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By Bernie Bostik
I Dream of Jeannie Cusamano...
...I don't really, I have much better dreams than those on the subject of some Doctors wife. My dreams have a hell of a lot more diversity & strangeness to them and some nights they even have me waking up in cold sweats. But the thing with dreams is; one minute your in the middle of some mad crazed Dungeon & Dragons type of adventure, then next minute your having your Coco Pops infront of SSN and all memories of slaying Goblins have vanished from the grey matter and have been replaced with images of Georgie Thompson perched up on all fours naked.
Basically dreams are hard to remember, unless your one of those weirdoes that write their dreams down the moment they wake up then go and have them analysed by some 'Therapist'.
So here goes, I'm going to play the weirdo to your Freudian Therapist role and give you a selection from my thought dreams - analyse them in any which way you fuckin' want.
The first one is a dream I've had on a number of occasions over the years. It involves me in some cross-country race along some muddy field, the field is extremely wet and muddy and I get bogged down. After a while I become stuck, with the mud coming up to knee height. I squirm and wriggle trying to free myself from the mire as all the other runners overtake me. I finally succumb to flapping my arms like a bird and I start to hover out the cloggy mess below. I sometimes stop flapping and my flying ability disdains a while as I slowly float back to the ground. With a quick flap I'm back to hovering at about 10ft above the ground again and I find that if I nod my head, I get propelled forward with haste. I quickly use this to my advantage in the race and fly off to cross the line first.
Like any good West End play, the story & characters of the dream stays the same but the actors change. Sometimes it's King Kenny running past - in that Crown Paints first silky effort- offering words of encouragement as I languishing in the mud, other times it could be Sophie Dee (google her you wont be disappointed) done up in a Basque and welly's wielding a whip.
The second dream is one I had leading up to that second Euro Cup semi against Chelsea and it was so vivid I emailed my mate about it at 4:00am on the morning of the game.....
.....What about the game tonight mate?, I have a sneaky negative feeling about this campaign, I just know we'll come a cropper, tonight or heaven forbid in the final against our dreaded nemesis Man u. I keep getting this reoccurring nightmare were It's us V them in Athens , injury time after 90 minutes, extra-time and penalties looming, one last attack. Andy"blue nose" Grey and Martin Tyler commentating.
AG "this could be the last chance"
MT "Yes Andy Ronaldo looks as though he's got one last run in him...........he skips past the Liverpool skipper Gerrard .....he carries on forward.......Mascherano comes in hard but he rides that tackle well........Carreghar comes to stop him......BUT FAILS"
AG "HE'S THROUGH ON GOAL HE MUST SCORE"
MT "yes Andy but he's still got to beat the keeper"
AG "What ? Reina? He's fucking shit, he's always flapping at crosses and dropping balls, everyone knows, play for Liverpool in goal and over night Sky have turned you from Spains number one keeper to some no-hoper at crosses who's also suspect at his near post"
MT "Reina pulls off a world class save"
AG "And the rebound has fell to a United player......who is it?......is that Rooney?.......whats he doing at the back post?.......this could be curtains for Liverpool now........HE'S DONE IT.......THE BOY ROONEY HAS SCORED"
It ends with AG hanging from the commentary box wanking and firing his spunk all over the heads of the angry Annie Rd Barmy Army below, while laughing. Thats one horrible nightmare that one!
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