Home Screenwriting Products Screenwriter Community Screenwriting Store
ScriptBuddy - Screenwriting Software for the Web

Screenwriter Community

Back to List of Published Screenplays
View/Leave Feedback

Closing Oscoda
by Jon Medina, Brandon Young and Gerald Young (young1bd@gmail.com)

Rated: R   Genre: Comedy   User Review:

A man gets a chance at redemption on the mound. Join Tommy Oscoda on his shot back to the Bigs.

This screenplay is copyrighted to its author. All rights reserved. This screenplay may not be used or reproduced without the express written permission of the author.


A disheveled man in his early thirties, TOMMY OSCODA, is
sitting on a bar stool with a beer in hand, drinking as a
little league baseball game is playing on a tiny television
set that is stationed in the corner of the bar. A man in
his early sixties, STUART "STU" JABLONSKY, is the owner and
bartender of the joint. He is drying out a washed mug and
pours some beer into it. Another patron, RUSSELL "RUSS"
JOHNSON, a black man in his mid-fifties with balding hair
and a cigar in his mouth takes out some money and hands it
to Stu as Stu hands him the beer. Tommy glances over to Stu
and proceeds to strike up a conversation.
You know, Stu, I played in that
game once.
      (rolling his eyes)
I know, Tommy.
Did you know I single-handedly
lost the Little League World
Yes, Tommy. I've heard it everyday
after the bottom of your ninth
shot. AKA, game over. Most days
you drink a doubleheader though.
You're only in the seventh inning
stretch today, but I suppose
you're going to tell me anyway, so
go ahead.
It was the summer of Eighty-eight;
we were up 6-5 against the team
from Japan. I had pitched a
one-hit shutout the game before.
The pitcher on the hill at the
time, your Chicago White Sox' own,
Guillermo Fernandez. There was one
out in the bottom of the sixth.
His arm was a little sore from
throwing a vicious sixty-eight
mile per hour fastball to a bunch
of eleven and twelve year-olds.


                       TOMMY (cont'd)
Our coach, Mitch Mitchum decided
to bring me into the game to close
it out.
At this point, Russ leans in a little to listen to Tommy. We
then flash back to the game being explained.
Coach MITCHELL "MITCH" MITCHUM heads out onto the pitcher's
mound and calls for YOUNG TOMMY to get in the game.
Tommy, get out here and pitch.
Young Tommy hustles out onto the field and throws a few
warm-up pitches to get his arm loose. Young Tommy is all
warmed up now and ready to throw fire to some small Asian
kid. Some of Tommy's teammates are cheering for him as he
throws his first pitch. The first pitch nails the little
Asian kid in the arm and knocks him to the ground.
                       YOUNG TOMMY
      (tipping his cap)
The little Asian kid brushes himself off and sprints down to
first base because that's what little Asian kid baseball
players do. The next player for the Japanese team steps up
to the plate. He is the only power hitter on team Japan. He
is white, but can still play for team Japan because that's
where he has lived all his life because his parents moved to
Japan just before he was born. This kid is huge for a
twelve year-old. They had to bring in the doctor that was
there for his birth and his birth certificate just to
officially verify that he was indeed only twelve. Tommy's
eyes light up as sweat drips from his ball cap. He gets
ready for the pitch, winds up and throws. The kid from
Japan crushes the ball at least 350 feet; well over the
center field fence, winning the game for team Japan. We see
a shot of YOUNG GUILLERMO FERNANDEZ giving Young Tommy the
finger, mouthing the words, "Fuck you, Tommy" as Tommy looks
back toward his dugout. He puts his head down and falls
onto the ground as team Japan celebrates and team America go
to shake their hands.
We're back in the bar as Tommy takes a swig from his beer.
The television set is in focus as the pitcher in the game


hits one of the opposing team's players in the arm, knocking
him down. ANNOUNCER ONE and ANNOUNCER TWO make a comment on
                       ANNOUNCER ONE
That reminds me of the 1988 Little
League World Series when Young
Tommy Oscoda blew the championship
for Team USA.
                       ANNOUNCER TWO
Shades of 1988 indeed, Bob. A lot
of speculation surrounded that
game. Speculation similar to that
of the 1919 Major League World
Series. The way Tommy did his best
Eddie Cicotte imitation by hitting
the first batter he faced.
                       ANNOUNCER ONE
Wow, you're really stretching on
that one. It's okay because we
know that you are a Cubs fan and
you will bring that up any chance
you get, even at the most
inopportune of times. Here's a
quick imitation of you, "Hey Bob,
I slept with your wife. The 1919
White Sox had wives. They also
threw the 1919 World Series." For
crying out loud, Lou. That was
almost a hundred years ago. Forget
about it. I forgot about you and
my wife. Besides, I'm sure that it
was just nerves. There's no reason
to compare a Little League World
Series to the big boys. These are
just boys having fun, playing a
game that they love. I am sure
that, just like the kids on the
field right now, and you with my
wife, Tommy tried his best. I'm
sure Mr. Oscoda has long forgotten
about that moment by now.
Tommy rolls his head back in disgust as he pounds another
shot and the rest of his beer.
Give me another of both, Stu. I've
got some forgetting to do.
Sure thing, Tommy.


A brief shot of the television shows Announcer One punch
Announcer Two in the face. Stu goes to get Tommy another
shot and a beer when Russ interjects.
Put those on my tab, Stu. Say,
you're Tommy Oscoda?
The one and only.
I thought you looked familiar.
I've followed your career since
you were eleven. I've scouted a
ton of your games. All the way up
to the College World Series.
Central Illinois, right?
You mean that other big game I
We flash back to the College World Series of 1998.
A 22 YEAR-OLD VERSION OF TOMMY is on the mound for the
Central Illinois Tomahawks with a runner on second and third
base. We see the scoreboard, which reads that the score is
6-5 once again with the Tomahawks having the lead. There
are two out in the bottom of the ninth. He throws a pitch
to the hitter who hits a slow dribbler right back to Tommy
at the mound. Tommy picks the ball up and attempts to make
a routine throw to first. He overthrows the ball all the
way to the right field corner. This error brings in the
game tying and game winning runs. Once again, Tommy has
blown the biggest game in his entire life. Tommy glances up
to the stands where he sees a young child wearing a
Tomahawks hat and a #13 Jersey that has "Fernandez" written
on the back flipping him off saying, "Fuck you, Tommy." Then
walks past Tommy and spits on him. Guillermo turns around
and lips, "Fuck you, Tommy." Tommy gets a flustered look on
his face to match the look of disappointment in his eyes.
Spit drips down from his face. We flash back to inside the


Those were just two games. You
went 13-2 that year with a 2.56
earned run average and a 1.13
WHIP. You were even better the
year before going 14-1 with a 2.48
ERA and a 1.09 WHIP.
How did you know that?
You're the famous Tommy Oscoda!
Infamous maybe, but how do you
know so much about me? You a cop?
No, I told you, Tommy, I was
scouting you for years. My name
is Russ Johnson.
Russ extends his hand in an invitation for Tommy to shake
it. Tommy hesitates at first, but then shakes hands lazily
with Russ.
And I'm a scout for the White Sox.
Upon hearing this, Tommy shakes Russ' hand more firmly and
at a much quicker pace.
It's so nice to meet you Russ.
Russ has to forcefully pry his hand back from Tommy's firm
It's nice to finally meet you,
Tommy. It's too bad it had to be
under these circumstances. You
know, I tried meeting with you
after the game in Omaha, but you
were nowhere to be found.
I was hiding inside of a locker.


Tommy downs another shot and chases it down with a solid
chug from his beer.
Well, you shouldn't have. I had
quite the opportunity for you.
What, you needed a pool cleaner?
I'm not going to be your Morris
freakin' Buttermaker. I'm pretty
okay with how things turned out.
Tommy is visibly drunk and smashes his head into a bowl of
Ah yes...As I remember,
Buttermaker was a miserable drunk
as well.
Tommy lifts his head up from the bowl of peanuts and
proceeds to try to eat every last one of them.
Who's miserable, mudderfugger?
Russ reaches into his pocket and pulls out his card. Tommy
has remnants of peanut shells on his face as he forcibly
pulls the card from Russ's hand. Russ pulls away as Tommy's
face replants itself in the bowl of peanuts.
And I'm not junk either.
"Drunk." And if you decide you
want to get your life in order,
give me a call.
      (heavily slurring
       his speech)
My life is in order. You're out of
Tommy slams his fist on the bar as if it were a gavel, and
laughs to himself as if it is the funniest joke ever told.
He then falls off his stool and lays lifelessly on the
ground. Russ looks on in befuddlement.


      (to Stu)
Have a good night, sir. I've got
to get out of here. I've got a
Grandson to get home to take care
of. It looks like you've got
someone to take care of as well.
      (under his breath)
Story of my freakin' life, I tell
Tommy's apartment is as run down as he is. He sleeps on a
beat up couch. There are beer cans scattered all over the
floor. The wallpaper doesn't match and is also missing in
some spots. There are numerous holes in the wall that Tommy
added during one of his fits of rage. His television has
aluminum foil as an antenna. Tommy is passed out on the
floor. He has his left leg up on the couch and his right arm
is outstretched with his hand in a half eaten bowl of
cereal. His phone rings. It startles him. As he wakes up to
answer it he splashes the leftover milk that was in the bowl
all over the place, most notably on his crotch.
He glances over to his VCR clock, which is blinking 12:00.
Fine. Whatever you say, Eddie.
I'll be right in.
Tommy hangs up the phone and ungracefully pulls himself up
to his feet. He looks down and notices the wet spot on his
Damn, I never remember the good
Eazy Eddie's is just a run of the mill porn shop, a tad bit
dirtier than most. It is equipped with viewing stalls. There


are a few customers. We see two butch females. They both
have fem-mullets and one of them is trying on a strap-on.
Tommy walks in wearing the same clothes he wore to sleep the
previous night including the stained pants. EAZY EDDIE is
manning the counter. He is as scuzzy as the porn shop
itself. He's wearing a beat up Cubs hat. Tommy
nonchalantly walks towards him.
No way she buys that. She's
already got the proper equipment
for the job.
Eddie looks down and see's the milk stain that resembles
semen on Tommy's pants.
                       EAZY EDDIE
What, did you bring your work home
with you?
I just love this place so damn
much. Why are you looking down
there anyway?
                       EAZY EDDIE
Forget about that, sperm stain.
You are 1 hour and 17 minutes
1 hour and 17 minutes. I'm
surprised that you don't have it
down to the second.
                       EAZY EDDIE
33. That's the fourth time in two
weeks, Tommy. Jizz doesn't clean
itself. Well, it does if it dries,
but that's beside the point. Get
your apron on, grab your mop and
get to work. Booth two is calling
your name. (high pitched voice)
"Tommy, I'm a big glob of goo.
Clean me. Clean me."
You should do voiceover work.
                       EAZY EDDIE
I did. You don't remember? That
Dillie the talking dildo
commercial I did? (sings) "Cum,
Cum, Cum into Eddie's, Cum in for


                       EAZY EDDIE (cont'd)
a hell of a time...."
Hmmm...(perplexed) Wait a minute.
Have you ever seen that ad run on
tv? I need to make some phone
Yeah....I'm gonna go clean that
jizz now.
Tommy walks to the closet and grabs his work gear. He puts
on a pair of rubber gloves, walks up to booth two, opens the
door and enters. He scoffs as he notices a big glob of semen
on the screen. The screen itself is located pretty high up.
So high up that it would appear impossible to ejaculate on.
He picks up a sponge and dips it in the soapy water that's
in the mop bucket. He is visibly disgruntled the whole time
he is cleaning.
How the hell did they shoot it up
there? They need to find this guy.
He should be in the jizz business.
Ha, the jizzness.
Tommy begins cleaning the infected area. He completes his
task and leaves the booth. He leaves the bucket and his gear
by the booth. As he is walking back to talk to Eddie he
notices that the two butchy lesbians are still in the store.
One of them is trying on a dildo that is strappable to the
forehead. Tommy shakes his head as he approaches the
That guy only made 1/4 of the way
through 'Facial Fest Fifteen.' I
don't understand how guys get off
on seeing other guys unload. Seems
pretty Bert and Ernie to me.
                       EAZY EDDIE
I'm not in the mood for jokes
today, Tommy. I don't know why I
let you walk all over me. With the
job market the way it is, there
are tons of guys that would love
to have your job.


You think I want this job;
cleaning up after freaks that jerk
it to 'Nympho Necrophiliac Nurses
                       EAZY EDDIE
There are worse jobs to have.
I'm a jizz mopper. It doesn't get
any lower than that.
                       EAZY EDDIE
If you are so ungrateful, why
don't you get the hell out of here
The patrons of the store are startled. One half of the
lesbian couple drops the double-edged dildo she was holding.
They focus in on Tommy and Eddie. Tommy slams the counter.
Fine! I quit! You clean up the cum
yourself. As a matter of fact, get
started now.
Tommy grabs Eddie by the collar and drags him into a
semen-infested booth. He shoves Eddie's nose into a puddle
of splooge. Letting go of Eddie's collar, Tommy forcefully
pushes him down.
Lick it up, Eddie. I don't need
this garbage job.
Eddie looks up at Tommy. His face is covered in a white,
gloppy goo substance.
                       EAZY EDDIE
You are garbage, Tommy. This job
suits you well. What are you going
to do, give bj's in back alleys?
It looks like you already beat me
to it.
                       EAZY EDDIE
You're a nothing. You've always
been a nothing and you'll always
be a nothing.


At least I ain't a jizz juggling
Cubs fan like you Eddie.
Tommy storms out of the shop as Eazy Eddie continues yelling
at him. The lesbian chicks have found another strap-on and
have started playing swords with them. Some new customers
have just walked in as Tommy has stormed out with Eddie
still yelling at him. Eddie stops yelling to greet the new
                       EAZY EDDIE
      (to customers)
What are you looking at?
The customers just shake their heads and turn away. Eddie
yells one more thing at Tommy, even though it's obvious that
he's way too far away to hear him by now.
                       EAZY EDDIE
And one more thing, the White Sox
Tommy is sitting at the bar. In front of him reside two
empty shot glasses and a three-quarters empty beer. Stu
walks over to clear the area off.
You drank those fast.
Yeah, well, I have a lot on my
I suppose you do. You are in here
earlier than normal. I also
noticed that you had some goo on
your pants. Excited about seeing
Just pour me another two shots and
a beer, and quit worrying about my
damn schedule and my crotch area,
you old Polish queer.
Stu reaches for a bottle of cheap whiskey. He pours a shot
and then looks up at Tommy.


You know, you can be a real jerk
sometimes, Tommy.
Stu continues to pour the second shot and then the beer.
Look, I just quit my job and I
don't want to hear it today.
Stu hands Tommy his shots. Tommy slams them and washes it
down with some beer.
Look, not only am I your Sam
Malone, and despite some of my
cheap pokes at you, I consider you
a friend. I care for you a great
Spare me the sap. Also, don't
compare yourself to Sam Malone.
You never pitched a day in your
life. You don't know anything
about the pressure being on.
Fine, I'll be Fraiser Crane. You
still let those two games eat you
up? They are exactly that, games.
Forget about them. You have other
things to worry about.
Shut up, Woody. Enough with the
baseball tutorial. You're not
"Coach" either. Just pour the
drinks, Diane. Save the pep talk
for Carla when her husband walks
out on her again. I'm your Norm
Peterson. So get me another drink
or I'm going to jump off of a
"Cliff." Ha! See what I did there?
See what you can do when you apply
yourself to something other than a
shot of whiskey?
Bite me, Stu.


Lovely retort. It took you a long
time to come up with that one,
huh? Besides, I'm just trying to
help you here, Tommy.
I don't have anything to worry
about. You will though, if you
don't pour me two more shots.
Oh, you don't have anything to
worry about? You just quit the
most degrading job of all time and
you are now jobless. Let me add to
the reality. You probably cleaned
up after me today. I left a nice
little number for you in booth
Tommy has a guilt-ridden expression on his face as Stu turns
around to pour a couple more shots of low-grade whiskey. He
pours one then pauses.
What are you going to do with your
life? If you plan on drinking
yourself to death, I'll be your
Dr. Kevorkian as long as you have
the money. But judging by the fact
that you quit a piece of garbage
job, you don't.
Tommy shakes his head, appearing pissed off and a little
hurt by Stu's comment.
Hey Stu, how many Pollocks does it
take to pour a couple shots of
Stu looks up as Tommy sticks his middle finger in the air.
One. Now shut up and do your job.
Stu pours the second shot, but does not hand them to Tommy.


Look, I consider you a friend. All
I am saying is, what are you going
to do? More importantly, how are
you gonna pay for this?
How about I pay you in brain
cells, you Polish bastard. F U
anyways. I've got money.
Tommy reaches into his pocket to pull out some cash. As he
does, the card that Russell Johnson gave him follows the
cash. He notices it, picks it up and peruses it not
remembering where it came from. Stu notices it as well. He
hands Tommy his shots as Tommy begins reading the card aloud
to himself.
Russell Johnson, Head Scout,
Chicago White Sox.
You seem perplexed. Don't you
remember where that came from?
No, not really.
There was a black guy in here the
other night...an older guy...he
was talking to you about baseball.
He was asking about your little
league game.
Let me guess. He asked me for the
hour and a half of his life back
from watching that game and then
said, "Screw you, Tommy."
Nah. He actually seemed to know
you. To like you. He said
something about following you your
whole life.


Great, a stalker. Just what I
need. He's even made up these fake
business cards to help out. You've
gotta respect his hustle.
Anyway, he seemed pretty legit. He
had a look to 'em. Like a guy
who's been around and knows what
he's talking about. His eyes lit
up when he found out who you were.
And your eyes lit up, too. Until
you started being an asshole and
making a fool of yourself like
Oh yeah? What did I say? Actually,
you know what? Give me two more
shots, then tell me what I said.
You know you don't have to be a
jerk ALL the time, Tommy. And
besides that, you haven't even
touched your other two shots yet.
In fact, this is the longest I've
seen you go without a shot in
Ha ha. Very funny, Stu. Am I
really that bad?
No, and that's the goddamn point,
Tom. Instead of drinking another
shot, why don't you give that guy
a call and see if he can give you
a real shot? A shot at turning
your life around.
Tommy stares at the card intently while nervously tapping it
with his finger for what seems like forever.
Ah, what do you know, Stu?
Tommy puts the card down and downs both shots quickly.


You know what? Forget you, Tommy.
Stu walks away shaking his head and starts polishing
Alright, I'll call him.
Stu turns around slowly. He's a little skeptical until he
sees a look in Tommy's eyes that he hasn't seen in quite
some time. This makes Stu grin. Stu reaches underneath the
bar and grabs the phone. He places it on the counter in
front of Tommy. Tommy takes a look at the phone and then at
his shots. He reaches over and grabs the shots and pounds
them, one right after the other, wincing in pleasure. After
slamming the second shot down, Tommy looks back over to the
phone and then over to Stu who has his arms crossed waiting
for Tommy to pick up the phone.
Gimme two more and then I'll make
the call.
Stu is not amused.
How about I make a deal with you?
The next two shots will be on the
house if you make that call right
Alright. A man don't turn down
free alcohol.
Tommy finally struggles to pick up the phone. He
continually glances over to Russ Johnson's card sitting on
the counter in front of him while he presses the buttons.
The telephone rings a couple of times before the voice of a
young child, LANCE JOHNSON, answers the phone.
Uh...Yeah...Is a Mr...Uh...Russell
Johnson home?
Hang on a second; I'll go get him.


We hear the young child yelling to Russ in the background.
Yeah, hi, this is Tommy. I mean
Tommy Oscoda. I think I met you
last night or something. Not like
in a gay way or anything. I found
your card in my pocket. Stu, the
bartender, said we were talking or
Oh, yeah. Yeah, Tommy Oscoda. Of
course. I didn't expect you to
call so soon.
Yeah, well, me neither. I mean I
didn't even remember getting the
card, so obviously I didn't know I
was going to call you, but anyway
I quit my job and a bunch of other
crap happened. Well, I guess
nothing else really happened after
that, but Stu said he would buy me
a couple of shots if I gave you a
call. So I did and now I get my
free shots. Thanks, mister.
Tommy goes to hang up the phone, but Stu blocks him from
hanging up. We can hear Russ on the other end of the phone
saying, "Hello?" Tommy picks the phone back up and
continues the conversation.
Sorry about that, Russ. Anyways,
why did you give me your card
I was actually kind of hoping I
could get you back on the mound to
see if you've still got "it."
Still got it? I never really had


Forget that nonsense. That's
always been your problem. You
were never confident enough in
You blow the two biggest games of
your life and tell me how
confident you are.
Why don't you just meet me over at
Paul Bunyan Field today at 5:00
pm? My grandson's got a little
league game and I want you there
to check it out and maybe toss the
ball around a little.
Are you asking me to play in a
little league game?
No, ya big dummy, I want you to
throw for me after the game.
I don't know. I haven't even gone
to a baseball game, let alone step
on a field and throw a ball in
nearly ten years.
Come on, Tommy. What have you got
to lose? You don't have a job
anymore and I'm sure your body
could use the fresh air.
I just don't know...Ah, screw it,
I'll be there.
Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout,
Tommy. Paul Bunyan Field at 5:00
pm. We'll see you then.
Well, alright.


Tommy hangs up the phone as Stu claps his hands quietly.
Tommy throws a smirk his way.
Just give me my shots.
Stu turns his back to Tommy while he prepares his shots.
After finishing his pours, he turns back around covering the
shots with his hands.
Now these are gonna burn a little,
Tommy, so you've got to do them
Who you kiddin', Stu? You're
talking to Tommy Oscoda here. I
can do the toughest shot you've
got with my eyes closed. What do
you have there anyways, a Jackson
Five? Three Wise Men?
Nope, it's neither of those. It's
a shot I created when I was first
starting out. Only the biggest
alcoholics have been able to
handle these. Even bigger drunks
than you. I think this is a
special enough occasion to give it
to you. I call it the Stu-Me.
Well, Stu-Me then. Let's do this.
You've got to close your eyes
first. You said you'd do these
with your eyes closed.
Tommy closes his eyes while Stu places the shots in each of
Tommy's hands. Tommy pounds the shots as fast as he can and
throws his head back as if to say, "These are the strongest
shots I've ever had." Tommy comes back to his senses, licks
his lips and looks back at Stu dumbfounded.


Are you freakin' kidding me, Stu?
Water? You just gave me two shots
of water?
Hey, I said I'd pay for your next
two shots. I didn't say what they
were going to be of. Besides,
you've got something to take care
of and I don't want you being
drunk when you take care of it.
Oh, and that's not the first time
I've given you the "Stu-Me". One
night you were so drunk that I
served you water shots for two
hours and you didn't even notice.
You know what, Stu? I never
really liked you.
Good, now get your ass outta my
bar. Paul Bunyan is waiting for
I hope that blue ox is there. I
hear she's a "Babe."
I think it was a male ox, you
jackass. You know, like Babe Ruth?
I don't know who Babe Ruth is, but
he sure makes a tasty candybar.
I hope you're joking.
Tommy shakes his head, winks at Stu and gets up off his
stool and heads on out of the bar.
There is a little league game going on. Russ is in the
stands. He is keeping score and tracking Lance's pitches. We
see Lance on the mound. He strikes out the batter he is
facing. The batter was so confused by the pitch that he
falls down while swinging.


That 'a boy, Lance. Nice pitch.
Russ looks down at his watch. It is 5 o'clock on the dot. He
looks upset because there is no sign of Tommy. He readjusts
himself on the bleacher. Upon doing so, he knocks his
scorebook on the ground. As he reaches down to pick it up,
it appears in front of his face. Tommy is holding it.
Drop something?
Thank you. Thank you also for
showing up.
Russ smells Tommy to check if he is drunk.
Wow, color me surprised.
I'm not racist, Russ.
No, no. You showed up on time and
you're not even drunk. I thought
you'd be one or the other, maybe
both. My money was on drunk
though. How were those two shots I
earned you?
A little watered down.
Lance strikes out another batter to retire the side. Russ
pumps a fist in excitement. He almost hits Tommy.
That's the fire, Lance. Good job,
That's your boy? Aren't you a
little old to... you know?
That's not my son, and for your
information, I can still get down.


With little kids? Sick. Do you
need a special little pill, or
does Oshkosh B'Gosh get you all
riled up?
Don't piss me off, Tommy. That's
my grandson. I have custody of him
because his parents are unfit.
Well, that and they too are under
custody... of the State of
Illinois for the rest of their
lives. Lance is my life. If it
weren't for him I might have done
something terrible. Life is tough
when you lose a wife and your son
gets in too deep with drugs. Lance
gave me something to care for...a
desire to live. Not only does he
wear number one on the field; he
wears it in my heart.
Spare me the after-school special,
old-timer. Why did you want me to
come out here? Did you want to
show me that your grandson is
better than I ever was?
Damnit! It upsets me that you have
no faith in yourself. So what if
you've blown some important games
in your life. It's a shame that
you don't believe in redemption.
What's there to have faith in? The
fact that my dad killed my mom and
then blew his brains out, shortly
after calling me a hopeless
failure? And what the hell do I
have to redeem? He was right.
Russ dons a concerned expression and puts a hand on Tommy's


Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the
bonfire that I once saw in your
eyes has since dwindled to one
that wouldn't even be able to
light a candle.
Do you think I am happy with the
way my life has turned out?
No, I don't, and that is why I had
you come here today. Your life is
not over. It has not turned out to
be anything yet. You're still
young. Redemption, son,
Look, the only reason I am here is
because I have nothing to lose. I
never had anything to begin with,
so I don't know why you are
talking all this redemption
You're right. Maybe redemption is
the wrong word. Let me ask you a
So you brought me out here for an
interview? Here's my answer to
everything: I lost at life. Screw
this. I'm leaving.
Tommy turns a shoulder and takes a step back.
If you are turning towards your
car, you better be getting your
glove. This chance only comes once
in a lifetime. I didn't have you
come here to watch you loathe
yourself in self-pity. Now, for
once in your life, grow up. Look
at the big picture. You have a
platinum arm and a copper heart.
No wonder your dad did what he


Tommy's eyes illuminate in rage. He turns back around to
face Russ.
What did you just say?
Not only have you lost that fire,
but apparently, you've lost your
hearing, too. I said, your daddy
did the right thing.
Tommy punches Russ in the face. Russ stumbles backwards. He
falls down to one knee. He is shaken, a little dazed, but
still has composure. He gets up with the jubilance of a 12
year-old. Many others in the stands take notice of this
event in shock.
Burn, baby, burn! That right there
is why I made a side note while
scouting you that said, "Has the
tenacity of Walter Johnson plus
Roger Clemens multiplied by Bob
Russ takes the stance of 1920's style pugilist and punches
Tommy a few times in the face. The game has stopped as
Lance watches his grandfather taking it to Tommy. Russ gets
Tommy in a headlock and continues pummeling him with blows
to the head.
Call me Nolan Ryan, Mr. Robin
The scuffle continues as Russ throws Tommy onto the field.
All the little kids, led by Lance take turns kicking Tommy
while he is down. One of the kids kicks Tommy in the balls.
The umpires step in to break up the melee. The kids finally
get off of Tommy. After the kids return to their respective
dugouts, the umpires give Tommy a couple of kicks to the
stomach as well. They then drag Tommy off the field. Russ
walks over and helps Tommy up.
You had enough yet, kid?
I think I'm ready to pitch now.


It is dusk and Russ is behind home plate. He is squatting,
wearing catcher gear. A bloodied-up Tommy is on the mound,
sweat and blood are flowing from his brow. Tears are coming
from his eyes. Snot is coming from his nostrils. He wipes
away the sweat, blood, tears, and snot and settles into the
wind-up, rocks back and fires in a blazing heater. Russ'
mitt pops and dust escapes like a slave on the Underground
Railroad. Lance is drinking a juice box. In his other hand
he holds a radar gun. He drops the juice box upon hearing
the ferocious snap of the ball meeting the mitt. 95
registers on the gun.
That's all you got, Mommy?
Russ takes the ball out of his glove and throws it back to
Tommy. Tommy rifles another one in there. It is more
violent than the first in every conceivable way.
      (under his breath)
It's Tommy.
98. Russ tosses the ball back to Tommy.
I'm sorry. I didn't hear that,
failure. What did you say?
Tommy's face turns beet-red.
Get ready for triple digits.
He grasps the ball, four fingers across the seam. He bears
down, winds up and delivers. Russ receives it awkwardly. He
thought it would get there faster. It didn't. The gun that
Lance is holding shows that it was only 83 MPH.
What was that?
I'd tell ya, but you'd think I was
full of shit.
When did you learn the FOSH?
You learn a lot of things at bars.


It's a shame that you never
learned to not mess with 53
year-old black men.
You didn't really cause that much
damage, old-timer. It was the
little 11 year-olds that hurt my
pride the most.
Tommy and Russ both share a good laugh. As Tommy is laughing
he reaches down to grab his balls for a moment and then
continues laughing.
Stu is serving some fried calamari to a CUSTOMER as he
notices Russ and a roughed-up looking Tommy walking through
the door. He snatches the basket away from the guest just
as they are about to take it from him and presents it to his
sweaty buddies, instead.
Hey, that was mine!
You'll live.
Stu directs his attention to Tommy.
Jesus, Tommy, you look like you
got your ass handed to you. What
Tommy looks over at Russ. Russ has a little smirk on his
It's a long story, Stu.
It's actually a pretty short
story, Stu. The Baseball Bunch and
I knocked some sense into Tommy.
One of your finest and preferably
coldest brews on tap. Also, a
Ginger ale and some Grenadine.


Damn, a Baseball Bunch reference.
We are old, Russ. I hope the San
Diego Chicken got a few good licks
in. One brew and one Shirley
Temple it is.
Thanks for the beer, Russ.
Ha! Ha! This guy is hilarious. The
Shirley Temple is for you.
Forget that noise. I'm drinking
I've got this new whiskey just for
you, Tommy. It's first name is
Fine, whatever, as long as it's
Stu begins to pour the drinks.
So, how's the rookie doing?
Russ didn't do bad for an
Jizz mopper, yes. Comedian, no.
Stu hands them their beverages.
Yeah, he's doing pretty good when
he's not whining or trying to make
me feel sorry for him. You guys
serve violins here?
You can say whatever you want, as
long as you pay for my manly
drinks, Dr. Phil.


Consider it done, Shirley. And
I'll continue to take care of you
as long as you keep throwing like
a coked up Dr. K and not a
postmenopausal Dr. Joyce Brothers.
For the last time, it's Tommy, and
what is a Dr. Joyce Brothers? Is
that some sort of old term for a
sissy family member?
Russ, go easy with the out-dated
references on little Tommy.
Besides, are you guys going to eat
or just talk trash all night?
Russ picks up a piece of calamari and looks puzzled.
What is this stuff?
It's calamari. Like squid or
I don't know how I feel about
eating octopus or whatever it is.
Just eat it.
It must be hard to get any work
done with this guy, Russ. He
never stops talking.
That's funny. I was just thinking
the same thing about you. That guy
over there is trying to get your
Stu turns around to see the customer who originally ordered
the food flagging him down.
Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot all about


Well...if they're not going to eat
it, can't you just give it back to
You don't want that stuff anyways.
It's probably cold by now.
Stu reaches below the bar.
Here, have a Rolling Rock on the
      (rolling his eyes)
I'm drinking Amstel Light.
Well, I'm giving you a Rolling
Rock, so deal with it.
He hands the disgruntled customer a Rolling Rock and heads
back to the dynamic duo. The customer drinks the beer
I loved how you threw the FOSH
today. That was impressive.
Yeah, and it looks pretty nasty
after some 3-digit heat, huh?
It's kind of like when it's dark
and you are drunk and you take
what you think is a beautiful
woman home. You get to your crib
and turn the lights on and she's
nothing like what you expected,
but you swing anyway.
I'll drink to that.
Russ and Tommy tap the bottom of their glasses. Tommy tries
to sip from his straw in a manly fashion, but fails.
I bet you will.


Oh no. This is scary.
What's that?
I don't want to jinx anything, but
for a split second there, it
looked like you two were starting
to get along.
Tommy's phone rings seven times. He finally answers it.
I'm not mopping up your nasty-ass
jizz stalls anymore, man. Go
screw yourself.
If I had a number one starter for
every time I've ever heard that.
Oh, it's you. I'm not cleaning up
after you either, gramps.
And a good morning to you, son.
I meant to say "hi" somewhere in
there. My bad.
I wouldn't expect anything less
from you. Or more. Whatever. How
you feeling? How's your arm?
I'm a little hungover. My arm's
not too bad; just a little tender.
My right nut hurts a little
Umm, I just asked about your arm.
I bet you have a vicious hangover,
Shirley. Hey, if you want to throw


                       RUSS (cont'd)
today, meet me at the field at
11:00 am.
Wait a minute. It's before eleven
right now? Why are you calling me
this early? And let me get this
straight; you want me to meet you
at eleven? In the AM? It's not
like this is a job or something.
Maybe it wouldn't hurt to think of
it as such.
Tommy is kind of taken aback and surprisingly seems to get
this and takes it to heart as he grins to himself.
Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll be there.
Your little army of rugrats aren't
going to be there are they?
No, you're lucky. There are no
games today.
Good. One kick to the balls a week
is about all I can take.
Man up, sissy.
Will do, my brother.
Don't call me that, I'm not your
Well, you're old enough to be my
That made no sense.


Whatever. I just woke up and one
of my boys feels like someone took
me to Celine Dion concert and
strapped me to the woofer.
Both men pause and then share in a good chuckle.
Tommy is pitching to Russell again. A conversation ensues
as they throw back and forth to each other.
Ouch. You don't have to throw it
that hard every time, you know.
Yeah, I know. But it's fun hurting
your delicate little hands.
Well, I must admit that you are
one of the hardest throwers I've
ever caught.
Who was the hardest?
I don't know if you remember the
old Mets pitcher Sid Fernandez out
of Kaiser High School in Hawai'i.
I'd have to say him hands down.
El Sid? You used to stalk him,
too? He didn't throw that hard,
did he?
I don't know how fast he threw,
but one day in practice in the
minors, our only good catcher's
mitt got misplaced and all the
others had holes in them, so
somebody had the bright idea to
have me use a first basemen's
glove for the rest of practice. My
hand was so swollen that I
couldn't wear any kind of glove
for the rest of the week.


I see your point. It must have
been hard to masturbate.
I don't have any idea what you're
talking about.
That's when you play with
I know what masturbation is, ya
dumb kid.
You ever been caught?
I don't think that's any of your
business and I feel kind of
uncomfortable talking to you about
this, but for some reason, I'm
going to tell you anyway. My
sister caught me once.
Ouch! That's pretty much the worst
person who could catch you.
From personal experience, I can
tell you that indeed it is.
My dad caught me one time. He
seemed to be almost more bothered
by it than I did.
Why are we talking about this
junk, anyway?
I don't know. I'm gonna run up the
street real quick and grab us some
Yeah, you know what? I am pretty
hungry, actually.


This one's on me.
Tommy turns to head up to the pizza shop, but stops and
turns around to say something to Russ.
Hey, Russ. Did you keep going?
Keep going where?
When your sister came in the room,
did you keep going?
Cracka, please.
Russ and Tommy are eating some pizza in the dugout. Tommy
has his head down during most of the conversation.
This is a pretty nice field.
Especially, for a little league
Yeah, not too bad. Paul Bunyan
built it, you know?
You go by Paul now?
You're right. I did help build it.
Well, I paid to remodel it.
Any plans on making a "Babe the
Blue Ox Field?"
Nah, he's retired.
Are you close to retiring?


You kidding me? I ain't dead yet.
As long as I have the desire, I
guess I'll keep doing what I do.
Plus I have this one last project
I'm working on.
Oh yeah? What's that?
Upon saying this, Tommy lifts his head, stops chewing his
food and looks directly into Russ' eyes.
It's staring me right in the eyes.
Who, me?
Yeah. You think you're ready for
the bigs, Tom?
I think you know the answer to
Well, you know what I think, too.
I think you deserve a shot. I
think you've got loads of
potential and I'm tired of seeing
it go to waste drinking whiskey
every night and whatever else you
do with your spare time.
No, no. That's pretty much it. I,
apparently, don't even do that
Good, and just so you know, I
think you're ready, but it's not
up to me. Both of us know that you
don't think you're ready yet. I
think that nonsense is all in your
head. When you got on that mound
the other day, I saw a lot of the
things on your mind disappear
almost instantly.


You noticed all that from behind
your catcher's mask?
Yeah, call it a sixth sense. You
need to cut all the negativity out
and just focus on pitching.
How do you suggest I do that?
      (after a moment of
Just throw man. Just reach back
and throw.
Tommy and Russ head back to their cars. Tommy stops to throw
away the garbage.
You know you can't eat that junk
anymore, when you're in the
Who says I'm going to the majors?
Me, your 98 mile per hour fastball
and hopefully, once you wake up,
your ass.
      (eyes nearly
You're helping man. Not to get all
mushy or anything, but thanks for
believing in me. It's been way too
long since that's happened.
Yeah, I've been there. But the
older I get, the more I realize
that it has more to do with them
than it has to do with you.


Well, who knows? Maybe I've got
some decent stuff, but don't I
have to go to the minors before I
go to the majors? I've got a long
way to go before I'm flying first
class and dodging rabid fans.
Well, you played four years of
college ball, so you're slightly
more advanced than the average
rookie. Depending on what the
manager and GM think, you could go
straight to the majors, but don't
worry about signing autographs
just yet. I don't know if you're
that good this early. You may
have to play a few games in the
minors just to prove yourself.
You know I got drafted out of high
school, right?
Yep...let's see...9th round by the
Wow, good memory.
Why didn't you sign?
I was young and dumb. And I
actually thought I was good back
then. I didn't want to play in
Texas. I thought I was better than
that. I thought I deserved to be
drafted higher. But most of all, I
wanted to prove that I could close
out the big one before I made the
next step.
Hey, you got pretty close and at
least you got to play in the big
game. A lot of people would've
wanted be in your cleats.


Until I blew it.
That doesn't take away from how
hard you worked to get there and
how good of a season you had up to
that point.
Unfortunately, not everyone sees
it that way, including me. I guess
just being there and everything
else wasn't enough for me. I've
always wanted to shine just once
and every time I'm on the verge of
doing just that, I choke.
I wouldn't call it choking. That
was a nasty pitch you threw in the
CWS. That big boy just threw his
bat out there. I don't think he
even saw it, and unfortunately,
the wind was blowing out that day
and next thing you know, your
career's over. I don't know about
you, but I'm ready for an
alternate ending.
You know what? I'll think about
it. I'll honestly think about it.
That may not sound like too much,
but believe me, it is when it
comes from me.
I can live with that, for now at
least. Just don't drink when you
I'll try not to.


Montage - We see a montage of Tommy hurling heat to batters
in some minor league games. Nobody can touch his stuff; he
is making them all look like bad tee-ball players. After
every strikeout, Tommy uses a signature "arm-pump" maneuver
to show his excitement. We can see the fire in his eyes and
the determination of his heart before and during each pitch.
Tommy is walking to his car after another minor league
victory. People come up to him to get his autograph. After
signing a few, he finally makes his way to his car. We see
Russ and Lance walk up to him with smiles on their faces
just after Tommy opens his door.
Hey, hey, Tommy.
Hi, Mr. Oscoda.
Hey, guys. How 'bout that game
tonight? I had 10 K's.
You were phenomenal tonight,
Hey, Tommy, I believe Lance has
something to tell you.
Alright, what do you have to tell
me, Lance?
Lance doesn't speak right away. He lowers his head and then
slowly raises it back up with a giant grin on his face.
They're calling you up to the
majors, Mr. Oscoda.
Tommy immediately is elated and starts hugging Lance and
Russ nearly squeezing the life right out of them.


Are you kidding me? This is the
greatest moment of my life.
Tommy, Russ and Lance all walk into the bar with somber
looks on their faces. They stand just inside the entrance
when Stu turns around from wiping a glass dry to see them
looking so gloomy.
Tommy, haven't seen you in a
while. What are you doing back
Well, I'm no longer allowed back
in the minors.
Been roughed up, have ya? Let me
get you a drink on me.
That's okay, Stu, I'm fine for
Tommy Oscoda doesn't want a drink?
What did they do to you down
I'm fine; I just don't have the
urge to drink anymore. At least
not tonight, anyway. Probably in
the near future though.
Well, if there's anything I can do
for you, Tommy, just let me know.
Thanks, Stu.
Tommy, Russ and Lance turn around to exit the door they just
came in from when Tommy turns back around to Stu.
Hey, Stu?


Yeah, Tommy?
Hey, I'm probably going to be
around here more in the future
though. I just wanted to give you
a heads up.
I pretty much figured that much.
That's mostly because I just got
moved up to the Sox and we have
quite a few home games down the
stretch and I'll need somewhere to
Stu doesn't take this information in instantly.
That's okay, Tommy. You can come
here whenev...wait...what?
Stu, I'm going to be playing for
the Sox starting Thursday night!
Stu drops the glass he'd been drying for the past couple of
Are you freakin' kidding me? You
better not be kiddin' me, Tommy.
If you're kiddin' me the next
drink I give you will be laced
with a roofie so Fat Pearl over
there can take advantage of you
Stu points over to the most hideously obese woman one has
ever seen, FAT PEARL. She is scantily clad with a drink in
her right hand and a small pill in her left. She looks over
at Tommy who cringes in terror as Fat Pearl smiles revealing
she only has three brown teeth for a grill. Lance and Russ
shudder at this sight as well.
Somebody get that lady a
cheeseburger and a toothbrush.


Stu, I ain't kiddin' ya, buddy.
I'm going to be playing for our
very own Chicago White Sox.
I'll get you back for that, Tommy;
believe you, me. Hey, everybody,
for the next ten seconds drinks
are on the house.
Everyone in the bar says, "Hooray!!!"
You didn't let me finish. Starting
eight seconds ago.
The patrons at the bar all make depressed sounding sounds in
depression. Fat Pearl seems the most bothered by this news.
Stu, you're never going to change
are you?
Are the Cubs ever going to win the
World Series?
I guess not. Stu, you have a good
You, too, Tommy.
Tommy, Russ and Lance exit the bar.
Tommy walks into the clubhouse while all the other players
give him blank stares. Tommy finds a locker with his name
on it and sets his stuff in it. One of the players, SAMMY
"BOTZ" KLEINBOTZ, introduces himself to Tommy.
Hey, you's Tommy Oscoda ain'tchya?
I sure is.
Tommy and Sammy shake hands.


The name's Sammy Kleinbotz, but
everyone calls me Botz for short.
I'm these guys's catcher. Looks
like I'll be's catchin's for you's
Tommy goes back to getting his stuff ready for the game. The
manager for the White Sox, GILBERT "GILBIE" GRAHAM, walks in
and addresses the team.
Alright, everyone, settle down. As
you can tell, Ken Clifford is out
for the rest of the year with a
torn rotator cuff. Because of
this, we've decided to call up
Tommy Oscoda out of Charlotte.
Tommy, get up here.
Tommy walks up to say hello to everyone when one of the
other players, GUILLERMO FERNANDEZ, interjects.
What a joke?
Tommy looks over to see his old little league teammate,
Guillermo Fernandez shaking his head at Tommy.
Hey, Guillermo. So nice to see
you again.
Tommy, the last time I saw you,
you were choking worse than that
little girl from Field of Dreams.
I see Doc "Moonlight" Graham
crossed the line to save you, too.
At least someone could make a
Screw you, Guillermo. That was
like ten years ago. Let it go,
Have you put it behind you, Tommy?
You're telling me it's not in your


                       GUILLERMO (cont'd)
head? Then where have you been the
last few years? The last I heard,
you were working in some porn
shop. Were you mopping up jizz
for fun? Was the idea of making
money for throwing a little white
ball around not your idea of a
good job, or were you just scared?
Tommy glares at Guillermo and clenches a fist, but before he
can say or do anything, the manager interjects.
      (putting his arm
       around Tommy)
Now, now. If he was scared, he
wouldn't be here right now. Why am
I even justifying what you said,
Guillermo? You know better than
that. This is a team. Do you all
know how to spell that? Don't
answer that, Botz.
Botz grins even though he's partially confused.
Tommy is a part of our team now
and I want everyone to make him
feel at home. And I mean
Gilbie pats Guillermo firmly with his hand and gives the
back of his neck a short, tight squeeze.
You got that, Moe?
Got it, coach.
You up to throwing a little
batting practice, Tom?
Yes, Gil, sir, coach, I'll do my
That's all I can ask for. Well,
actually, if you could do a little
bit better than that when you're


                       GILBIE (cont'd)
pitching in a real game situation,
I'd appreciate that, son.
Well, this is the majors. I'll see
what I can do for you.
Well, good. What are you all
staring at? Let's get out there,
boys! Hustle up! Hustle up!
The team storms out of the locker room.
Tommy is warming up. He looks a little nervous, as he is
about to pitch to the great rookie from Japan, KOBE YOSHIDA,
who is the front-runner for Rookie of the Year honors. Botz
notices he's nervous, so he approaches the mound.
What's wrong with you's, man. Is
you's nervous?
Well yeah, man. This is the real
stadium. I'm wearing the real
uniform. And that's the real Kobe
Yoshida over there getting ready
to decapitate me with one of his
famous line drives. The guy's
You's can't be's thinking all the
time, buddy. Thinkin' 'bout stuff
Botz can't "think" of anything else.
I get it. I think. I mean I do. I
can do this.
Yeah. Just have's fun wit it.
Pretend you's in little league
Tommy immediately goes blank and he flashes back to the


Little League World Series, when he gave up the series
winning home run to a Japanese player. Seeing Kobe, a
Japanese player ready to gear up, does not help matters.
Oh, man. You had to say something,
didn't you?
Oh crap. Sorry, man. I was just
tryin' ta help you's out.
Just put your mask on and get
behind the plate. I'm just gonna
throw this ball like I've done a
million times.
Yeah, dat's a good idea, man. I
should'a thought of dat.
Make sure your mask is tight. I
plan on throwing it pretty hard.
You got it, Tony. Good luck out
      (under his breath)
It's Tommy, you bozo. Just catch
the damn ball.
Tommy takes a deep breath, wipes the sweat off his forehead
and gets ready to pitch. Kobe steps in. Tommy reaches back
and throws some serious fire. One of the hardest balls he's
ever thrown. Unfortunately, the ball slips a little and hits
Kobe in the helmet. Kobe is seriously shaken up. A couple of
guys have to be held back by the coaching staff; a few guys
are just concerned about Kobe's health and the rest of the
team shake their heads and glare at Tommy.
You see Tommy? That's why I'm not
over it. Because you're not over
it. You need to be in control out
there. Not just with the ball, but
with your emotions. I don't think
you're ready yet. Maybe you should
go back to the porn store you
piece of shit.


Security escorts Tommy off the field. Tommy sees the manager
on his way to the clubhouse.
It was an accident, coach.
I know, kid. I know. But...(sees
that the rest of the team is
pretty pissed off) why don't you
just take the rest of the day off?
Get some rest and come back
tomorrow. Okay, son?
Tommy doesn't know what to do or say, so he just leaves.
A depressed-looking Tommy is watching TV in the dark of a
hotel room that the White Sox have provided him with for the
evening. The room is a mess. The fruit basket that was
left in the room for him has been thrown to the ground.
Clothes and linen lie all over the room. Tommy has five
o'clock shadow and his hair is all over the place. He looks
awful. He hears a knock on the door. A voice yells out
"Room Service!"
Finally, my whiskey is here.
When Tommy opens the door, Russ and Lance stand there.
Oh. Hi. Did you bring my whiskey?
No, but we brought you a pizza.
You know you told me that I
couldn't eat that stuff anymore.
Yeah, but I figured you'd get to
drinking after what happened at
the ballpark today and then I
thought to myself, "Hey, pizza
can't be any worse than a bottle
of whiskey."


And this isn't just any pizza.
This is the best pizza in Chicago.
Chuck E. Cheese?
No way, man. Barnaby's. And it's
got everything on it.
Oooh. Barnaby's is pretty good. I
guess I better cancel that bottle
of whiskey, huh?
Not necessarily. You could give
it to Gilbie. He'll drink it in
the off-season. Or after a bad
Kobe could probably use it after
the concussion I gave him.
Kobe is fine. And by the way, he
told me to tell you that there are
no hard feelings.
You speak Japanese?
Well, his translator told me.
Yeah, right. What's his name?
Hmmmm...I wasn't expecting that.
You crackas and your stereotypes.
Can we come in, Mr. Oscoda? The
pizza is getting cold.


Of course. Sorry. The place is a
Geez. It is a mess. How long have
you been staying here?
2 or 3...hours.
Let's eat.
      (opening box)
Wow. That looks really good. I
might have to eat, like, all of
No way, Mr. Oscoda! I'm hungry!
Alright, alright. It is a pretty
big pie. I'll save a couple slices
for you. I'm supposed to be on a
diet, anyway.
Yeah, you've got to get back out
there tomorrow.
Consider this your last supper.
I don't know if you can turn water
into wine, but it would really be
helpful if you could turn my
mini-bar into a soda machine. All
those cute little bottles keep
staring at me.
You don't need that stuff anymore.
Yeah, all you need right now is us
and a slice of this pizza. Oooh!
Look at that piece right there!
Clear the way boys, that one's


Grandpa always gets the best piece
of everything.
That's right, boy. Don't you
forget it. I'm old. This might be
my last piece of anything, so I'm
gonna make it a good one.
Tommy is just taking everything in and with each passing
moment keeps cheering up more and more.
Where would I be right now if it
wasn't for you guys?
You'd probably be dead or
somethin'. Or working at that
stupid "corn" shop.
Russ winks at Tommy to let him know that he has him covered
on that checkered part of his past.
Yeah. That "corn" store...sure
sucked. Hey guys. Thanks for
coming over here and thanks for
the pizza.
No problem.
I owe you guys.
You can pay me back by just
continuing to fight.
Well, I'll try, but I mean...I owe
you a lot more than that.
There is one thing you could do
for me.
Name it, buddy.


Just do me a favor. I know he's a
pitcher, but if he ever takes
batting practice could you bean
Guillermo for me? I hate that
Now, now, Lance. I told you. I
don't want you using that word.
You don't hate anybody.
He is kind of a jerk, though.
Plunk his sorry butt.
Way to go Grandpa!
I'll drink to that.
Here. I got an apple juice for
Gee, thanks. Looks kind of like
whiskey, I guess.
But you won't wake up with a
I may have heartburn, though. How
many toppings are on this thing
Twelve toppings? Are you trying to
kill me?


No. We wouldn't do that. Unless
you let us down, of course.
I guess I'll have to just keep
doing well, then.
I knew you would.
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy....
Oh, stop it. You're making me
blush, Lance. Seriously. Just
being here is enough, believe me.
But chanting is more fun...Tommy,
Tommy, Tommy....
Tommy and Russ just shake their heads and smile as Lance
continues to chant.
Tommy is on the mound in the World Series, Game 7, 9th
inning, bases loaded, 2 outs and the crowd is chanting
"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy...." Tommy is daydreaming. Then he
hears a different "Tommy, Tommy, Tommy". The bullpen
catcher, SPIKE RHODES, is trying to get Tommy's attention.
Tommy, Tommy....Hey, Tommy!
Huh? Yeah?
It's time, man. They want you to
start warming up. You ready?
I better be.


Let's go.
Tommy starts loosening up a little by throwing to Spike.
The Twins are in town and tonight's game has been quite the
high-scoring affair. It's only the seventh inning and it's
already 13-11 with the White Sox ahead. The Pale Hose have
already gone through four pitchers and the current one, RUDY
RADCLIFFE, has just walked the bases loaded. Gilbie looks
nervous and talks things over quickly with the pitching
Great. Just great. Looks like
Rudy can't get the job done again.
You want me to get 'em? The only
guy we have ready is the
I don't really see any other
Well, I guess it's Tommy then.
I'll go get 'em.
Gilbie waddles out to the mound.
      (not making eye
Hey....uh...nice job out there,
I can get this next guy out, Skip.
He's only the number eight hitter.
Yeah, right. Whatever you say,
kid. Gimme the ball.
A crushed Rudy gives him the ball and hustles off the field
with a little tear in his eye and sprints all the way to the
clubhouse so no one can see him cry. Gilbie signals to the
righty in the bullpen, Tommy.


Tommy is stretching as he sees Gilbie signal towards the
bullpen. The set-up man, JIM HAGGERTY, is looking on in the
background. Tommy has a huge smile on his face as he makes
his way out of the bullpen.
Hey, Tommy.
Tommy turns around to see a scowl on Jim's face. Jim, who is
chewing tobacco, spits out a nasty brown chunk of it and
wipes off his Rollie Fingers-esque mustache. He then reaches
down to put his cup in place.
I feel like pitching next inning,
so don't screw it up for me, huh?
I like to pitch with a lead.
I'm actually going to pitch the
final three innings tonight.
Ha ha ha! You wish! Gilbs would
never do that. I'm surprised he's
even letting you pitch at all.
You're only a rookie. A rookie
with Single-A skills at most.
Jim starts itching around his groin.
I don't have time for this shit,
Faggerty. I need to go strike out
the side.
Jim shakes his head and spits again as Tommy begins
sprinting towards the mound. He reaches his hand further
into his penile area and continues to scratch.
500 bucks says you don't get one
Tommy hears this and stops running. He turns around to
address Jim. 35,000 are looking on.
Triple that says I put itching
powder in your jock.


Jim pulls out his atheletic supporter and digs deep into his
crotch and scratches as hard as he can. This is shown on the
scoreboard while the crowd cracks up.
Gilbie and Botz are waiting at the mound when Tommy gets
You ready, kid?
Yeah, I think so.
Well, I hope you are. I don't
really have any other options at
this point. Just try not to hit
him in the head.
Gilbie waddles back to the dugout.
You have any words of advice for
me, Botz?
No, I don't wants to screw you's
up. 'Member what happened
That was just a coincidence, Botz.
Gimme something.
Botz does his best Gilbie impression.
Just try's not to hit him in the
head, kid.
Tommy grins as Botz heads back to home plate. Tommy throws
one warm-up pitch and settles in.
I'm ready.
Botz stands up from his crouching position and takes his
mask off.


You's what?
I said I'm ready.
You's better be.
Botz puts his mask back on and crouches back down. The
umpire and the batter settle in to their respective places.
Tommy takes the sign from Botz. Botz signals for the
fastball. Tommy rears back and throws his first pitch. The
pitch goes wild, hits the dirt and gets away from Botz. All
the runners advance with the runner on third base scoring.
Botz hustles back to get the ball as Tommy covers home plate
before the other runners can score. Botz calls to the
umpire for a time out, which is granted to him.
Damnit, kid!
Botz heads out to the mound to settle Tommy down a little.
Just settle down and throw the
Good advice, Botz.
Botz heads back to the plate. Gilbie looks on in horror from
the dugout. Tommy brushes it off and throws another pitch,
which is a perfect 97-mile per hour strike. Tommy proceeds
to strike the batter out as well as the next two batters.
The White Sox lead 13-12 heading into the bottom of the
seventh. About 3/4 of the team head out to the top of the
dugout to greet Tommy when he heads off the mound. Guillermo
sits with arms folded at the far end of the dugout.
      (to himself)
Not bad, kid. Not bad. Go wrap up
your arm.
I'm done?


You got a problem with that? I
don't wanna push you too much, too
No, no problem. I just feel like
I'm getting into a rhythm. I could
probably get another three out if
you want me to.
Ha! Whatever you say, kid. If I
had a dollar for every time I've
heard that, I wouldn't be here
coaching you idiots. I'd be in
Florida drinking a Mai Tai on the
The dugout gets uncomfortably quiet.
Alright. I'm just gonna go wrap my
arm up.
Yeah, you go do that. What are the
rest of you looking at? Snap out
of it! We have a game to win here!
Look alive!
Tommy is sitting in a whirlpool with his arm wrapped up.
He's watching the game with Russ on a big screen TV in the
clubhouse. Current closer, WOODY HAWKINS, strikes out the
last batter of the game to win it for the White Sox, but he
immediately falls to the ground in agony as soon as he lets
go of the ball. He is rolling around on the ground in pain
and stays down for quite some time.
Oh, man. That does not look good.
No, it doesn't. I tell you what
though. It looks like the White
Sox might need a new closer.
Well, we don't know how bad it is
yet. And they brought me here to


                       TOMMY (cont'd)
replace that middle reliever with
the rotator cuff injury.
Well, if he can't play...and it
looks pretty bad...(Woody is still
on the ground screaming in agony)
then he's going to have to use
What makes you think that somebody
would be me?
Who else are they gonna use?
Haggerty? That guy is too old,
man. He's barely breathing. Plus
Gilbie doesn't trust him since he
blew the save in that wild card
game three years ago.
He's got experience. He's fifth on
the all-time saves list.
Nah, his best years are behind
him. And like I said, he blew that
game and Gilbie took it
Well, I hope he's not a fan of the
Little League or College World
Series, because I blew both of
No, he knows about all that, but
for some reason he still believed
in you enough to call you up from
the minors.
What an idiot.
Tell me about it.
Some of the team starts coming into the clubhouse. Guillermo
Fernandez and shortstop SHAWN THOMPSON approach the hot tub.


Yo, Russ, why is this white boy
watching my TV?
Because it's facing the hot tub
and it was on when I came in here.
Whoa, whoa. I don't remember
asking you, cracka.
Take it easy, Shawn. He's not
hurting anything.
Shit. Ask Kobe if he's not hurting
Kobe is fine, Shawn.
I don't know why you're standing
up for this stupid ass white boy,
Russ, but I'll tell you who's not
okay, Woody. He's out there in
pain and you're in here sitting in
a hot tub watching it all on TV.
Gilbie told me to come in here, so
I just got a little comfortable.
Don't get too comfortable, Rookie.
You won't be here too long.
I don't know, guys. I did strike
out the side tonight. And Woody
doesn't look too good.
Don't talk about Woody, man. You
ain't no Woody.
Just ignore them, Tommy.
Gilbie hears all the fuss and makes his way through a crowd
of players blocking the way.


You got lucky out there, Tommy.
Say goodbye. That was your first
and last time ever pitching in the
Oh really? Say hello. Say hello to
your new closer.
Gilbie makes his way through just as Tommy says this.
You cocky sonofabitch. You're the
new closer huh?!
The room goes silent and Guillermo and Shawn smile.
You wanna be the closer, huh?
Well, Woody might be out for a
couple days, so the next time
there's a closing situation, we'll
put you in there, alright. We'll
give you a taste of the ninth
inning. See what real pressure is
all about. But if you don't close
that game out...I don't care how
many guys you strike out...you're
going back to the minors. Say
hello to your new closer, fellas.
Wish him luck. He'll need it.
Shawn and Guillermo don't know whether to smile or frown.
Shawn starts shaking his head.
Don't worry, Shawn. He'll find a
way to screw it up. Believe me, I
know from experience.
Tommy doesn't know what to think. The whole situation is
just blowing his mind. Guillermo flips Tommy off once again.
Tommy is on the mound in the bottom of the ninth inning with
a two run lead and no one on base. He throws nine straight
strikes with the sell-out crowd going crazy over the aged
phenom. Botz runs up to the mound to congratulate him on
his first save and hands him the game ball.


The patrons at the bar are all watching Tommy get his first
save and all celebrate as well. Stu is the most excited.
Yay, hey, Tommay!!! At a babay!!!
Tommy waves his cap to the fans and leaves the field with an
enormous smile on his face.
Botz is next to Tommy as the celebration has died down a
little. Gilbie walks up to Tommy and pats him on the back.
Good job out there, Rookie. The
job is yours for at least one more
Thanks, Coach.
As Gilbie turns around and goes to walk away, Tommy pats him
on the butt. Gilbie turns back around as Tommy points to
Botz, what did I tell you about
doing that? You really need to
get yourself a girlfriend.
But Coach, I didn't do's nuthin'.
I swears it.
Gilbie shakes his head and walks away.
Botz, you know what we need to do?
What's dat, Tommy?


We need to celebrate. We're going
to a little bar I know of. Maybe
you'll even get lucky tonight,
Lucky? I didn't even plays the
lottery tonight, Tommy.
You're such a knucklehead, Botz.
Come on; let's get ready for some
Whatever you's say, Tommy.
Tommy and Botz enter to a silent bar. Stu is drying a glass
without noticing Tommy at all.
Stu, it's me, Tommy. Did you see
that game tonight?
I'm sorry, who are you again? Why
did you tell me who you were,
Because you are old and I thought
you might have alzheimer's. What's
going on in here? Why's everyone
so glum?
Stu stops drying the glass and looks up at Tommy with a
straight face.
Because the Twins lost tonight.
Tommy's jaw drops at the sound of this ridiculous statement.
Stu can't hold the fake "frown" any longer and bursts into
Because our boy, Tommy, saved the
game for our Chicago White Sox! I


                       STU (cont'd)
told you I'd get you back you
little prick!
The patrons erupt in applause as Tommy gets congratulated by
everyone. Fat Pearl kisses him on the cheek. Tommy
shudders at this, but takes it in stride. A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG
WOMAN kisses him on the other cheek afterwards.
                       BEAUTIFUL YOUNG WOMAN
Great game, Tommy.
      (blushing a little)
Tommy and Botz finally make their way to the bar and take a
seat at the stool right in front of Stu.
Stu, I told you before and I'll
tell you again; I never really
liked you.
And I never liked you, Tommy.
What'll it be tonight fellas?
Just a water on the rocks for me.
Botz, what'll it be for you?
I'll have's me a beer on da rocks.
One water on the rocks and a
beer...on the rocks.
Stu leans in to whisper something into Tommy's ear.
He's a little slow, ain't he?
Yeah, but he can sure hit a ton.
Stu lifts his head in acknowledgement and turns to get their


Hey, Tommy, who's was dat girl dat
kissed you on the cheek?
You know what, Botz, I don't even
know myself. I've never seen her
around here before and I used to
come here a lot.
Well, she's looking over this way
with some type of pill in her
Tommy looks over to see Fat Pearl by the pool table with a
pill in her hand again and that same three-toothed smile on
her face. Tommy turns back to Botz and nearly vomits on
You were talking about Fat Pearl
over there by the pool table?
She sure is pretty.
That's all yours, bro. I told you
tonight you were going to get
Did you's go and buy me dat
lottery ticket or somethings?
Yeah, something like that.
Stu hands them their drinks.
Everyone, including CHIN PHATZ and JULIO ESPINOZA, is
suiting up by their lockers. Gilbie is walking around and
talking to the players. He notices that Botz isn't there
yet. He throws his hands up in disgust.
Has anybody seen our catcher?


I saw him last night. He took one
for the team, if you know what I
What the hell does that mean,
It means tagging a fat chick even
though one of your friends doesn't
benefit by getting her hot friend.
It's also called jumping a
grenade. Haven't any of you black
people seen the movie "Whipped?"
Even the Mexicans know what that
Botzie jumped a grenade??? I guess
Shawn wasn't there to cock-block
on that fat, white ass. He'd of
jumped it, too.
At least I didn't have to jump a
fence to get into this country.
That's because you didn't need to
jump a fence. You got a free boat
ride over.
Would all of you douche bags just
shut the hell up?
The team sneers at Guillermo.
What's up his egg roll?
Chin, this is a major league
clubhouse and there are no TBS
censors around. You can say
Homo Fernandez is probably still
pissed about the time that I
showed everyone in the 8th grade a


                       TOMMY (cont'd)
picture of when his mom won
Hustler's Beaver Hunt.
Everyone starts laughing and ragging on Guillermo.
You're two seconds away from an
ass kicking, Oscoda.
Well, since you're being so
generous today, giving me two
seconds and all, I'd like to take
the time to show everyone this.
Tommy reaches into his wallet and pulls out the picture of
Guillermo's mom. Everyone cracks up even louder than before.
Guillermo begins to throw a punch at Tommy, but Gilbie
breaks it up.
Save that aggression for the game.
You haven't exactly been lighting
it up your last couple of starts.
I don't need you with a broken
hand heading into the playoffs.
You are only going five tonight
and they better be five solid.
Reluctantly, Guillermo slowly meanders back to his locker
space. He keeps a piercing eye on Tommy the whole way. Botz
walks in with a big grin on his face.
Where the hell you been?
Sorry, skip. It won't happen
again. A man's gotta do what a
man's gotta do.
No man should have to ever do what
you did.
Don't hates the playa.


Oh, I ain't hating the player. I
ain't even hating the game. I'm
just hating the rules you followed
last night. You should have been
Once again the team laughs. As they are laughing, Tommy
hangs the picture of Guillermo's mom up in his locker. Tommy
sees that Guillermo noticed and he kisses two fingers and
then touches the picture with them.
Listen up! That's enough of the
shenanigans. Just because you boys
have secured at least a wild card,
you haven't won anything yet.
There is no time to lose track of
the number one goal. You guys are
champions! Now get it together and
let's keep it together until we
bring this whole damn thing home.
Are you all with me?
Everyone is pumped and yells in congruence of the skipper.
One last thing and I want you all
to pay very close attention
because your post-season dreams
depend on it.
The team grows very quiet in anticipation. Gilbie gets
uncomfortably close to Botz.
From here on out, if any of you
fornicate with a fat chick before
we win this thing, I am fining you
twenty-five large.
Tommy, Russ and Lance are sitting on a bench. Lance is
sloppily eating an ice cream cone. Passers-by are
acknowledging and pointing at Tommy. The majority of people
are decked out in White Sox apparel. There are some wearing
Cubs gear. Two families of opposition are approaching. They
each have a four-year-old son and both are wearing their
respective teams jersey. After they pass, both kids turn
around and give each other the bird.


Thank you for buying me the ice
cream, Mr. Oscoda.
No problem, little man. From now
on I want you to call me Tommy
Ok, Mr. Oscoda. I mean, Mr. Tommy.
You're raising a good kid.
My dad taught me to respect people
that deserve respect and I'm just
doing my best to pass that down to
the younger generations. He's a
smart kid. If only I could teach
him how to eat without looking
like an Ethiopian during his first
visit to the Golden Corral.
Russ uses a napkin to wipe ice cream off of Lance's nose.
Russ, I...ugh...um...I just wanted
to say...that...I...wanted
You're welcome, Tommy. Don't worry
about it. I know what you meant.
You've only been sober for a
little bit. As you grow stronger
and remain clean, those feelings
will be easier to convey. You've
been repressing them for so long;
masking them with the Devil's
Juice. You're becoming a new man,
Tommy Oscoda. A man that's only
four wins away from being a World
Champion. That, sir, is something
that's commendable.
Wow, I can't believe how warm it
is in October.
Russ pats Tommy on his back.


Let's get going. We've got a World
Series to win. We've got some
Cubs' ass to kick.
Yeah, kick some Cubs' bootie.
Tommy! Tommy! Tommy!
Not this again. Why me?
Just accept it. He admires you,
but more importantly; he believes
in you.
I'm glad at least someone does.
We both do, Tommy.
Thanks, Russ.
There you go. Those emotions are
already starting to shine. The
dark cloud is beginning to clear
on the horizon.
Since I am being all sentimental
for the first time in my life, can
I ask you a question?
Fire away.
How the hell did the Cubs make it
into the World Series?
Just like this crazy October
weather; the world is coming to an


Stu is intently watching the screen of his television set.
It's game one of the World Series. Tommy is standing on the
mound. The score shows that the White Sox are beating the
Cubs 3-0 in the bottom of the ninth. The Cubs received
home-field advantage when the National League finally beat
the American League in the All-Star Game. Hey, the Cubs are
in the World Series; anything can happen. In the most
dramatic and lightning quick fashion, Tommy strikes out the
side. I mean, more than dramatic. Picture nine straight
Nolan Ryan-to-the-ninth-power pitches with the sound of
thunder striking the mitt harder than a John Bonham drum
solo. Fire flames off the ball, exponentially growing in
velocity. The ball hits the mitt and dust settles like a
Pilgrim at Plymouth Rock. A radar gun reveals 103 MPH.
Tommy's face is beyond ecstatic as he surely solidifies the
save. He pumps his fist. We next see a newspaper that
features the same expression. The headline reads, "Southside
1-Northside 0." Another newspaper slams down with authority.
It's headline, "Civil War? Nope. Sox 2-Cubs Zilch." Then
another headline is shown, "2-1." Then another, "Tied at 2."
Another, "Pale Hose up 3-2." Lastly, another proclaims, "OH,
Stu is drying a glass when Tommy and Botz walk in. Russ and
Lance are at the bar eating some nachos.
Hey guys.
How's it goin', Tommy?
Hiya, Tommy.
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy...
Chill out, kid.
      (to Tommy)
Does dat kid's got something's
wrong wit' him or something's? You
know, mentally?


Botz, you should be a little nicer
to the kid. You've both got
something in common.
What's dat, Tommy?
You both have a sixth grade
You's gots a point there, Tommy.
Tommy and Botz make their way over to the bar and take a
seat next to Russ and Lance. Botz looks over and sees Fat
Pearl smiling at him. His eyes illuminate.
Tommy, that missile or somethin's
those guys told me you's was
talkin' to dem about is callin' my
name. I gotta go win the war,
Tommy looks over to Fat Pearl, smiles, and waves as Botz
gets up from his stool to make his way over to her.
You go do that, Botz.
Oh, mercy. Could you imagine what
would come out if they ever
Thanks, grandpa, now I won't even
be able to sleep for a week.
You and me both, kid.
Stu sets down the glass he had been drying.
So Tommy, Russ tells me you have
some news to tell me.
I sure do, Stu. Now I know you've
been a Sox fan since you were a


                       TOMMY (cont'd)
little kid and I know you haven't
gone to a game in a long time
because of this bar, but I got you
a little something that might make
your day.
Tommy, what are you gettin' at?
Tommy reaches to his back pocket and pulls out one ticket
and waves it in front of Stu.
Stu, I got you a ticket to Game
Seven of the World Series. You're
gonna be sittin' right next to
Russ and Lance.
Stu is in shock. He can't believe what he has just heard.
      (eyes welling)
Tommy, this is the greatest gift
anyone has ever given me.
You're welcome, Stu. Don't worry
about the bar; it's going to be
taken care of.
Three goofy-looking guys at the other end of the bar counter
look over at Tommy with smiles on their faces and numerous
bottles of beer in their hands.
I'll settle for that, Tommy. Once
again, thanks Tommy.
It's the least I could do for you,
Stu. You're the one who put the
phone in my hand. I owe you a lot
more for that.
We got to celebrate, Tommy.
Stu-Me's for everyone!
Stu-Me, Mr. Jablonsky.
Russ and Lance both look at each other not knowing whether


to laugh or be a little disturbed by the notion. Tommy,
Russ, Lance and Stu look over at Botz who has just given Fat
Pearl a ticket to the game as well. She kisses him on the
cheek as Botz gives the guys the "thumbs up" signal. The
guys turn back around to converse.
Don't worry, I made sure she's
sitting a few rows away from you
Thanks, Tommy.
Sure thing, kid.
The guys chuckle a little as Stu pours some water into shot
Lights are flashing all around as if it were the seventh
game of a World Series between cross-town rivals. No shit,
it is. It's the top of the eighth inning. The scoreboard
shows that the Sox are down 3-1. Shawn Thompson is on 2nd
base and Sammy Kleinbotz is wading barely off of 1st. Julio
Espinoza digs into the batter's box. The pitcher for the
Cubs nervously stands on the mound. He focuses in on the
catcher and then waves the 'ole #1 off. He accepts the #2
instead. He winds up and delivers a hanging curveball. Julio
rocks it into the scoreboard in straight away centerfield.
All of the Cubs fans (which is the majority in attendance)
start booing, but the White Sox fans that are in the crowd
are extremely boisterous.
Cut to the bottom of the ninth. The Sox hold a 4-3 lead.
Just like the top of the eighth, there are runners on 1st
and 2nd, but this time the Cubs have the runners on. There
is only one out. Jim Haggerty is on the mound. There is a
man at bat with a full count. Haggerty throws a pitch. It is
just a bit low and away. The runner tosses his bat toward
the Cubs dugout and trots over to first while the other
runners advance as well. Coach Graham comes out to consult
him. Botz trots up to the mound as well and hands the ball
over to Haggerty.
Haggerty, give me that damn ball.
Haggerty lowers his head in dismay and places the ball into
Gilbie's paw. Haggerty refuses to look his coach in the
face. Gilbie looks toward over to Whitey and yells:


Get me Tommy!
Haggerty rolls his eyes and looks directly into Gilbie's
eyes. Botz is nodding his head at the decision.
You're gonna take me out and put
Oscoda in? You do realize he's
gonna choke, right?
Choking like how? Kind of like
you loading the bases with a
one-run lead in the bottom of the
ninth? Besides, I kind of got a
hunch about this time.
He's gots a hunch, Jimbo. You's
can't beats a good hunch.
Shut up, Botz.
Tommy trots out from the bullpen and meets up with Haggerty,
Botz and Coach Graham. Graham places the ball in Tommy's
hand and gives him some words of advice.
Don't fuck this up, kid.
Gilbie pinches Tommy on the ass, which leads to Tommy
blushing a little.
Just trying to clear those nerves
of yours.
Sure, coach.
Gilbie winks at Tommy as he and Haggerty walk back toward
the dugout. Botz pinches Tommy on the butt as well just for
good measure. Tommy gives him a dirty look. Botz shrugs it
off and hustles back behind the plate. Tommy takes his
warm-up pitches. The crowd is going nuts, as are the White
Sox players in their dugout. Guillermo Fernandez is the
only one silent sitting at the end of the dugout as usual as


he has his hat over his eyes and his arms folded over one
another praying that Tommy won't blow this game for him like
he did back in Little League.
      (to himself)
Just like you've always done.
Well, except for those other two
times. You will not fail. You
will not fail. You will not fail.
Tommy takes the sign from Botz. He rears back and fires.
The batter takes the first pitch.
Upon throwing his first pitch for a strike, it seems like
the world has been lifted off Tommy's shoulders. Botz
tosses the ball back to a loosened up version of Tommy.
Tommy takes the next sign; another fastball. He gets ready
and rifles it in there.
Tommy gets the ball back from Botz again. He throws the
next pitch in without any sign from Botz at all. Both Tommy
and Botz know the fastball is coming the entire time.
Everyone in the stands knows what's coming as well. Even
the batter knows the heat is coming. Tommy hurls it in
there. The batter swings and is way ahead of the pitch.
Tommy threw the fosh fooling everyone.
Tommy gets the relay from Botz once again with the biggest
prick smile one has ever seen. Tommy tosses the next two
pitches a little high to even the count at three balls and
two strikes.
      (to himself)
Don't do this again, Tommy. You
can do it.
Tommy gets set and throws it in there. The ball hits the
dirt, but luckily, Botz is there to block it.
Ball four. Take your base.


This last pitch brings in the tying run. Guillermo
Fernandez stands up, unfolds his arms and tosses his hat
across the dugout in frustration.
Damnit, Tommy! You did it to me
The White Sox fans and the White Sox dugout become mostly
silent. The Cubs fans as well as the Cubs players in their
dugout are uproarious over the situation. Tommy looks to
the stands where he spots Russ and Lance both with their
heads surprisingly up and smiles on their faces.
You can do this, Tommy. I know
you can.
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy!
He then looks a few rows over where he sees Stu handing Fat
Pearl a hotdog who has barely taken it out of the wrapper,
smothered it in ketchup, mustard, relish and an entire
pretzel with cheese before annihilating it like it was
nothing. Tommy is totally grossed out. Botz looks over
with love in his eyes. Tommy looks over a few more rows
where he sees Eazy Eddie sitting between the lesbian couple
still with that same glob of goo on his nose, wearing his
ratty old Cubs hat, laughing and pointing at Tommy. Tommy
shakes it off and asks for Botz, who's still gazing into the
eyes of Fat Pearl, to throw him the ball back.
Botz, over here. Throw the ball
over here.
Botz regains consciousness and throws the ball back over to
Tommy. Tommy steps back up on the mound and gets set. He
goes into his windup and prepares to throw. Upon delivery,
the ball stays firmly in Tommy's hand. He is unable to let
go of the ball. It was like Satan, himself, glued the ball
to Tommy's hand causing his demise. The umpire jumps up
back from behind home plate.
The umpire motions for the runners to advance one base. This
brings in the game-winning run.


Gilbie is shocked and runs out to confront the umpire.
No, No, No, No! Bullshit! A balk?
You've got to be kidding me,
Ricky. You're going to end the
World Series on a balk?
A balk is a balk, Gilbie. I had to
call it.
No, you......I....he didn't balk,
Ricky. Don't fuckin' do this to
me, man....
I'm sorry, Gilbie.
Gilbie begins to tear up as the umpire walks away. Most of
the White Sox players and fans are just in tears as they
can't believe it, but a few fans are yelling obscenities at
Tommy. It's hard to hear because of all the Cubs fans
celebrating, but we see a slow-motion montage of various
people screaming at Tommy. A shaken Guillermo starts walking
a straight line to Tommy, who is standing in the same
position he has been in for the last few minutes.
Tommy doesn't move an inch. We cut to the crowd where Russ,
Lance, Stu and Fat Pearl are speechless.
                       FAT PEARL
I can't eat anymore.
Fat Pearl drops her nachos to the ground and starts crying.
Everyone seems to be almost as shocked by this as they are
by Tommy blowing the big one again. Cut back to the mound.
Tommy! I know you hear me, man.
Look at me!


      (finally turning
       around with a
       tear in his eyes)
What, Guillermo? What now? You
want to humiliate me again? I'm
already humiliated. This doesn't
hurt anyone more than me.
Bullshit, man! You're just a
fucking rookie. You haven't busted
your ass for this organization
like Botz and I have.
      (trying to
       separate the two)
Don'ts you's try to bring me into
dis, G-Man.
You know it's true, Botz.
I don't know what you's is talking
about, man.
We came up together, Botz. You
remember all the shit we had to go
through as rookies? We didn't get
everything handed to us on a
silver platter, just to tarnish it
with another choke job like Tommy
here. Remember the hazing? Walking
around in dresses for a week?
Now, you's know I didn't mind
those dresses, Guillermo. I still
haves 'em in my closet.
Forget you, Botz.
It's not his fault, G. He tried
his best. It was just a fuck up.
We'll get them next year, man.
Maybe we could've scored more runs
or something.


JUST a fuck up? This is the World
Series! We've been dreaming of
this all of our lives.
It was his dream, too, Guillermo.
Besides, remember two years ago
when I struck out four times in
the Division series? We all make
Gilbie, who's been shaking his head and fighting tears for
the last few minutes, has just noticed that his players are
still on the field and that some of them are arguing with
each other. This snaps him out of it. He starts walking over
to the players.
Naw, man. Not like Tommy. Tommy
has blown it at every level. Of
baseball and life. And he's ruined
more than one dream for me.
It's not about you, Guillermo.
The hell it isn't. Every morning I
wake up and wonder how different
my life would've been if Tommy
Oscoda never walked into it. Or
should I say "balked" into it.
Without my arm you may have never
reached the big game.
I would've rather lost every game
the whole year than make it to the
big one and have you blow it
That's your problem, Guillermo.
You've never been a team player.
I'm doing this for the team,


Guillermo and Tommy start pushing each other around as the
rest of the team tries to pull them apart. Gilbie makes his
way through the crowd at this time.
Break it up, you pussies!! Knock
it off. Act like professionals.
This isn't little league. I need
you to act like big leaguers.
Sorry, skip.
You're sorry? Start acting like
you're sorry. Grow up already,
Guillermo. You've been whining
about the same exact thing ever
since I've known you, but you
never do anything about it. What
big game have you won? Why can't
you go the distance for me? Blame
everything on Tommy. That's your
whole fucking life!
It's just not fair. I had the team
all to myself and then this guy
comes along again, and we lose
AGAIN. I mean, shit, man! Are you
Well, he's part of the team now.
We win as a team. And
sometimes.....we lose as a team.
If you keep Tommy next year, we'll
continue to lose as a team.
Goddamnit, Guillermo! Hit the
A disgruntled Guillermo gives Tommy one last cold stare and
storms off the field, throwing his hat to the ground and his
jersey into the crowd.


Gilbie takes a deep breath and looks away from Tommy. It's
as if making eye contact with Tommy would kill him.
I'm sorry, Gilbie.
Will everybody stop apologizing to
me? I'm a grown....man....I don't
need any apologies....I can deal
with this myself.
We can tell Gilbie is about to lose it big time here, but
before we can see it, he exits the field. The rest of the
players leave, too, except for Tommy who just curls up into
a ball on the mound. Somber music begins to play. We
gradually, but quickly, see the stadium empty. Some of the
White Sox faithful throw things at Tommy. There is quite the
collection of debris building up around him. The slowest
shot is that of Russ and Lance leaving their seats. Russ has
a look of concern on his face, but it is mixed with a look
that acknowledges that Tommy needs his space. The next
minute or so is a very dramatic series of shots depicting
Tommy beating himself up in his mind. The sun begins to
rise. A new day dawns, but Tommy remains motionless on the
mound, still in the fetal position. His eyes are beyond red
because he has been crying all night. He is a shell of a
man. A shadow of a man can be seen peering from the dugout.
It is Russ. He cautiously makes his way from the dugout to
the mound.
Look, kid. I know you have a
million things running through
your head. I don't expect you to
do anything but listen to me.
Tommy has the look of a heroin addict at the apex of a fix.
He doesn't really know that Russ is there. His vision is too
blurred to see who it is. Russ gets closer as Tommy's eyes
clear a little.
You have nothing to be ashamed of.
You should be proud of yourself.
Look how far you've come. You gave
up drinking and took a chance. You
have come miles from where anyone
ever thought you would be.


As the Tommy's eye refresh to crystal clear vision, the look
of nothingness on Tommy's face quickly turns to that of
rage. He jumps to his feet. Russ is perplexed and takes a
step back.
That's right. Get up and dust
yourself off, son. Put this
No, Russ! To hell with you! I am
not going to put this past me! Be
proud of myself? Be proud of
myself? I just blew the World
Series by balking home the winning
run in the ninth inning of game
seven. What could I possibly have
to be proud of?
Russ' concern grows. He tries to comfort Tommy by putting a
hand on his shoulder. Tommy quickly smacks it away and takes
a few paces away from Russ. He circles around and stares at
the ground then looks back over at Russ.
This is all your fault anyway, you
dusty old fool. What the hell is a
matter with you? Why me? Why did
you want to ruin my life? This
faith! This faith that you had in
me. What the hell, man? You knew I
was a loser. You knew I would
lose. Does it bring you joy to see
a man on his last thread? So,
yeah, thanks. Thanks for
everything. Thanks for making me
realize that this world is better
off without me. That's one thing
you did right, but you had to push
me to the lowest of lows? You
should have just shot me instead
of filling me with false hope that
I was anything other than what I
am. Once a loser, always a loser.
Tommy starts walking towards the dugout. His head held lower
than a frightened ostrich. Russ is left speechless. He tries
to say something as Tommy walks away, but he can't. It's
like his tongue balked in similar fashion to Tommy on the
mound. Tommy is out of the picture and Russ begins to cry.


Tommy has changed back into his street clothes. He is
walking back towards his apartment. A car is driving past
him. Inside the car is a family. The father is driving, mom
is shotgun and a YOUNG BOY (10ish) is in the back seat. They
slow down as they notice that it's him. The young boy rolls
down the window and leans out. He has a full soda in his
                       YOUNG BOY
Hey, loser.
Tommy keeps walking with his head down.
                       YOUNG BOY
Look over here, scrub.
Tommy gives the most menacing face ever. The kid rears back
to throw the soda. Tommy flinches, but nothing happens
because the kid "balked" at throwing it.
                       YOUNG BOY
Remind you of anything?
The boy then hits Tommy with the drink and it explodes all
over him. He is drenched. The father gives his son a high
five and they speed away. Tommy tries to clean himself, but
it's really pointless. Eazy Eddie is approaching Tommy and
he saw the whole thing transpire.
                       EAZY EDDIE
Be happy it was just soda and not
a vanilla shake, if ya know what I
mean, ya bum.
Tommy cold-cocks Eddie. Eddie falls down violently and Tommy
continues walking as if nothing happened. He notices "Luxury
Liquor" and steps towards the entrance.
Tommy comes in through the door of this somewhat swanky
liquor store. LAWRENCE DOUGLAS is stocking some alcohol
behind the counter. He is an older gentleman so he is doing
it rather slowly.
Hello, sir. Forgive the rudeness,
but do you plan on purchasing an
alcoholic commodity today or are
you merely going to bathe in it?


Two bottles of Glenfiddich.
Pardon me again, but you are Tommy
Oscoda, Mr. Front Page.
Lawrence holds up a paper that has a picture of Tommy still
grasping onto the ball during his balk. The big caption
reads: Unable To Let Go - Cubs Win the Series!
Just get me a couple bottles of
Sir, you are going to need quite a
bit more than some posh scotch to
absolve the hodge podge of
vulgarities which I have hearkened
in regards to you this fine day.
Belvedere. Two bottles.
Glenfiddich. Now.
Lawrence grabs the bottles and puts them on the counter. He
begins to enter them into the register.
May I ascertain that I shall grow
accustomed to your precense? You
should, however, entertain the
ideal of existing in relative
obscurity similar to that of that
Bartman fellow. Perhaps move to
Idaho a la Messr. Buckner.
Tommy puts a handsome stack of cash on the counter. He
didn't care how much it was or even to get his change back.
He's out the door before Lawrence could finish saying
Tommy is beyond gone. He fits every drunken cliché. He is
doing shots, but also has a glass on the rocks.


                       TOMMY (cont'd)
Young Tommmmmmmy Oscoda takes the
moundidid. He looks in.
Tommy takes one of the empty shot glasses and emulates the
pitch. He throws it and it shatters against the wall.
A home runununun. Team Japanananan
wins the Worlded Seriessss. What a
bum? Whudda loser this Tommy
Oscodada kid is?
Tommy takes another shot.
To hell with this. I need to get
some fresh air.
The bar is packed and everybody is in a melancholy mood. Stu
is wearing a shirt that says: Next year begins now. Botz is
sitting really close to Fat Pearl. Everyone is drinking beer
out of mugs because there is a sign up that says: One night
only - drown your souls with free beer, but once you talk
about it, you're cut off.
I guesses I's has some off time
before I needs to get in shape for
next year. A round of shots for
the peoples on me, Stu.
                       FAT PEARL
Oh, sweetie aren't you just the
cutest little moon pie. I could
just eat you up.
Stu hears this as he is pouring some shots. He is about to
address Fat Pearl, but he hesitates.
Nah, that's just too damn easy.
                       FAT PEARL
You go back on to pouring those
shots that my little Kit Kat
ordered for the whole bar.
Stu pours some more shots in a hasty manner.


Are all your nicknames for Botzie
food related?
                       FAT PEARL
Why are you so bitter tonight, you
crusty old potato chip?
Stu takes a shot himself.
I wonder.
All the shots have been poured and are sitting on a tray on
the counter.
Shots, courtesy of Botz!
The patrons congregate quickly by the shots. Arm over arm.
Hand over hand. Simply put, it is a cluster fuck. The door
blasts open. This quiets the rather raucous room remotely.
Everyone turns to see who is there. Tommy! He is so sloshed.
He wipes away at his chops. The room quiets to a level of
What is this, some sort of private
party or something? Why are you
all so damn quiet? I know, I
showed up uninvited. Here's my
damn invitation.
Tommy flips everyone off.
What's this?
Tommy sees the free beer sign. He walks towards it. You can
still hear a pin drop. Not a bowling pin, but a pin-pin. I
mean, it is really fucking quiet.
Once you talk about it, you're cut
off. Talk about what, how I single
handedly lost the World Series for
the White Sox because I couldn't
let go of the damn ball? Me? Tommy
freaking Oscoda?! Imagine that, I
blew a huge game; nobody saw that


                       TOMMY (cont'd)
coming. Maybe you can talk about
how I blew two other huge games
too. Or, you can talk about how my
dad was right and I would always
amount to be nothing, a big zero.
Talk about that! Talk about how
you are all better than me because
you don't fail. Talk about Tommy
Oscoda, the biggest fuck up in the
universe. Go ahead and talk you
muted bastards. TALK!
Everyone stares at Tommy, but remains silent, their jaws
Now you all stare at me like I'm
some freak. I got news for all of
you. Go ahead and stare all you
want. Stare! Get a good fucking
look. This is going to be the last
time you see me. I don't need
this. I don't need you. I don't
need any of this from any of you.
You think I can feel anything? I
feel nothing. I lost all feeling I
had last night. To hell with all
of you. To hell with this world. I
have nothing left to live for.
Tommy turns around and exits the bar dramatically. Everyone
in the bar stares at each other with stunned looks on their
mugs. Stu looks to Botz. He wants to say something, but he
can't. It is still completely quiet.
Tommy is outside of Stu's establishment. He begins to head
back towards his apartment. He is visibly upset, but that
soon shifts to sadness. A small tear trickles down from his
eye. He wipes it away.
      (mumbling to self)
Forget all of them. Forget this
stupid world. Time to do something
I should have done a long time
Tommy reaches into his jacket. The butt-end of a gun is
revealed. As he begins to pull it out he notices that Russ


and Lance are crossing the street heading towards the
restaurant. He puts the gun back into his jacket. He tries
to turn away so Russ doesn't notice him, but it is too late.
Russ and Lance approach Tommy.
You can't hide all of your life,
I can, especially since there is
such little of it left.
Tommy tries to walk away, but Russ forcefully grabs him by
the shoulder and pulls him back.
What are you talking about? Don't
even joke about that.
Who's joking?
Tommy opens up his jacket and shows the gun. As this is
going on, Lance's hat flies off of his head. It heads
towards the street.
Look, son, and I do consider you a
son. We can work it out. Please
have faith.
There's nothing to work out.
There's nothing left to live for.
Faith doesn't exist.
Lance is in the middle of the street chasing after his hat.
He has just about retrieved it. Russ looks back and see's
that Lance is in the street.
Lance Bobby Thigpen Johnson, get
out of the street!
Lance reaches down to pick up his hat. A set of headlights
is seen and tires are heard screeching as a car makes a turn
around the corner down the block. Tommy notices this. Lance
is oblivious, as he is fixated on finally getting his
favorite White Sox hat back.


Slow motion: Russ moves to save Lance, but Tommy, although
drunk, is still quicker. Tommy lunges towards Lance. He
pushes him away just in time. The car plows over Tommy.
Blood gushes everywhere. It is obvious that Tommy died on
Tommy is resting in his casket peacefully. He has his White
Sox uniform on and a baseball in his hand. Numerous people
are coming up to his casket to pay their respects. Russ and
Lance, however, are nowhere to be found in the funeral home.
Tommy's nemesis, Guillermo is there though. He walks up to
the casket.
You got what you deserve, you
Guillermo mouths, "Fuck you, Tommy" and then spits in
Tommy's face and walks away. Next in line is Fat Pearl who
walks up with Botz. She has a bouquet of flowers on her
head for a hat. She also is carrying a roll of toilet paper
which she continually unrolls as she wipes the tears from
her eyes. Botz dries his eyes with Pearl's used tissue. She
kisses Tommy on the lips, slips him the tongue. Botz,
obvlivious to Pearl french kissing Tommy, gives her a kiss
as she walks by. He then makes his way to the casket.
Tommy, you's was my hero. You's
always broughts a smile to my
face. I kind of feel a little bit
of you in me now. Tommy, you's
made me feel like I was normal or
somethings. I'm even going back to
schools because of you's. Thank
you's, Tommy.
Pearl and Botz leave the casket in tears as Stu walks up.
Hey, Tommy. It's me, Stuart
Jablonsky. You know, Stu; your
Sam Malone? Tommy, I ain't gonna
lie to you and say I don't miss
you because I do. Tommy, I owe you
a lot. Hell, you pretty much
single-handedly kept my bar open.
What can I say about that? I miss
you, Tommy. I'll see you soon.


Stu leans in to kiss Tommy on the forehead. He accidentally
nudges the ball that is in Tommy's hand, but it doesn't
budge. Stu tries to pull the ball from Tommy's hand, but it
is stuck. The ball is glued into Tommy's hand. Stu becomes
irate and turns to face the other mourners.
Which one of you bums thought it'd
be funny to glue the ball to
Tommy's hand?! Hasn't the guy
gone through enough in his life?
The guy can't let go of a ball in
one Goddammed game and now he has
to die with a ball stuck in his
Stu charges over to Guillermo who is frightened by the sight
of Stu's anger.
If you did this, Guillermo, I'm
gonna kill you. We're already at
the funeral home so that
eliminates a lot of the middle
It wasn't me, I swear.
Botz breaks the two of them up and interjects.
Stu, it was me. I done did it.
Botz, why would you do such a


      (with tears
       streaming down
       his cheeks)
I didn't means it as a joke, Stu.
I hads the guy do's it for me. I
just felts dat Tommy would want to
be buried with the only thing he
loved in this world. If I could
be buried with Pearl, I know I
would die a happy man. I just
thoughts Tommy would wants the
Stu steps back from Guillermo and Botz.
Oh...okay...nevermind. Carry on
everyone. Drinks on me tonight.
A small montage of people walking up to the casket and
leaving is shown. Everyone has left the funeral home when
Russ and Lance finally walk in and step up to the casket.
Russ steps up to speak to Tommy first.
Tommy...I...wish you could hear
me. I just want to tell you that
you were like the son I always
wanted...well, except for the one
that went to jail. Tommy, you gave
me a new life. Son, I remember the
first time I saw you. You were
drunk off your ass talking about
that damn little league game. Then
I watched you grow up to the man
you are today...Well, you were
today...You know what I mean. I
guess what I'm trying to say
is...Thank you, Tommy Oscoda.
Thank you for giving an old man
one more chance and for saving the
life of my grandson. Your life
will never be forgotten...except
for blowing those games...Tommy,
I'm sorry. I'm just horrible with
goodbyes. I guess what I'm really
trying to say is, goodbye Tommy
Oscoda. You will be missed.
Russ kisses Tommy on the forehead, sheds a lone tear and
turns around to face Lance. He walks up to Lance, pats him


on the head and steps away for Lance to say what he needs to
say. Lance walks up to the resting Tommy and speaks quietly
to him with his eyes pouring tears down like a gentle April
Tommy...Tommy...Tommy. What can I
say, Mr. Tommy? You gave up your
life to save mine. I want to make
a promise to you. I will make sure
everyone knows you're a hero.
Tommy, you've always been a hero.
My hero. I'll seal the deal in the
big game just for you someday.
Thank you, Tommy Oscoda.
Lance leans in and gives Tommy's peaceful body a big hug. He
stands back up with tears draining down his cheeks, turns to
face Russ, lowers his head and walks toward Russ. Russ puts
his arm around him as they walk out of the funeral home
Almost a year later and it's the Little League World Series.
Lance is on the mound representing the United States versus
a tough team from Japan. The scoreboard shows that it is the
bottom of the sixth inning. There are two outs and a runner
on third base. The score is USA-0 Japan-0. A small
Japanese kid is up to bat. Lance pitches and the Japanese
kid hits a routine ground ball right back to Lance. Lance
fields the ball easily and throws it to first. It sails high
and hard and goes over the first baseman's head and ends up
in the stands. The runner from third base scores on the
error. Guillermo Fernandez's son is on the same team,
wearing #13 with "Fernandez" on the back of his jersey. He
looks over to Lance and flips him off while mouthing the
words, "Fuck you, Lance." Lance is heart broken. He looks
up towards the sky then thinks better of it. He then looks
down towards the ground and sarcastically utters:
Thanks, Tommy.
Lance shakes his head and lets out a single laugh.
Lance walks off the field with a smirk on his face. It
looks as if he's ignoring all of his teammates, but he's
just sort of impervious to their presence. Right before he


reaches the dugout, he reaches his head up just enough to
notice a man in the crowd who strongly resembles Tommy,
FAMILIAR STRANGER, standing and applauding. He seems to be
applauding for Lance. He lets out a whistle.
                       FAMILIAR STRANGER
Nice season, kid.
Huh? Tommy?
                       FAMILIAR STRANGER
Shake it off, Lancy boy! See you
in the bigs, baby!
This guy looks just like Tommy, but he's way too exhuberant.
The resemblance is still freaking him out, though. But by
the time he looks back up, the guy is walking away. Lance is
trying to get a good look at him again but he keeps getting
farther and farther away. Lance keeps calling out to him but
the gentleman cannot hear him.
Tommy! Tommy! Tommy? Tommy!


Back to Top of Page
Leave Feedback
There is currently no feedback for this screenplay.

Back to Top of Page
Leave Feedback
You must be logged in to leave feedback.
Home    My Account    Products    Screenwriter Community    Screenwriter's Corner    Help
Forgot Your Password?    Privacy Policy    Copyright 2018, ScriptBuddy LLC.    Email help@scriptbuddy.com