyes bulging. That's when all his moves appear slow motion and the grounds must start shaking with every one of his lunging steps. I wouldn't want to meet him again in a dark alley,conscious or not, or on the line of scrimmage, but I sure as hell would have wanted to be on his side in last night's surprising game at Lambeau field.