You can't do many things on just three hours of sleep.

Giving up on trying to comprehend the wondrous age of the Meiji restoration Wednesday, I decided to use my notebook as a pillow.

My mind wandered away from samurais and peasants. It was two weeks before Opening Day and there were more important things to think about.

Such as Vin Scully on the final day of the regular season:

"Looks like McNamara's going to keep Smith in to face Mattingly. Oh my, what a game here at the old ballyard in the Bronx. The winner goes to face the A's tomorrow in the playoffs. The loser goes home to watch the playoffs on TV."

"Bottom of the ninth, two outs, the score tied at three. Red Sox and Yankees, winner-take-all sudden-death playoff."

"Henderson takes his lead off first. Here's the pitch to Mattingly. Swing and a miss."

"To think that it was 10 years ago that these two teams duked it out at Fenway Park. Red Sox fans don't want to remember that one..."

"Here's the pitch, Mattingly swings. Deep to right. Forget that one. Upperdeck job by the Hit Man. Run the pennant up the New York flagpole. The ghost of Bucky Dent has revived itself today at Yankee Stadium."

No other sport around can bring out the dreamer more than baseball can. Especially when it's 10 days before the season. Every other sport may have its first game of the season. Baseball has its Opening Day in big, bold capital letters.

"Wade Boggs needs just one more hit to reach that elusive .400 mark. Here's the pitch by Steib. Sharp roller, through the legs of Upshaw. Wade Boggs has done what no other player since Ted Williams..."

"What a homecoming for Los Angeles' Don Sutton. To think that after roaming around the American League circuit for a few years, that he would ever put the blue on again. Now he's only one pitch from a no-hitter..."

"No more Ks can fit the K corner. Doc Gooden has done it, striking out 24 batters in a single game..."

"Sparky can't believe it. To think that the Cleveland Indians have just taken four games from his Tigers at Tiger Stadium during the last week of the season. Now, it's only the Yanks and the Sox. Kirk Gibson, where are you now?"

"What a beautiful Sunday afternoon for baseball. Fifty thousand strong here at Riverfront Stadiium. And Eric Davis has just hit his third homer of the day. Say, hey kid..."

"He's stealing home. What a jump by Coleman. Carter can't handle the tag..."

"Oh, my, a night game here at venerable Wrigley. Harry Caray has never been up so late..."

"That blast was Bob Horner's 37th homer of the season. Ever since he took that plane back from Japan..."

My neck was stiff. My eyes still ached.

It was back to samurais and peasants.