I have a bad headache and that loss depressed me to the inner core. So I made a desperate attempt at being somewhat funny.
Theo (sifting through papers and talking on cellphone): Paradise, I told you, 1AM sharp, in my office on Yawkey. I don?t care if you have another appointment. The ladies are lacking and this is my last resort?oh, Alex, sit down, sit down.
Alex Gonzalez: You wanted to see me, homes?
Theo: Yeah, this is regarding the absolute atrocity of a bunt you tried to lay down in a 6-6 game tonight. Gave me an irregular bowel movement. Actually, it?s more than that, it?s the disaster of a baseball player you?ve turned out to be. You?re a great guy, we all know that. Those man-hugs in the dugout before the game revert my memory to the excitable Pokey Reese era. But please remove that salad fork sticking out of your back immediately.
Alex: I don?t understand. Theo, bro, you have to give me time. I know I can hit.
Theo: The stats don?t exactly back that statement up. Your batting a hefty .186, which happens to be 2nd last in all of baseball. On-base percentage- 21st?
Alex (mumbling): That?s decent?
Theo: ?slugging percentage- 24th. And according to my calculations, at this rate, you?re going to hit .078/.109/.092 this season. Basically, reliving the Cesar Crespo era is not something I had in mind.
Alex: But?but I?m loved by the team, by Manny and Ortiz and Pena and I are real cool. I even run the mixed drinks stand during away games. Try talking the clubhouse manager into running out for the last margarita mix. It?s not easy.
Theo: Me likey, yes. But I can?t stand watching you hit anymore. It?s like jumping on a roller coaster knowing it?s not going anywhere. I take my leaks when you bat, a position formally held by Rudy Seanez when he toed the mound. Not anymore. It might be a little different if you were putting up average numbers and posing some semblance of a threat in the 9-hole, but .180 isn?t cutting the butter. We?re not asking for a triple crown or batting title, but I?m speaking for Red Sox Nation when I say?Miguel Tejada is on the other line.
Alex (smashes desk lamp): You can?t cut me. You just can?t (throws Luis Tiant bobblehead at glass drawer, drawer breaks open, notebook falls out). What?s this, now?
Theo: No, no, please, give it here.
Alex (reading): Dear Orlando, please forgive me for my brain seizure. We need you back on the team. I know you like the Angels, but all you gotta do is request a trade. That?s the last straw and you can man the Fenway infield once again. This Gonzalez guy, well, watching him hit is like having a car battery dropped on my sack. Let?s be back together again. Love, Theo
Theo: I was kidding.
Alex: So you never really were going to give me a chance. You wanted Orlando back all along, didn?t you? Does Game 5 of the 2003 World Series mean anything to you, man?
(Theo chuckles)
Alex: So, that?s the end of the line. You?re gonna cut me? Let me go? Shoot me out into that unforgiving wilderness full of beasts and famine and Glenn Ordway. In ten years, I?ll end up like this Alex Gonzalez because of you.
(long pause)
Theo: Marlins are interested in taking you back.
(long pause)
Alex: PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE!!!
