McInnis park gives me the opportunity to act out my fantasies. No, not the one involving the midget, seven zucchinis, a car battery and a can of whipped cream — the other one. The one where I’m a decent soccer player. Like all fantasies, it should remain locked away upstairs, but it doesn’t stop me from waddling around with my friends twice a week, trying to pretend that we’re still young and in shape. That said, they do charge us for this service, since apparently our tax dollars don’t include being able to play on these fields. But they are nice folks, even though they don’t really take care of their pitches. Hooray!
