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We'll sing for you, Timbers.

Last night's dream may have been an anxiety dream.

I needed to Get Somewhere, on a route I'm used to, and I was worried about doing that trip. In my dream, I had a chance to drink, and turned it down — I know even in dreams not to drink and drive — and, ultimately, I went the way I needed to go by having someone carry me. That someone, whomever she was, could fly. Flying was exhilarating, but also scary, as she literally was just carrying me hundreds of feet above Hwy. 99W approximately around Parrett Mountain, between Sherwood and Newberg. (I said I was used to the route. I've been riding through it since the Seventies and driving through it since the Nineties.)

During the dream, I was checking in on an MLS soccer game, a big game the Portland Timbers were playing. And the radio updates I was hearing in my dream let me know that the Timbers were completely shitting the bed.

The Portland Timbers just lost a heartbreaker in the MLS Championship against Atlanta United FC, 2-0, the first goal scored in the first half and the next goal in the second. The game was tough, and the Timbers couldn't come back from that 2-score deficit; this was never going to be a game decided by penalty kicks. But it wasn't the shit-the-bed performance I'd imagined last night. And that the Timbers made it to the league's version of the Super Bowl, and doing so in one of the normally-cursed even-numbered years (seriously, the team has seemed especially inconsistent and maddeningly bad-to-mediocre in 2012, 2014, and 2016, while generally playing far better in the odd-numbered years, yes it's a sports superstition but it had been remarkably consistent), is still amazing.

I don't have the brain power tonight to analyze this game, let alone the season and playoffs leading to it. Instead I mainly wanted to acknowledge that, tonight, I felt sports pain, but I'm still proud of the Timbers and what they can do.

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