(Saturday around 6am)
OFFICER: Okay, Miguel. You've had quite the evening. We're going to try and keep this quiet as long as we can. But public record is public record. We can't cover anything up. For now, if I were you, I'd just say your dog bit you or something stupid. Okay? You have quite the big game for the city of Detroit in a few hours. Don't let us down. Now, we can't let you drive home, son. You're drunker than Billy Martin used to get in our fine city. Feel free to use our phone to find a ride.
MIGUEL CABRERA: Thank you, offisher. I'm sho shorry. (hic) Oh...who the hell can I call at thish time of...(pukes in garbage can). Ugh...
BRANDON INGE: Good morning?
CABRERA: Hey, Brandon. It's Cabby. (hic)
INGE: Hey, big man! You NEVER call me! I'm so happy this fine morning! Want to go golfing before the big game today?
CABRERA: Um...not today, brah. Dude, I'm at the polishe shtation. Had a bit of a drunken fight with my wife. Got out of hand. (hic)
INGE: WHAT? Good gravy...is anyone hurt?
CABRERA: I got some scratchesh. Nothin' big. We do thish all the time. Can you come get me, man?
INGE: Um...Skipper says we have to be responsible and home at a responsible time, Miguel. I can't get caught up in these kind of shenanigans.
CABRERA: Dammit, dude! Just come get me! (hic)
INGE: Sorry, fella. Good luck...gotta ice my knees. Don't want Skipper mad at me. Seeya at the park.
CARLOS GUILLEN: (slides to phone) (answers phone 45 seconds later) (drops phone) Um, hola?
CABRERA: Carlosh! Hermano! Come get me at the polishe station! I'll explain it all later! (hic) I need you, bro!
GUILLEN: Okay. Just let me grab my keys. (trips and falls) (sprains knee) Ugh! I'm not gonna be able to, man. Sorry. (to wife) Honey! I hurt myself. Yes, again!
JUSTIN VERLANDER: (stares intensely at phone)
CABRERA: C'mon, Justin. Pick up the damn phone. (hic)
VERLANDER: (gives death stare to phone)
CABRERA: Dammit! Um...who else...
FU-TE NI: Herro?
CABRERA: Fu! It's Miguel! I need...
NI: Herro, Cablella-san! How al you this sprendid day?
CABRERA: Bad, man! I'm at the police shtation! I need...
NI: Oh no! You make sex with plostitute? Esh velly bad! Croser man Lodney tell Ni, nevel pray with Detloit plostitute...they velly dilty and...
CABRERA: Dude! I'm drunk! I just need a ride. No prostitutes, man...
NI: Oh. Velly good to heal. I solly, Cablella-san. I no have dlivel ricense. You try Calros yet?
CABRERA: Yeah. Never mind...(hangs up)
CLETE THOMAS: Wut?
CABRERA: Clete! (hic) Dude, I need a ride home from the police shtation!
THOMAS: Yew sh-ttin' me? Sorry, man. 'Ol Clete's watchin' some race on Speed right now. Plus, Big Ben's hostin' Monday Night Raw this Monday. 'Ol Clete's gotta figger out this'ere DVR thing-a-ma...
CABRERA: Please, Clete. I'm running out of people to call.
THOMAS: 'Ol Clete ain't no one's last resort. Piss off, son. (hangs up)
CABRERA: Man...I hate this team.
OFFICER: Do you know ANYONE this isn't a racial stereotype of some kind?
CABRERA: Sigh. (hic) Guess not.
JOEL ZUMAYA: Woooooo! What up?
CABRERA: Thish may not (hic) have been a good idea.
ZUMAYA: Miguel! The man! Hey, everyone! Cabrera's on the phone! (cheering is heard) Dude! Is the season over yet? I'm so f-cking wasted...what time is it? You wanna come over and play some beer pong?
CABRERA: Not today, Zoom. Shorry...gotta go.
JIM LEYLAND: (cough) Hello? Someonebetterbedead. (lights cigarette)
CABRERA: Hey, Shkip. Hate to bug you, but I had a bit too much to drink last night and...
LEYLAND: (hack) DAMMIT! Joel, I'msickofthissh-t! (cough) Youmightthrowit100milesanhour (cough), butyou'regonna (hack) bekickedoffthisteamsoon!
CABRERA: It's not Joel...never mind. Sorry.
LEYLAND: F-ckoff. (hangs up)
CABRERA: I can't believe any of this...I hope I don't puke again...
(phone starts ringing)
CABRERA: Who the hell ish calling ME now? (answers phone) Hello?
GARY SHEFFIELD: Point two six? HA, HAHAHAHAHAHAH! Sheff KNEW you couldn't handle being the STAR! You NEED Sheff! Sheff knows you ain't SH-T without him! HAHAHAHAHAH!
CABRERA: Gary? How did you know...
SHEFFIELD: Sheff's got police scanners for EVERY city he ever played in, son! You never know when sh-t's gonna come back to haunt a brother! Did Sheff ever tell ya bout the time he punched some homeless sucka that told Sheff he wanted to eat him up or some sh-t? Anyway, I just called to tell ya, you a punk nothing! Have Dave call me. Sheff's lookin' to deal. Four years, eighty million! That's a sweet deal, son!
CABRERA: Gary, I gotta go. This isn't the time...
SHEFFIELD: F-ck you! Sheff is what's important, not you! Call Dave and tell that mutha...
CABRERA: I will. (hangs up) Oh, man...
DAVE DOMBROWSKI: Good morning?
CABRERA: Hey, Dave. It's Miguel. I need you help...