My dad, who was a big baseball fan and a pretty good player in his youth, used to dream about the sport. One morning at breakfast he told us that during the night he had been playing for the New York Yankees and had hit a home run.

“The amazing thing was not the home run,” he said, “but that I was my present age. (He was then 65.) Everyone was astonished that a 65-year-old could not only play for the Yankees but hit a homer.” He was quite pleased with himself.

Ever since Sigmund Freud came along, folks have paid a lot attention to their dreams. It appears that what happens in one’s horizontal life is important. Well, perhaps I should rephrase that. In any case, I’ve had some good ones over the years, (dreams, that is) mostly having to do with my athletic exploits.

Yes, there’s no doubt I’ve had quite a nighttime sports career. I’ve tended to favour the popular sport of the day. For example, when I was watching the U.S. Open tennis finals, come bedtime I was part of the draw. Baseball, track and field, football, hockey, and occasionally golf and boxing are my other favourites. There are sports I never play, like soccer. Who wants to play something where nobody seems to score?

But back to the tennis. The major secret of my success is that I don’t have a backhand at all. Just two forehands. You see, I simply switch hands with the racquet and hit a forehand on both sides. Sort of a switch-hitter. Especially effective when serving. It always baffles my opponents. Pete Sampras never knows what to make of it. The crowd goes wild.

Now I’m not a big guy. Not tall, anyway. I’m about 5 feet 10 and a little thick in the centre, but it’s us little guys who produce the big thrills in sports, eh?

Despite my years of playing in the NFL (mostly for the Bills) and in the CFL for the Argos, I’ve had to cut back some since I passed the age of 45. The coach tends to send me in whenever the team is third and 17 and back on our own 10-yard line. A mere 90-yard field goal. I don’t recall ever missing one, which has earned me the moniker of Dependable Pohlman. Of course, there are times when I fake a kick and then run the ball the length of the field, straight-arming 300-lb. linemen and gracefully eluding tacklers, into the end zone. Mustn’t get too predictable.

There have often been well-known fans in the stands, cheering me on. Elizabeth Taylor was a favourite in the past, before she gained so much weight. More recently, Madonna likes to show up for my performances. Once I even noticed President Clinton and Monica Lewinsky in a box seat at one of my games. Monica was shouting and cheering, but then, she was always all lip.

One night, after one of my games, while having a romantic dinner with Cher, I noticed she had my picture tattooed on her butt. I’m not sure how I noticed that at dinner, but there you have it.

As an NHL player for the Leafs, I have also been able to use my talents as a champion figure skater. Carrying the puck toward the opponents’ blue line I perform a double axel while deftly stickhandling the puck. This move leaves the defence in disarray, allowing me to move in alone on the goal. A final spin fakes out the goalie and I flip the puck into the upper corner of the net. Again, the crowd goes wild.

In one baseball game I started as the catcher but then was also the pitcher, my speed allowing me to throw the ball and then get back behind the plate before the ball arrived, much to the confusion of the batter. Like my dad, I’ve hit a lot of home runs but I’ve noticed that they are almost always in the bottom of the ninth, two out, a man on second and we are one run behind.

I guess my most thrilling exploit was the night I decked Mike Tyson in the first round while James Bond and his ladies were cheering at ringside. Of course, the girls soon abandoned 007 to climb into the ring with me.

To be candid, I’m not much interested in what might be called the Freudian interpretation of these heroic nighttime triumphs. I don’t want to hear they may represent anxieties, conflicts or chauvinistic erotic stuff. I am content to remain the modest hero with a nonchalant demeanour in my lifelong late night sports career. 

Categories: Appointment with Polhman, Columns
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