Major League: Back to the Minors Page #3

and you're going to bench me?

3 games, you sit.

- Is that all?

- Yeah, that's it.

- Skipper, can I talk to you for a second?

- Sure. What's up, doc?

Well, I've been working with Rube,

trying to help him to open up.

We've actually been breaking down

some walls, and I really believe...

...that Rube's whole

throwing problem goes back...

...to a rather abrasive

little league coach.

Rube can't throw worth a sh*t

because of some jerk-off

little league coach?

In layman's terms, yes.

And I want to ask you

if you could just be gentle with him.

See, Rube's psyche is far more delicate

than his rugged facade would indicate.

- You want me to give him my gentle speech?

- If you would be so kind.

And, Skipper, I want to

thank you for

making yourself accessible

to such an open dialogue.

You bet.

It's strong for your legs.

It'll be good for first base.

Balance yourself, Pops.

Now we're going to do jets.

Leap like a gazelle.

Let the ball get further across the plate,

further in on you.

and then hit the inside half

of it right into right field.

You can't help but hit it that way.

Why do I want to hit it into right field?

I mean, I'm a pull hitter.

I know you are.

and it won't be long

until every pitcher knows it, too.

All right, let's try again.

This time act like you give a sh*t.

- Hey, Rube

- Hey, Skip.

I've been wondering...

- You got any, uh, hidden skills?

- Hidden skills?

Yeah. Like if my car

wasn't running right,

could you take the

carburetor apart and fix it?

No. I don't know nothing

about carburetors.

How about if I bought you some lumber...

Could you make me a coffee table?

Uh, nope. Don't believe I could.

So your skills then lend themselves

primarily to baseball, we could say that?

Yeah, we could say that.

If another routine throw lands

15 rows in the grandstands,

I'm sending your ass home.

So you better make your throws, or

I suggest you invest in some how-to books

and find a fallback profession.

Understood?

Yes, sir.

Mitt.

I thought you were going to

give him the gentle speech.

That was it.

God...

if you can hear me,

Please... send me one real

baseball player.

That's all I ask.

And if you can't grant

me that, then, well...

you might as well just

strike me dead.

Right here and now.

- God?

- No.

- Moses?

- No, but you're getting warm.

Cerrano.

Hello, Gus.

- Jesus Christ...

- Be careful now.

You scared me to death.

You mean when you realized

God is black?

I thought

she was white.

I must've been out a long time

if it's Halloween already.

What's your point?

Pedro Cerrano, the original Voodoo Man

from Mars, dropped out of baseball

to find whatever the hell

it was he lost. Maybe his mind.

Anyway, he's back with

a new piece of lumber.

Let's see if he remembers

how to swing it.

How about that? Cerrano must have

bumped into the God of all line drives.

He just hit a bullet down

the left field line.

2 runs score, and the Buzz

put one in the win column.

They're on a roll now, baby.

The Lopez brothers pull off a

double play... 4 to 6 to 3.

Hey, and not a punch was thrown,

not a drop of blood spilled.

All right, Pops, nice stretch.

Nothing like a little brotherly love.

So the Buzz win their

third in a row.

Oh, my.

Cerrano.

S, Gus, what?

- Is that who I think it is?

- Jess Cristo. Tanaka.

Did your part to beautify America.

I see you've got it made in the shade.

Piece of brain?

"Peace of mind".

Basically, yeah.

What does your inner voice tell you?

Sounds like Taka needs vacation.

I got just the thing. Come on.

Watch your step.

Taka Tanaka, like Cerrano,

left baseball for a while.

Here's the windup and

the pitch to Tanaka.

He swings and lines

a single to right field.

Tanaka hit that one

right on the screw.

Holy Crap-ola, the Buzz just

pulled off a double steal.

Either someone got

their signals crossed,

or this is starting to look

like a baseball team.

What the hell is that?

What's he doing?

I think that's a... a curtsy?

Lance Pere is curtsying

to the crowd.

He's blowing kisses and curtsying.

This must go back to

his days as a balladeer.

- He was a singer?

- Dancer.

Now batting, Carlos Liston!

Baltimore Orioles 8,

Minnesota Twins 0!

Coach, you're doing a fine job,

a real fine job.

Get your heads in the game, ok?

Put the magazines away.

Put the phones away. Bye, mom!

Pick 'em up, Carlos.

Get a hold of one now.

18 million over 3 seasons, and he doesn't

even wave the bat at the ball?!

What?

Thought you'd like to know, the Buzz won

again. That puts them in second place.

Really? Well, maybe I'll take

a trip down there,

watch somebody who's

interested in playing baseball.

The next game is not until Thursday.

They've got 2 days off.

Hey, Gus. Hey, I knew you could

turn that bunch into a ball team.

The first couple of weeks were pretty rough,

but we're starting to come together.

Gus, look, you've got a couple of days off.

Why don't you hop on a plane,

come up here, and let me

wine and dine you Minnesota style?

I can't. I promised Maggie I'd spend the

next couple of days off up there with her.

All expenses paid. First-class trip

to Minneapolis. In fact,

my assistant is calling the hotel as we

speak and booking the presidential suite.

I don't know Rog... by the time we get there

we got to turn around and come back.

I'll send my jet for you. Very sexy.

Nice vacation for you and Maggie.

- Lear jet.

- Ok. Ok, you're on.

So, um... what's

the deal with Carlos?

Well, Carlos is in a love fest...

with Carlos.

What about the rest

of your team?

Well, one of them wants to be

traded to New York,

so he can get a little

more press coverage.

My center fielder is threatening to quit

'cause he wants to become a male model.

And my shortstop and second baseman

aren't speaking

because one of them's got a

bigger shoe contract than the other,

and they haven't turned a

double play in over a month.

So, out of your 25 players, baseball is

a primary concern for how many?

Maybe.

Oh God, I love this team.

What? I like it.

Well, I'll tell you this,

alright, if I had a good short reliever,

I could turn this team around.

In his wildest dreams.

- What's that?

- Nothing.

- No, no. Come on, go ahead.

- Gus...

I'm just saying that a short reliever

is not going to solve your problems.

Why's that?

You got no unity. It's every man for

himself. Nobody's playing for the team.

Well, that's right. We got a few bad eggs

who are spoiling it for everyone else.

Well, you see, when you

have major talent,

you get major personalities.

Maybe you got too much talent

and not enough team.

See, this game is about 9 guys

working as one.

They don't have to be the best

9 guys who ever lived.

They just got to work together.

Oh, that's sweet. That really is.

That's... that's so sweet.

"9 guys working together as one".

Come on, everyone. Ohmm...

Rah, rah, rah. I love it!

I do, I love that, but...

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