9.Sometimes I Dream Of Willie Mays
It's 1965.
Me and my Dad, Mac.
50 miles to Candlestick in our green VW van.
A Giants-Dodgers pennant race.
Mays and Koufax face to face.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays and tell him I was there.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays, and the sun comes out and the
fog lifts and he's there.
Now it's 1973, right across the bay.
Playing right field for the Mets, a ball goes through his legs.
I cheer the A's to victory, but that was something I never
wanted to see.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays and tell him I was there.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays, and the wind dies down, and
the sun comes out, and the fog lifts, and he's there.
In 1954 I was born into this dream.
The kind that's always black and white, like an old news reel
I've seen.
A mile away in the Polo Grounds, he pulls it in and spins
himself around.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays and tell him I was there.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays, and the wind dies down, and
the sun comes out, and the scoreboard works, and the fog lifts,
and he's there.
And I'm there.
And he's there.
And I'm there.
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