A PLAY IN ONE ACT
Winter has left much of downtown St. Louis empty and dark, but on this November evening light pours out of TONY LA RUSSA’s new Busch office. Behind the locked door there’s a strange clack-clacking noise, and the occasional protestation of new Cardinals GM JOHN MOZELIAK. Important things must be going on, because that door’s been closed for hours; at the door, standing watch, is a low-level employee who’s been told nothing–only that the proceedings must, at all costs, be kept secret. If you go there, even now, I’m told he’ll flash his Stadium ID and flag you down:
ANTHONY REYES: Sorry, nobody allowed in here but authorized personnel.
Eventually the clacking becomes too much to bear. ANTHONY has no choice but to investigate. The door opens on this scene:
ANTHONY: Boss?
TONY: Wait, wait–there.
TONY unleashes a vicious spinning shot that bounces off of JOHN’s paddle and into the slot for the game point. The air hockey table beeps a victory tune and then powers down.
TONY: See, Anthony? Movement and contact. It’s like I keep telling you.
ANTHONY: Yes, boss.
JOHN: You win again, sir.
TONY: It’s alright, John, I’m the king of air hockey. I haven’t lost a game since Walt left. Anyway, since it’s ten games to none I’m going to have to invoke the Paquette rule and end this match, but keep working on your game.
JOHN: I made it clear on my resumé that I had minimal arcade game experience.
TONY: Don’t worry about it, Moz, even after that performance I’m glad you got the job. That Antonetti kid, he wasn’t bad, but I don’t trust any thirtysomething Italians who I’ve never employed as utility infielders.
JOHN: Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be here.
TONY: Yeah. You know what you’ve got, John? You’ve got scrap. It won’t help you win against the Prime Minister of air hockey, but I like it. Anyway, let’s get down to business.
TONY: We have business, right?
JOHN: Oh–right. I don’t know if you know this, sir, but David Eckstein is planning on testing the free agent waters. He wants four years, and our projections don’t have him aging so well, so we’re looking for his replacement.
TONY: It’s like I said when we had to trade Joe McEwing: you don’t replace scrap like that, you just don’t, but sometimes you just need craftiness. What are the options? In order of craftiness.
JOHN: Well, we could go after Miguel Tejada.
TONY: Miguel Tejada the outfielder?
JOHN: No, the–wait, there’s a Miguel Tejada the outfielder?
TONY: Sure, plays for the Orioles. Former MVP, good power, .280 average. Not a great outfielder, but–
JOHN: He’s a shortstop.
TONY: Are you listening to me? Look, John, I know I said I liked you, and we can’t all go to law school, but you’ve got to keep your head in the game, here. Miguel Tejada hit 30 home runs a few times, even drove in 150 runs one year. Those are textbook outfielder numbers.
JOHN: Oh–oh. Alright, sir. We could also take a look at Adam Everett.
TONY: The pitcher?
JOHN: I–I’ll come back to him. Another option is Jack Wilson, the Pirate.
TONY: Oh, I like that guy. Great range, good hands.
JOHN: He’s got a decent bat, sometimes, too.
TONY: Decent? Did you know he’s 3-5 with two doubles and a triple against that clod Anthony Reyes? And get this–8-12 against Kaz Ishii. If we don’t bite now, the Japanese Leagues might beat us to him.
TONY: On the other hand… you know what, John? You might be right. His bat might force him off shortstop, and if there’s one thing we don’t need it’s another light-hitting outfielder. Who else can we get with a good glove?
JOHN: Cesar Izturis.
TONY: Wha–the Dodger? Remember those bang-bang plays he used to make with Joey Cora’s son? Cora would jump and then he’d throw the ball and Izturis would do a barrel-roll and catch it barehanded and–did you ever see Live Free or Die Hard like I said, John? He’d–oh, I can’t wait to see him make diving plays over our broken-glass-filled infield. Who do we have to trade to the Dodgers to make this happen?
JOHN: He–he’s a free agent.
TONY: Why are we even wasting our air hockey time? Sign the kid!
JOHN (sadly): It’s just–it’s just–he can’t hit, sir. I’m sorry to be the one having to say this, but he can’t hit. At all. He’s only been adequate once in his whole career.
TONY: Look, John, I know you’re trying. I really do. And I appreciate it. But allow the Archduke of air hockey to present an object lesson. I’m going to put the paddle in front of my goal, and I want you to hit the puck as hard as you possibly can at it.
JOHN: Alright.
TONY has positioned the paddle such that, when JOHN lets fly with his best fastball, the puck bounces against TONY’s paddle and into JOHN’s goal. TONY does a shallow bow.
TONY: You see, John? The best offense is a good defense; it only took six tries and I’m already ahead 1-0! Now imagine how Cesar will play air hockey. Come Chuck E. Cheese night Krivsky’s going to owe me enough tickets to buy a spider ring for each finger.
JOHN: I’ll get on the phone, sir.
TONY: Good. Anyway, all this talk of Chuck E. Cheese has got me hungry. You in?
JOHN: Yes, sir.
TONY: Alright. Round up the whole Busch crew, this party’s on me!
JOHN: Yes, sir!
TONY: (Walking out the door.) So anyway, Cesar’s got his gun out and he bursts in and he says, “Yippie-ki-yay, mother”–sorry, I need to lock up.
(Several minutes pass.)
ANTHONY: Boss? Boss?
ANTHONY: I–I’m still in here.
