Act One: Int. Visitor clubhouse. Great American Ballpark. Cincinnati, Ohio
Joe Torre, Manager: Hey kid, we're gonna need you to go pretty deep today. We're really counting on you to step up and pitch well, give our shitty bullpen a rest, and you know, make a statement, emotionally and otherwise.
Chad Billingsley, Starting Pitcher: No problem skip. No need to doubt me. I've owned these mediocre fucks in the past.
Torre: Well, you had a tough time last time on the mound and before that, we all had a tough time on the road, so...knowing what we know...you think you could...I don't know...go three innings without giving up seven goddamn runs?
Billingsley: You got it. I can't wait to dickslap these losers. Would it be possible to get some run support?
Torre: Sure thing, Bills. We'll give you a three run lead first thing. Try not to fuck it up. Also, if you do we'll give you more, so don't fuck that up either.
Billingsley: Thanks, coach. One more thing...will I be facing a...you know...(gulp)...ace? Like a Cy Young kind of guy.
Torre: Fuck no. Homer Bailey? Even Homer Bailey doesn't know who the fuck he is. His name is Homer though. But don't worry about it. He sucks. Just don't give up seven runs. That's quite a hole to crawl out of.
Billingsley: No worries, Torr-bro. I won't let an incredible offense go to waste.
Torre: All right kid, see you out there. Just pitch long enough so our bullpen can come in and do their thing. I know I can count on them too.
Act Two. Same place. Three hours later
Matt Kemp: Hey pitching staff...
Chorus of Billingsley, Ortiz and Troncoso: 'Sup Matt Kemp?
Matt Kemp: Fuck you.
Me: Yeah, I should have stayed in New Orleans, right Matt?
Matt Kemp: Get the fuck away from me.
Me: Way to go, assholes.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment