Years ago, when I had difficulty getting to sleep I sometimes created a fantasy world in which I am a superhuman warrior, athlete, savior and lover. In recent years sleeping pills have deprived me of this imaginative activity, but the memories live on.

“I can guarantee you an NBA championship, coach.” Thus, with outrageous chutzpah, I talk Phil Jackson of the Los Angeles Lakers into letting me demonstrate my incomparable court skills at their El Segundo practice facilities.

I request a one-on-one contest with Kobe Bryant, the most valuable player in the NBA. Kobe loves a challenge and agrees to play along. I suggest a game of HORSE. I make a basket. Kobe must duplicate my shot. If he fails, he gets an “H.” Five failures and he is a “HORSE.”

My first shot is from the center jump circle with one hand. My ball swishes through the net. Kobe comes close. He gets an “H.” My second shot is from the center three-point line with my back to the basket—two hands over my head. Swish. Kobe and Phil are dumbfounded, as are the other Lakers who stayed after practice to watch. Of course Kobe fails badly. He picks up an “O.”

For my third shot I go to the far right corner, pull a sweat band over my eyes and without hesitation barely move the net as the ball snaps through the hoop. Undaunted, Kobe puts up an air ball. He now has an “R.”

Next I ask Kobe to guard me one-on-one. I double fake him off his feet, drive to the basket and slam dunk. When he attempts to drive on me, the ball ends up in my hands. A clean steal. Kobe has an “S.”

Finally, I offer my pièce de résistance—a two-handed, overhead heave the length of the court. The shot bangs off the backboard and plummets through the net.

Kobe concedes and earns the “E,” completing the shooting contest. Kobe is a gracious “HORSE” and compliments me.

Then I invite the entire Lake squad to join us on the floor for my Globe Trotter dribbling exhibition. With the greatest of ease and lighting speed I dribble through the entire team and do a 360 degree dunk.

Phil invites me to join him in General Manager Mitch Kupchak’s office where we sign a short-term $1 million contract.

Naturally, with me and Kobe the Lakers win the NBA championship breaking all scoring records and winning every playoff game by an average of 30 points. After hoisting the championship banner in Staples Center, I mysteriously disappear.

I’m not going to bore you with my NFL professional football routine. No need to embarrass Eli Manning and the Super Bowl champion New York Giants.

And the same with poor Tiger Woods, the world’s best golfer. I am sure he will eventually recover some self esteem after the trouncing I gave on him on the links.

By the time I reach the sexual prowess segment of this fantasy world with a grateful Marilyn Monroe,Morpheus takes over and sinks me into a deep sleep. What the hell. Even as fantasy, you wouldn’t buy it. Next time I’ll reverse the dream sequence.