Warning: The following contains adult language, questionable taste, and humor that probably only myself and two others will find funny. Consider yourself warned.
Dave Dombrowski: Thank you for attending this meeting, gentlemen. I know this is highly unusual for a general manager to address a ballclub, but Jim and I felt this was necessary. This series with the Twins is, quite frankly, huge. Not only for myself and all of you, but for the entire city of Detroit, as well. Tomorrow, we are honoring the 25th Anniversary of the ’84 championship club and we’re sure to have a full house. I’m sure many of you are nervous, but I have the utmost confidence in each of you, despite our recent woes against the Twins. Are you all feeling well?
Brandon Inge: Yes, sir! Golly, I’ve NEVER had butterflies like THIS before! But we’re gonna go get ‘em, boss! You betcha! 110% from ALL of us.
Gerald Larid: For shizzle! G Money’s gonna light some sh-t up, Skip! Ain’t NO ONE gonna keep G Money down!
Jim Leyland: (lights cigarette) Cough, Gerald, you’rehitting .220. Worryaboutdefense. Cough, wheeze...
Laird: That’s G Money, son.
Leyland: Whatever. Justin! (lights another cigarette) Cough, JUSTIN! Youreadyforthisseries? Cough, cough...
Justin Verlander: (stares straight ahead intensely)
Leyland: JV! (deep inhale) Cough, Justin! Youreadytogo? Cough!
Verlander: (calmly begins sharpening knives staring straight ahead)
Laird: Yo, skip. Doncha go worryin’ about ‘ol JV! G Money’s got my man READY!
Inge: Gerald, why do you speak like that? You’re among your friends! Your buddies! Your teammates! There’s no need to be something you’re not.
Laird: Hey, G Money’s just keepin’ it real, white bread! Don’t go frontin’ on me.
Clete Thomas: Can y’all keep it down? Nascar’s on! If Dale Junior don’t get his head out his ass, ‘ol Clete might have to whip that sumbitch.
Leyland: Clete! Turnthatsh-toff! (starts to light cigarette)
Inge: I’ve got that, sir! (lights Leyland’s smoke)
Laird: Yo, Brandon, quit being a kiss ass. G Money don’t kiss NO ONE’s ass!
Dombrowski: Calm down, everyone. Let’s focus on the Twins. Now, I’m told that our beloved hitting coach, Lloyd McClendon, has put together one heck of a scouting report on the Twins pitchers for this series. I know we’ve had some struggles with them, especially Carl Pavano, but I’m told Lloyd has found some weaknesses we can exploit. Right, Lloyd?
Lloyd McClendon: (snoring and sleeping peacefully)
Leyland: Cough. Dammit. Someonepassthoseout.
Inge: I’ll do it, Skipper!
Laird: Punk, G Money’s gonna slap…
Dombrowski: Enough, gentlemen. (throws money at Inge and Laird) That’ll calm you down.
Leyland: Cough, cough! Whileyoulookatthatsh-t, I’vebroughtina (cough) motivationalspeakertotalktoyouguys.
Dombrowski: That’s right. This man is not only a former Tiger, but a man that competed against many players from the ’84 Tigers that we will be honoring. He knows what it takes to win. We’re hoping he can lend some insight into this series. COME IN!
[door flies open]
Gary Sheffield: What the f-ck up, muthaf-ckas? Sheff’s in the house! Where my money at, suckas? (Dombrowski hands over two sacks contining $14 million) That’s right! Sheff’s gon get MAD p-ssy with this loot. Holla. What up, JV?
Verlander: (stares straight ahead still sharpening knives)
Sheffield: Yeah. I feel ya. So, you muthaf-ckas still in last?
Inge: Actually, Gary, we’re in first. We have a slim lead on those dastardly Twins. We play them in a few hours.
Sheffield: F-ck you, Brendon! No one’s talking to yo punk ass! Sheff knows you in first! Sheff’s here to motivate yo asses! Well, not them lazy Uncle Tom Colombians over there. They still get hurt every time them punks run more than 20 feet?
Laird: What’d you say, son? G Money’s boys are from Venezuela, fool. You better check yo’self.
Sheffield: (wide eyed) Who the F-CK is this cracka ass cracka? Boy, Sheff’s gonna f-ck you up in about five f-ckin seconds if you don’t back yo ass down! Don’t come all up in Sheff’s face with that wig…
Clete: Y’all keep it down! ‘Ol Clete’s tryin’ to find the Steelers score on the picture box. Big Ben is Clete’s boy.
Sheffield: And who is THIS hillbilly f-cker? Are YOU the bitch they put in Sheff’s spot in the lineup? Are you fist f-ckin’ Sheff? Sheff can BUY and SELL each and every ONE of you punk muthaf-ckas. Don’t you be forgettin’ that sh-t. If Sheff were still on this team, you punk suckas would be 20 games up on those Canandian-ass Twins.
Inge: Minnesota, Gary.
Sheffield: Brendon! Shut the f-ck up! Sheff knows Canadians when he sees them. Now Sheff’s a free agent next year. How bout we work some sh-t out and Sheff’ll win you bitches a championship next year. $15 million per year, 5 years? Sound about right?
Dombrowski: Maybe later, Gary. Weren’t you here to lend some insight into this Twins series?
Sheffield: You sh-ttin’ me? Sheff just wanted to make sure you all vote him a share of the playoff cash. Damn. You know what, F-CK this shit! Sheff got his duckets. Sheff’s outta here. See you suckas later. (leaves)
Leyland: (lights cigarette) Dammit. Forgettit. JustlookoverLloyd’sreport. Doyourbestoutthere. Cough.
Inge: Um, Skip? These reports are blank.
Leyland: Cough, dammit, Lloyd.
[door flies open at 102 mph]
Joel Zumaya: (wasted) Woo hoo! Paaaaarty! Wussup? We win yet? F-ck yeah! Guitar Hero at Zoom’s pad! Guns, hookers, and firetrucks!
Dombrowski: Sigh. Just do your best, guys.
Leyland: Cough, Ihatethisteam…cough, cough...