We all have them; dreams that is. Some dreams come true, some don’t.

You see, I had a dream, a dream that Jesse Ryder has put his errant ways of putting his fist through glass panes behind him. That he no longer went into emergency wards yelling “don’t you know who I am”. We all know who you are, Jesse.
I dreamed a dream that Jesse Ryder has finally got off the bottle. That he has seen that booze is a cure for nothing. You still wake up the next morning and the problems you had yesterday are still there today.That you have realised that all your so called “mates” that egg you on to have one more drink and be the life and soul of the party aren’t really your mates. Hey, they would be nowhere to be seen if you weren’t well known. But, Jesse, you don’t need them. They’re not really your friends.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that Jesse Ryder becomes as comfortable with himself away from the crease as he is at it. That he finds that inner peace that will allow him to fulfil his enormous potential. To let him float like a butterfly and sting like a bee when opposing bowlers deliver balls that he is capable of swatting away like flies.You see, Jesse, your true fans, we all like you just the way you are.

I had a dream, a dream that New Zealand cricket stood up to the convoluted egos within the Black Caps. That Justin Vaughan and the New Zealand Cricket Board structured the player’s payments to be focused more on results. Oh, see how things start to turn around, then.
I had a dream of a dream that Daniel Vettori takes his medicine and accept that one person having as much control as he desired does more harm than good. That he is retained as captain, but loses all his other roles leading to him concentrating on what he should be concerned about: what occurs on the field.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that New Zealand cricket finally sees the light and appoints John Wright as coach. That they come to realise that Wright coached India successfully for five years- and eternity in cricketing terms- hence, obviously having the organisational skills for the job, as well as the necessary coaching no-how.

I had a dream, a dream that come January, as we settle down to the Heineken Open and a touch of tennis with strawberries and cream and a dash of champagne on the side, we will not be subjected to that diatribe of the senses that is grunting.
I dreamed a dream that Serena Williams was in the near vicinity, ready to shove a tennis ball down the throat of any player that dares to force the crowd and the television viewer to listen to this insanity. Maybe she could even force a ball down her own throat, too. Oh the silence, how sublime.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that local lass Marina Erakovich powers her way back up the world rankings just in time to make a heart-warming tilt at tournament glory.That she puts New Zealand tennis back on the map instead of its current position in the deep dark carvasses that it currently lurks.

I had a dream, a dream that the words rest and rotation make a hasty retreat into the realms of darkness as they do a miraculous disappearing act from our vocabulary, never to be heard of again. That as we held our collective breathes, the sporting public were pleasantly surprised that these words that can no longer be named didn’t rare their ugly heads once again.
I dreamed a dream that any coach of a National sporting side that even so much as contemplated using those words that can no longer be named is punished by being locked in a room and forced to watch yet another replay of the All Blacks quarter-final match at the 2007 World Cup.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that as those words that can no longer be named will not be used in preparation for any major sporting event, players were no longer getting injured as regularly due to the obvious fact that as they were playing more, their bodies would become use to the rigours of a contact sport and no longer get injured so often.

But, then, this was just a dream: wasn't it?