Former Russian president Boris Yeltsin appeared in my dream last night, though not in any political context (at least not a conscious one, which is an amusing notion considering I’m describing a dream). He was the Russian hockey team’s ringer, brought in during the game’s final minutes as the sixth player after the goalie was pulled. I don’t know the score, nor could I tell you who the opposing team was.
Boris Yeltsin wobbled onto ice, like those five-year-old hopefuls you sometimes see during the intermissions at pro games. The crowd went absolutely bananas (I must have been in Russia.) as Yeltsin tried in vain the get the helmet down over his enormous hair. He ultimately gave up and let it teeter on top of it. Winning the faceoff, he clumsily maneuvered the puck to center while the other players — including the opposing team — scattered out of his way. When he shot the puck, I was again reminded of the peewee athletes, his movements jaunty and cautious. The puck slowly made its way to the crease and entered the net at a speed not unlike that of a sleeping box turtle. (I can also assume the opposing team pulled its goalie as well.) The crowd erupted into chaos and Yeltsin raised both hands high above his head in triumph, and in doing so lost his balance and fell onto his back, ultimately sliding into the net behind his game-winning puck.