Many of us are kept awake by weird fears and anxieties, but I doubt that anyone besides me has had his slumber interrupted by the following peculiar fantasy: while pedaling to a Red Sox game, I decide to stop for a refreshing beer somewhere close to the stadium rather than fight with the lines at Fenway, locking my bike to a post outside a Kenmore area (and yet somehow secluded) watering hole. Some uncounted number of beers later, I amble to the park, leaving behind my bike. When I return, as the plot of this particular ugly fantasy goes, I find the bike still locked to the post, seemingly unscathed. What I don't realize is that some evil fan of the opposing squad, probably drunk and from New York, has arrived first and has spat into my water bottle, or worse, has taken it with him into the bushes, where he releases a pint of former beer into it, returning thereafter to nestle the bottle back in its cage.
I encountered this particularly disgusting fantasy (more of a nightmare, really) many years ago, when I arrived at my bike post-game one evening and was about to take a slug of water, then wondered, hey, what if someone is trying to poison me (or much, much worse)? Never mind that there is no good reason to poison me, or that not even Yankee fans think to carry around poison with them (though maybe they will now that I've alerted them to this possibility!). Thanks to my vivid imagination, I have since been unable to shake this major league horror story from my head.