I had a dream about Mike Trout on Saturday night. In said dream, Mike Trout was playing baseball on what seemed to be a small and sparsely populated local baseball field. The regular season seemed to be over. The game ended, and a handful or reporters, including myself, approached the chain-link dugout and began asking Mike Trout questions. We were elevated from the dugout and Mike Trout’s head was down, staring into the ground. The AL MVP was brought up and Mike Trout was modest concerning his chances. I said with confidence that he was indeed the MVP, that he had had the best season of any player on earth and no voting results, either for or against him, would be changing my mind. Mike Trout looked up at me, and he had the face of a woman. No one seemed to find this strange. This was an accepted detail in the reality of my dream. There was a jump in time and suddenly Mike Trout and I were sitting across from each other at a table, drinking coffee or some such beverage. We were in a cafeteria of some kind with people milling about, but were left alone. I asked girl-faced Mike Trout questions. I asked him/her about his/her defense, about the skills he/she possessed and how he/she thought those skills might improve or erode with age. I asked he/she about Wins Above Replacement and about stealing bases and baserunning. I became aware that I was dreaming, that Mike Trout’s girl-face did not make any sense. I attempted to change the materiality of the dreamworld, to mold Mike Trout’s girl-face into the boy-face of real life. Mike Trout’s face began to change. It became more round, larger. My control over Mike Trout’s face and gender was real, my power immense. I woke up. My wife thinks I want to fuck Mike Trout.