I had the craziest dream the other night.
I dreamed some type of virus from overseas wiped out high school sports from March to October in the state of Louisiana. It seems that someone probably resembling Hong Kong Phooey brought it over.
It was worse than a Stephen King or Peter Straub book.
High school seniors could not finish their baseball, softball or track seasons.
There was no College World Series.
I know, I know, something like that could never happen. But it seemed so real.
Coaches were forced to fix things up around the house.
I was writing about past games.
August rolled around without concern of getting our football section completed.
I woke up in a sweat.
My wife asked me if I needed to be tested.
I said, "For what?"
She said for the virus.
I said you mean the one Hong Kong Phooey brought over.
She said no, but now I’m thinking you need a different type of test.
I told her about my dream.
She said it wasn’t a dream.
You mean this hasn't been an extended spring break?
Seniors were walking in masks to get their diplomas, not rob a bank to pay for college?
Covid 19 was not a partial score?
"You really just need to get up and go to work and do whatever it is you are doing right now. And, by the way, they may not be going back to school until when you used to go around Labor Day."
Is that an old age joke?
No, it’s no joking matter
Unfortunately it’s all true.
But it has been a nightmare for so many people.
And the nightmare continues.
If you would have mentioned Phase I, Phase II or Phase III back in January I would be getting out my telescope to look at the moon.
Now I’m scared to glance at it. It may be a different color the way this year is going.
Vidalia is 150 years old this year. I know some coaches feeling that old now.
And it’s not over. Which is even stranger. How many times when we were sick as children did we hear it will run its course and we’ll be fine?
This course is looking like the Boston Marathon.
So you’re telling me a year after I was able to attend my first-ever West Monroe High School game football game at West Monroe while watching the son of longtime friend Joe Champion coach against the Rebels -- the year I had the privilege of following Ferriday all the way to the Superdome to win a state championship, I will be twiddling my thumbs in September.
Last August was so hot the trainers and managers spent more time on the field than some of the players.
One bright spot is that I will not be swatting at gnats and mosquitos the first three weeks of the season this year.
And we should not have dozens of official time outs because of cramps and dehydration. OK, I'm reaching here.
But the future is so cloudy.
Needless to say these are unchartered waters and we will experience a number of firsts this season -- or at least we hope we can experience a bunch of firsts.
Turn out the lights. I’m going back to sleep.
This nightmare can’t be any worse than the real thing.
Never in my wildest dreams would I be so passionate about getting to something called a Phase III.
But I’m still not looking up at the moon. Not in 2020.