Time: Monday night/Tuesday morning, midnight-ish
Place: Unnamed club, downtown Detroit
OZZIE GUILLEN: Motherf*cker. I hate this f*cking team. We’re f*cking fifteen and twenty-f*cking-two! Twenty-two f*cking losses, AJ! Almost nine games outta first. I’m gonna lose my f*cking job, man! How the f*ck can we turn this bullsh*t around?
AJ PIERZYNSKI: It’s not gonna be easy, boss. I’m not sure.
OZZIE: No sh*t, mang. Now, we need to beat these f*ckers in Detroit. Did you call Cabrera? Can we get his ass loaded up with some f*cking shots?
AJ: I tried, dude. He ain’t going for it. Says the media ate him alive last time. Says he’s playing too well to mess things up again.
OZZIE: Did you tell him we had strippers?
AJ: Yeah. He seems pretty committed to his wife, dude.
OZZIE: Blow! Did you tell him we had blow?
AJ: He don't do drugs, boss.
OZZIE: F*ck that sh*t. Call him again! We need this game!
AJ: All right, dude.
AJ: Hey, man. I know I keep callin’. We just miss you, man. Ozzie and I just want to catch up, you know? Maybe do a couple shots? Naw, no one will know. Tell your wife that my car broke down and you’re just helpin’ a brother out. Really, man? You’ve changed. Fine. See you at the park, dick.
OZZIE: You mother*cker. We can’t beat these assh*les with him being sober. What the f*ck are we gonna do?
BLUE LIGHT REFRESHMENT DUO: Perhaps we can help?
OZZIE: Ah, hell f*ckin’ yeah! AJ, give them ho’s the phone.
/16 hours later, Cabrera goes 0-4 with 6 LOB.
OZZIE: High five!
AJ: Ah hahahahaha! Stupid Venezuelans. Sh*t, sorry, Ozzie.