In the spring or summer of 2007, I dreamt that the strong-armed Anthony Morelli was playing an exhibition in front of tens of thousands of adoring Penn State fans. Every pass was accurate, and the sky seemed the limit. But the dream didn't end well. Morelli's last pass was thrown so hard - harder than Rex Grossman! - that it hit Deon Butler square in the chest and killed him. It actually killed him.
The point is that I am the Indian shaman of Penn State football. When my dreams are about Penn State football or even tangentially related, I can predict the future.
I have not dreamed about our game with Michigan, specifically, but last night I was visited by thoughts of a Southern hot mess. She was Southern (the accent, ya know) and hot, but also a mess. Therefore, I predict that Penn State will lead until the second half, and it will basically be better than the hot and Southern parts put together, but then they will lose in a really messy and stupid way. And everyone will just be like, "But JayPa sucked worse!" so no one will care.
Also, since we're talking about dreams, one time I had a dream that began with Merle Haggard tenderly singing a Free Bird-esque leaving song to his woman. It ended with, "Honey, I'm gonna get me a bear." The action then cut (my dream had Hollywood production values) to a shallow river in Alaska where several hunters on ATVs were cut off from the banks by grizzlies that stood on both sides growling with all of their might. It ended on a cliff-hanger note; who knows if the hunters made it? Only Merle Haggard knows. I defy any of my 717 brethren, from Bscaff to Jtot to anyone else, to have a more hillbilly souf-central 717 dream than one that involved Merle Haggard and bear hunting in Alaska. It's like in the 717 Bible: "Your young men will have visions of sprint cars, and your old men will dream dreams of haggard bears."