And the Raiders were in there somewhere. This wasn't a football dream per se. I dreamed my dad was in a competition with a couple of large corporations to show off their patronage and fandom of a couple of different football teams. They had to do this by manicuring their properties to perfection, utilizing state of the art lawnmowing techniques and by displaying various types of swag related to the team they were supporting.
My dad had done quite a job with the grass at his large estate, but was a little lacking on the swag. His rival, Yuba City Honda, had replaced their entry door with one displaying the Raiders name and logo but my dad's was lacking the piece de resistance, which would have been a 49ers fountain that shot water a hundred feet in the air.
I walked around the grounds admiring the impeccably trimmed grass. No scalping, perfect coverage, except for a few areas that were still in progress. There was a cat blind of tall grass at the southwestern entrance and some sketchy areas in the barn that needed reseeding. For the most part it was pretty impressive, though I was reluctant to tell him. I'd let the judges do that.
Somewhere in there Jamie from Outlander was roaming about shirtless and sending up fireworks in the form of perfectly timed dirt launches with some kind of pyrotechnic cannon. The message was "Hey."
I went about inspecting the grounds and found myself in an underground bunker with him. He was operating some kind of electrical radio type equipment but was experiencing a lot of static. I determined through crude observation that he was himself the problem.
He was emitting some form of radioactivity which skewed the equipment's performance. Whenever I would get near him my RF measuring equipment would go all wonky and turn off. I told him and he just scowled that primitive scowl of lack of understanding and went on with what he was doing.
I left the bunker and continued examining the grounds as the inspection teams arrived on the scene to do their white glove critiques.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.