If you were watching World Series Game 6 when David Freese hit his game-saving two-run triple on a 3-2 pitch in the bottom of the ninth, you may have jumped out of your seat, sloshed beer down your chest, and spewed half-chewed nachos toward the screen. But unbeknownst to you, as the beer fizzed, your brain leapt up, stretched your left arm nearly out of its socket trying to close the air between ball and glove before you slammed your backside into the Gulf logo on Busch Stadium's right-field wall.
Your brain plucked the ball from the grass, rocketed it toward third and, effortlessly switching allegiances, your brain slid headfirst into the bag. It also trotted home to score the tying run, and in the next few seconds, it waved a white rally towel, spat, and looked glumly over the Ranger dugout fence. Whatever your conscious fan loyalties, your brain couldn't help playing both sides, all roles. What your eyes see, your brain plays as best it can, which is, of course, as variable as our actual playing and living.