(Outside a bar in Toledo, Ohio.)
SQUEAKY VOICE: Brandon, down here.
INGE: Oh, hey, buddy! Didn’t see you down there.
It happens. Good to see you, man. The boys are inside. Let’s head in and get ourselves a drink and celebrate putting the band back together!
/bar door flies open
INGE: Haha…no thanks, buddy. Great to see you. Where we sitting?
NI: Ovel by poor tabre. Crete want to pray you foll blagging lights at birrialds! We miss you, Blandon!
/puts up hand for high five
INGE: Missed you too, Fu.
/swings for high five
/misses by three feet
/makes sad face and sulks over to pool table
/spits dip on floor
INGE: It’s not about that, Clete. It’s about proving that I can still do this. It’s about proving Dave and Jim wrong. It’s about making my fans happy. I am a Detroit Tiger and that’s all I ever wanted to be, you know?
THOMAS: Well, yew a Mud Hen now, peckerhead.
/adjusts oversized Jim Beam belt buckle
RHYMES: Cool it, guys. We’re here to have fun. Where’d Ni go?
THOMAS: Look up on dat dere stage, Tiny. ‘Ol Mr. Miyagi’s cuttin’ himself a rug.
NI: Take Ni, ta-ta-take Ni. Want be victim, leady fol abduction. You an arien! You touch so follen. It’s supelnatular! Extlatellestlial!
INGE: Oh my, that’s terrible. Someone should go get him before this ends up on that internets thing.
THOMAS: Yup. Boy ain’t right. Could at least sing some Toby Keith, ya know?
/scratches crotch, smells hand
INGE: So, are we the only players here? Thought more guys would have shown.
RHYMES: Well, Timo couldn’t make it. He’s busy begging his agent about getting back into the Mexican League where he might get noticed. Villareal won’t leave his hotel room because some blogger girl is stalking him or something. He says “hi”, though. Not sure about Wilk and the other guys. But “The Balla” should be here, though.
INGE: Who in heckfire is “The Balla”?
/bar door flies open
INGE: Casper…you feeling all right?
WELLS: Caspah? CASPAH? You trippin’, son. Caspah my SLAVE NAME. That what them muthafuckin’ honky bitches up NORTH callin’ the BALLA! You call me Upstate Balla in T-Town, B! You feel me?
INGE: I guess so. Things are quite different here, I take it.
WELLS: Sheeeeet, son. We own ‘dis town, son. The bitches here be ALL OVAH Da Balla! They be STARVED ‘fo the Balla’s cock, son. And Da Balla don’t stop ballin’ ‘til the honey comin’ out dat ass, yo, you feel me? Bully dat! Now where my ninja boy at?
THOMAS: Where yew think, dipshit?
NI: I got feering…WOOO HOOO! That tonight gon be good night. Tonight gon be good, good night. Tonight the night! Ret’s rive it up! I got money! Ret’s spend it up…
WELLS: Now dat be funny shit, yo. ‘Ol Jackie Chan be TRIPPIN’, yo!
THOMAS: Brando, you gon play or wut? I racked that shit, grab a stick and break, dammit.
/picks wax out of ear, wipes it on wall
INGE: Sure, Clete. Sorry, my mind’s just going nuts right now. I’m warning you, I’m pretty good at pool, buddy!
/goes to break…misses cue ball three times
INGE: Oh, fudge.
RHYMES: Hey! I’m almost thirty! I’d like a Kahlua and cream, please. With a big twisty straw!
THOMAS: Busch Light, honey.
INGE: Appletini, please. Fu! You want a drink?
NI: (from stage) Mirrel Rite!
WELLS: I want a piece ‘o’ dat ass, baby. You know you want some of Tha Balla. The Balla fill that ass up wit' his meat ‘til it be a sloppy joe, you know what I’m sayin’?
/gets slapped in face
WELLS: Damn, girl! Hennessey, yo. I was just playin’. Bitches be trippin’ in this joint. Ain’t worth the roofies in my pocket, yo. Hey, B! Toss me that rag! Bitch’s hand be wet, playa.
/tosses rag three feet over Casper’s head
INGE: Oops. Look, fellas. I appreciate you all taking me out to cheer me up. It means a lot. It’s good to know that when I’m at my lowest, I’ve got some great chums like you all to bring my spirits up. It’s great to see you all and I hope we can all…
WELLS: Sheeit…we just here ‘fo the drinks, son. You payin’, fool.
INGE: I am?
THOMAS: If yew want our company, yew will.
/adjusts Wrangler jeans
RHYMES: Sorry, Brandon. You’re not in Detroit anymore. Welcome to the hell of being back in the minors.
INGE: This may have been a big, big mistake.
/looks toward stage
NI: I catch glenade fol you. Thlow hand on brade fol you. Jump flont of tlain fol you! Know Ni do anything fol you…
THOMAS: Aye, Brando…speakin' of big mistakes, that thar girl’s checkin’ yew out...
INGE: Sigh…I'm calling my agent in the morning...