Bull Durham

---

FADE IN:

A series of still photos. Black and white. Ancient.

BABE RUTH SWINGS -- An icon of American history. His giant

upper body balanced delicately on tiny ankles and feet. The

huge bat in an elegant followthrough...

DISSOLVE TO:

TY COBB ROUNDS THIRD -- The most vicious ballplayer of them

all, a balletic whirling dervish.

DISSOLVE TO:

JACKIE ROBINSON STEALS ROME -- Yogi Berra applies the tag.

Too late.

DISSOLVE TO:

JOE DIMAGGIO WITH HIS SON in the Yankee clubhouse. Walking

down the runway, Joe in uniform. Number five.

PULLBACK REVEALS:

A WALL COVERED WITH BASEBALL PICTURES behind a small table

covered with objects and lit candles. A baseball, an old

baseball card, a broken bat, a rosin bag, a jar of pine tar--

also a peacock feather, a silk shawl, a picture of Isadora

Duncan. Clearly, the arrangement is--

A SHRINE -- And it glows with the candles like some religious

altar.

We hear a woman's voice in a North Carolina accent.

ANNIE (V.O.)

I believe in the Church of

Baseball.

(beat)

I've tried all the major religions

and most of the minor ones--I've

worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma,

Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms,

and Isadora Duncan...

PAN AWAY FROM THE SHRINE across the room. Late afternoon

light spills into the room, across fine old furniture, to a

small dressing table. A WOMAN applies make up.

ANNIE SAVOY, mid 30's, touches up her face. Very pretty,

knowing, outwardly confident. Words flow from her Southern

lips with ease, but her view of the world crosses Southern,

National and International borders. She's cosmic.

ANNIE (V.O. CONT'D)

I know things. For instance--

(beat)

There are 108 beads in a Catholic

rosary. And--

(beat)

There are 108 stitches in a

baseball.

(beat)

When I learned that, I gave Jesus

a chance.

(beat)

But it just didn't work out between

us The Lord laid too much guilt

on me. I prefer metaphysics to

theology.

(beat)

You see, there's no guilt in

baseball...and it's never boring.

ANNIE OPENS A CLOSET DOOR -- Dozens of shoes hang from the

door. She chooses a pair of RED HIGH HEELS, with thin straps.

She sits on a bench and

ANNIE:

Which makes It like sex.

(beat)

There's never been a ballplayer

slept with me who didn't have the

best year of his career.

(beat)

Making love is like hitting a

baseball--you just got to relax

and concentrate.

ANNIE SLIPS ON THE RED HIGH HEELS -- Smoothing her hands up

her calves as she does.

ANNIE:

Besides, I'd never sleep with a

player hitting under .250 unless

he had a lot of R.B.I.'s or was a

great glove man up the middle.

(beat)

A woman's got to have standards.

SHE HOLDS OUR HER LEGS DISPLAYING THE HEELS, side by side.

Like a little girl showing off her new shoes.

ANNIE:

The young players start off full

of enthusiasm and energy but they

don't realize that come July and

August when the weather is hot

it's hard to perform at your peak

level.

(beat)

The veterans pace themselves

better. They finish stronger.

They're great in September.

(beat)

While I don't believe a woman

needs a man to be fulfilled, I do

confess an interest in finding

the ultimate guy--he'd have that

youthful exuberance but the

veteran's sense of timing...

ANNIE STARTS PACKING A HUGE HANDBAG -- With fruit, an official

scorebook, binoculars, a radar gun, and lipstick.

ANNIE:

Y'see there's a certain amount of

"life-wisdom" I give these boys.

(beat)

I can expand their minds.

Sometimes when I've got a

ballplayer alone I'll just read

Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman

to him. The guys are so sweet--

they always stay and listen.

(beat)

Of course a guy will listen to

anything if he thinks it's

foreplay.

ANNIE TOUCHES PERFUME BEHIND HER EARS and, ever so slightly,

in her cleavage.

ANNIE:

I make then feel confident. They

make me feel safe. And pretty.

ANNIE POSES IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR -- She smoothes her dress

along her hips. And puts on a flashy pair of sunglasses.

Stylish and slightly mad.

ANNIE:

what I give them lasts a life-

time. What they give me lasts

142 games. Sometimes it seems

like a bad trade

(quickly rebounding)

but bad trades are part of baseball--

who can forget Frank Robinson or

Milt Pappas, for Godsakes!

(beat)

It's a long season and you got to

trust it.

ANNIE STARTS FOR THE DOOR and grabs her baseball glove

CUT TO:

EXT. ANNIE'S HOUSE -- DUSK

A frame house with porch and lots of trees--a Thomas Wolfe

house...with a 1959 faded red Volvo in the driveway.

ANNIE LEAVES ON FOOT, turning onto the sidewalk of a bucolic,

old Durham, North Carolina neighborhood. In the b.g. other

people are heading the same direction ANNIE PULLS A DURHAM

BULLS BASEBALL CAP from her handbag and pulls it on her head.

ANNIE:

I've tried them all--I really

have--

(beat)

and the only church that truly

feeds the soul--day in, day out--

is the Church of Baseball.

CUT TO:

EXT. THE CHURCH -- DURHAM BASEBALL PARK -- DUSK

Now visible In the late afternoon sun, a rickety old stadium

carved into the center of an old Tobacco town.

People are arriving on foot from all around...

"Rock Around the Clock" by Bill Haley fills the air.

CLOSE ON A BASEBALL CLOWN -- MAX PATKIN, 60, at home plate

doing his famous Bill Haley routine.- A comic pitcher's windup

full of twists and goofy choreography.

RECORDING OVER P.A.

One o'clock, two o'clock, three

o'clock, rock...Four o'clock,

five o'clock, six o'clock rock...

ANNIE SITS DOWN IN HER PRIVATE BOX SEAT -- Her chair is wiped

off by a young black boy, JACKSON, 11, who then sits next to

her. He is her employed errand runner, note sender, and

friend.

A GROUP OF GROUPIES ENTERS THE PARK -- 20 year old girl/women,

dressed in tight pants, tight everything.

Friendly, eager, innocent--THEY WAVE TO ANNIE.

FIVE PLAYERS' WIVES AND THREE SMALL CHILDREN sit in a special

box seat behind a small sign "Players' Wives".

RECORDING OVER P.A.

Seven o'clock, eight o'clock,

nine o'clock rock...we're gonna

rock around the clock tonight

CUT TO:

EXT/INT. THE DURHAM BULL DUGOUT -- NIGHT

AS MAX PATKIN CONTINUES HIS ROUTINE, PLAYERS WARM UP, AND-

THE MANAGER, JOE RIGGINS, 45, known merely as SKIP, short

for "Skipper", a chaw of tobacco in his cheek, stands with

his pitching coach, LARRY HOCKETT late 30's, an ex-big leaguer

whose body has seen too many cocktail lounges.

LARRY ROLLS SOME RED MAN CHEWING TOBACCO into a slab of pink

bubble gum, carefully folding the corners, tucking it neatly

together. Larry examines it as they talk-And shoves the

giant chaw into his mouth.

SKIP:

Where's Ebby?

LARRY:

Ain't he warning up?

SKIP:

(cynically)

No. The guy's professional debut

and he forgets about it.

LARRY:

Better find our bonus baby, eh?

A PLAYER, DEKE, 25, stuffs a hot dog into his mouth.

SKIP:

Seen Ebby?

DEKE:

(mouthful of food)

Nope.

SKIP WHIRLS AND HEADS UP THE TUNNEL into the:

CUT TO:

INT. THE DURHAM CLUBHOUSE -- NIGHT

SKIP enters, shouting--

SKIP:

Ebby?!

CLOSE ON A BARE ASS -- Baseball uniform around the ankles,

short t-shirt on top, and on top of that the head of EBBY

CALVIN LALOOSH, baseball cap on backwards. EBBY is a great

looking energetic man-child with the endless confidence,

naivete and horniness of youth.

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