Monday, September 20, 2010

For today's memorial: Steinbrenner In Love: The Lost Manuscript (1999, NYTimes + IT IS HIGH)

ACT I, SCENE I. February. In a field. Thunder and lightning.

RIZZUTO: Single, double; bullpen trouble.
Owner burn and pitcher bubble.
Though great'st by far his minions be,
They're not great'st by far, enough, for he.
What huckl'berries these mortals be!

YOGI: 'Tis deja vu -- again, I see.

Enter George, holding ball.

GEORGE: O'er my hearth doth hang the bejeweled broom of series swept.
Yet the stone floor mocks surly 'neath a new season's dirt.
O, budget: thou art paid to brutish beasts!
O, Bernie! O, Jeter! O, Rivera! O'Neill!
And Good David Wells! The hurler burly! Paw of south!
Thane of ale and team!

ALL: Maker of the perfect game!

GEORGE: Ye hath restored the crown to its rightful throne.
Alas, one soul whose yonder curveball breaks
Holds my heart in his split-fingered grip.
O, Roger Clemens, rocket of northern skies domed.
No owner hath lesser need for thee, and yet:
This is the A.L. East, and Roger is the Cy Young.

RIZZUTO: Holy cow! His heart's imprison'd!

YOGI: To be, it is. To b'not, it isn't.

ACT II, SCENE III. In the owner's box. Enter Ghost.

GEORGE: Angels and ministers of security, defend me!
What botch of nature doth appear before me?

GHOST: I am the spirit of ye managers fired.
I bring news sure to screaming headlines capture.
To-night, the Jays tender Clemens to the bidder high.
His breast shall be pinstriped before the cock crows.
But the ransom shall cut sharper than an agent's tooth:
To-night, David Wells shall from thy castle be snatched,
And ye shall be the robber.

GEORGE: Nay! That the heart of my rotation I would sell?
'Tis a trade rumor told by an idiot, signifying nothing.
True, Clemens in my coat could capture six-and-twenty.
But to peddle dear David; aye, there's the rub.
'Tis nobler in the mind to keep him.

GHOST: Owner, is not your summer of discontent foreseen?
Your staff shall wilt 'neath the gravity of innings hurled.
Put a pennant in thy purse.

Your Wells has lost his lean and hungry look.
He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.
Come May, he will be as full of quarrel and offense
As old Zimmer's ulcer.
Put a pennant in thy purse.

Clemens' hard heaves still bloody his receiver's leathered palm.
He painteth corners and maketh music of men's chins.
Lash Wells to a lesser pair, and etch their travel tickets,
To-ronto, and To-ronto, and To-ronto.
Put a pennant in thy purse.

Ghost exits.

GEORGE: Wine of victory: Must thou always roil from rott'd fruit?
Cashman, quickly! Screw your courage to the trading-place!

ACT V, SCENE VIII. Opening Day. In a dugout.

RIZZUTO: The unkind'st cut doth poorly sells.

YOGI: All is not well that endeth Wells. . . .

GEORGE: O, what a rogue and peasant owner I am!
Betrayal: thou art known to me as wife.

George points a dagger to his heart.

Goodbye, good team. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Cashman enters.

CASHMAN: My liege! Saint Louis whispers dangerous truths into my ear.
McGwire, the Ruthian knight, doth be for sale.

George throws away the dagger.

GEORGE: Hark, hark, the Mark!
Cashman, quickly! Send Tino Martinez to the block.
Cut the deal!

CASHMAN: Et Tino, boss?

GEORGE: A row of murderers I shall have. O, what teams may come!

RIZZUTO: Unb'lievable! What? A minute, wait!
L'mme get this in, 'fore 'tis too late.
Get well, Ophelia, in Albany.

YOGI: 'Tis over now, 'cause ov'r it be.

1 comment:

Joe De Pastry said...

Great work.
Now dig further back in the archives and find out what possessed him to trade Fred McGriff for Dale Murray.