Rookie of the Year Page #2

-You think they'll pull it out today?

-Definitely! They got Steadman on the mount!

-Alright!

-[growling]

-[booing]

-Come on, Rocket, throw the heat!

-Throw it back! Throw it back! Throw it back!

I don't know, they're saying it!

Bleacher rules - you can't keep a home run hit by the other team.

Throw it back! Throw it back!

-[laughter]

-I can throw better than that.

Well that's gonna bring Rocket's earned-run average

to about .300 or so. Which equals the attendance here today.

-What a team.

-Poor Mr. Carson. His last season as team owner. He must be really depressed.

[yelling] Bob! Fish! Fish! Look! A decoder ring! I got it out

of the Cracker Jack box! It fits on your finger like...

-Great! Man is turning into a cracker jack.

Okay, Uncle Bob!

Come on, what is this? Get the game going! What's going on!

Uh, if we don't sell out every game for the rest of the season,

we are going to, uh, have to forfeit the franchise.

-Forfeit the franchise? Just when I'm about to take over the team?

No money, no team?

[sigh] We need a miracle, sir.

Throw him the cheese! Throw him the high!

Stinky! Lipburger!

[chanting] Rocket! Rocket! Rocket!

[cheering]

-Woah!

-Yes! We got it! Yes! Yes!

[chanting] Throw it back! Throw it back!

-Wait a sec! This game is on cable! Here.

-Sure, I'll throw it and get harrassed. Here Henry, you throw it!

Okay. Here goes!

[rubber band sounds]

Oh my god.

-Safe!

-Did you see that? Woah!

Somebody just threw a frozen rope from the bleachers to home point!

That's gotta be 435 feet.

Durkin! Bring me that arm!

-Hey kid! Hey!

-What the hell was that?

Huh? I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! My tendons! They're too tight!

-What's your name, kid?

-Henry.

-Shut up George!

-You trying to show me up, Henry?

-No! Come on guys, let's get out of here!

-He'd kill you.

-Thanks.

I just figured out why the Cubs lose every year.

They got more talent in the stand than they do in the field.

Who threw that?

-Did you find him?

-Oh, no, he left already.

-Well, did you get a name?

-Henry. But... but... nobody in the bleachers...

-Henry what? How are we gonna find him?

-Sir. This Henry is just a child.

-What do you mean a child, what... What do you mean a child?

-He's a child. He's a short, little, young person,

he's 10-11 years old!

Take this business very seriously! If you are joking,

I swear you're gonna end up selling weiners! In the nose bleed section!

-Not joking, sir. Really, this Henry's just a kid.

-Kid?... Kid? Excellent. Find him.

-Rowengartner checks the runners. And the pitch.

-[car honks] Hi, honey!

-Mom, watch this!

-Wait! [screaming]

[glass breaks]

Gosh Henry! You could play for the Cubs!

It's incredible! A real child with the Cubs? He's gonna be thrilled!

Thank you Mr. Fisher!

-I am worried about Henry. This arm thing is weird!

-This arm thing is fantastic! Cheers.

-What's with you?

-Nothing.

[door bell]

[panting]

-Hello son. I'm looking for Henry Rule-inverter.

-Henry Rowengarter?

-Yeah. Is he here?

-I'm Henry.

-I must be looking for your father.

-My dad?

[car honks] Woo! Yoo! Hey, ho! Here we go, here we go!

Sorry I'm late.

Salmart Miller, right? Jack Bradfield. I am a huge, huge fan.

Come here Henry.

Henry, this is Salmart Miller, the manager of the Chicago Cubs.

[gasp]

And this is Henry Rowengartner. The next Nolan Ryan!

[rubber band sounds]

Holy Christmas! Who is this kid?

-Jack. He is a golden goose.

-This kid's incredible!

-Just a think of the possibilities, Jack! A 12 year old kid

playing in the major leagues!

-Yeah, I know.

-Wow!

-You are going to be his manager.

-And managers, Jack, get 10%.

-10%?

One more.

-All we gotta do is get the contract signed.

-Well that's no problem.

-Hey kid! How would you like to pitch for the Chicago Cubs?

-Great! But I gotta ask my mom first.

-He's gotta ask his mom first.

Excuse me. Honey, just keep - ouch! Jack! You didn't tell me

it was gonna be such a circle!

-Oh I didn't know! Stop worrying, it's just part of the game!

-It's gonna be great, mom!

-Mrs. Rowengartner, Larry Fisher, great news! Great news!

I got Pespsi, Kellogg, and Reebok foaming at the mouth for a piece of the kid!

-Which piece?

Henry! [foreign language]

-Hey, hey, hey, who are you?

-I'm uh, Jack Bradfield. Henry's manager. What? Didn't I tell you?

-The question is, can you pitch?

-Um, well, my dad used to play!

-Semi-pro, pro?

-I'm not sure. But he was a pitcher.

-[groans] Henry! How about you? Any experience?

-Well I play little league for the Fivers, right field.

-Hey look it's Rowengartner!

Carson! Carson! We've all seen these publicity stunts before.

How do we not know Henry is just here to sell tickets?

-I can pitch!

-Oh, you can pitch? Prove it.

-Alright. I will.

-Wait, wait, wait. You wanna see him pitch? Come out to Wrigley.

[screaming]

-Oh, wow!

-Woah!

-Woah!

-Come on!

-Hey, wait, wait! Wait!

-You ready?

-Can't we just say goodbye here?

-No, I wanna make sure you get in okay.

-None of the other Cub moms are gonna be there.

Okay. You got too big on me.

-Bye. Have a great game.

-Hey hey hey.

-Okay, okay! I'll see you guys up there.

-See you Mrs. Rowengartner.

[knocking]

-Autographs after the game.

-Wait! I'm Henry Rowengartner!

Well, why didn't you say so? Oh, that's a horse of a different color!

Come on in!

-Come on in!

-Come on guys!

-Can't come in here! Players only! And the locker rooms

are right at the end of the hall.

-Goodbye! Bye!

[chattering]

-Hi!

-[chattering stops]

I'm Henry Rowengartner! I'm the new pitcher!

[chattering continues]

Wow! Stan Olkie!

Oh my god, it's Billy Frick!

Ched Steadman? Unbelievable! Mr. Steadman! Can I have your autograph?

Could you sign it "Rocket?"

[growling] I don't do autographs.

Raven-booser. Your locker's over here.

Brigma.

That's Phil Brigma. Pitting coach. I beamed him in the minor leagues

and he's been following me around ever since. Brigma, this is Henry.

-Hi Henry!

-Nice to meet you Mr. Brigma.

-Welcome to the big show!

Now, I'll tell you what I want! You're gonna take a lot of sweat!

But eventually, I'm gonna mold you into one of the greatest 12 year olds

that's ever played this game! Now! [choking]

[high pitch] Suit up! I'll see you out there!

Wow!

[dark music]

Yes!

[crowd cheers]

-Wow! Look at all these people!

-Sell out! Jack! We're one for one.

Well, mark it down folks! August 11th! 12 year old Henry Rowengartner

steps in front of 35,000 fans in Wrigly Field to become the

youngest person to ever play in Major League Baseball!

Okay, baby! Put it right in this kitchen! Go to work! Come on, baby!

-Yes, Rocket! Alright! Come on! Put it right in this kitchen!

Yeah! Alright! Do the dew!

-[growling] Gosh.

Give him the cheese! The high! Stinky! Chedder!

[crowd groans]

You are a bum, Steadman! Get him out!

Hey!

You're in my seat. Pitchers over there.

Hey!

-[phone rings]

-Yeah.

-Put the kid in.

-The kid?

-Put in what's-his-name, Henry!

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