players: 1 man, athletic build, 20-30 years old, strongly resembling a billygoat.
scene: It's the bottom of the 3rd inning. Utley, the young hero of this tale, races to catch a ground ball that speeds past him. He stumbles. His muscle-bound hulk twists to the ground, kicking up a spray of dust.
UTLEY: grrrrarrrr.
He has just failed epically. The ball piffles past him, allowing a base hit for the Phillies' arch nemeses, the New York Mets.
UTLEY: Stupid. Stupid Utley. That's another night of being chained in the dugout for you.
The crowd, composed largely of Mets fans, cheers maniacally.
UTLEY: Is it cool if I scratch my groin right now? It always helps me feel better.
His hand inches towards his groin. The TV cameras zoom in.
UTLEY: Yesyesyesyes...NO. They're watching. Reveling in my failure. Oh, they'll pay for this torture.
...
UTLEY: How about now? What do you mean they're still watching? They cannot long separate Utley from his ultimate bliss!
First base guy gives him a warning look, as if pleading with the headstrong lad, "Boy, don't embarrass us here."
UTLEY: Look, I don't give a damn how long they were watching the Coors Light Extra Cold Freeze Frame Awesomachine -- they need to take those cameras off of me because I have a NEED right now.
And when did they stop calling it "Instant Replay?"
A short and boring strike-out. The cameras return to Utley -- the beacon of drama.
UTLEY: Yessss...satisfact -- what? Really? That's it -- you, shortstop, create a diversion; awesomeness, stupidity, I don't care how you distract them. I have things to do.
[Insert wholly inappropriate "I have a ball game to play" joke here.]
3 comments:
This was funny, very funny.
I began laughing a little too loud for given my central location in the office.
Anyway, you should post more monologues!
And you should send this to McSweeney's.
Eh, i'm bored here at work,I have an idea for another imagined baseball monologue:
The bottom of the 14th inning, an extremely long and painstaking effort comes to an end after Carlos Delgado-Del-got'em slams a homerun way, way out of the park. Everybody runs out from the home dugout -- Reyes and Wright, Wagner and the pitching staff, the whole gang -- to encircle and congratulate an overjoyed Carlos. But, wait!, then comes our lonely closing pitcher with a generic name and a baby's face, Joe Smith. Joe doesn't make it to the celebration in time, and his teamates are all now, arms locked, engaging in some strange celebratory bouncing-ritual. Uncertain what he should do (and not wanting to appear unpopular), lonesome Joe just begins bouncing in place, all by himself, eyes enviously focused on the tidal ebb-and-flow of his smiling and laughing teamates just several feet ahead of him.
End of Monologue.
Also, when reading your post, I was thinking about Chase Utley trying to scratch himself, but the voice of his monologue: it's actually your voice.
Ha!
Um, since when did this become an alternate universe where ball jokes aren't appropriate? Because that's a world I don't wanna have any part of . . .
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