(Inside the entrance to an unidentified Detroit bar and grill…)
INGE: Sure thing, pal. You see, when I was with the Mud Hens, I assembled myself a little support group, see? We’d go out, have ourselves a swell ‘ol time, and it really helped to clear my noggin, you know? Shani seems to think that might be part of my struggles since that first game back. So, hopefully we can meet up with the fellas tonight and have a neat time.
PAULEY: Sounds good to me, man. So who are we meeting up with tonight? The guys from the Hens?
INGE: Heck, I wish. But Upstate Baller’s moved on to Seattle, Fu, 'Lil Will, and Clete are still givin’ their all in Toledo, and so on. So, these gents are guys I’ve played with over the years and they agreed to meet up with us tonight. Boy howdy, I can’t wait!
PAULEY: Do you know if they’re here yet? I can’t wait to meet some of your pals, man. I haven’t made many friends in Detroit yet. Oh, here comes a hostess.
INGE: Thanks, miss. Say, I’m supposed to meet some fellas I used to play with.
HOSTESS: Of course. The ex-Tiger table. They’re seated in the back. Is it just you meeting them tonight?
INGE: Well, actually my teammate David here will be joining us, too.
HOSTESS: Um, who? I don’t see anyone…
PAULEY: I’m standing right here, ma’am.
HOSTESS: Oh, wow. I apologize…how didn’t I see you there? Well, guys, come right this way.
/escorts them to table
INGE: Well aren’t YOU guys a sight for sore eyes!
INGE: Hey, Jamie. Long time, no see. What the heck’ve you been up to, buster?
WALKER: Shoot, son. Been ‘wit mah kinfolk back down south. Livin’ the life. Now mah ‘ol lady might be dumber’n a box of hog shit, but ah reckon she’kin cook with the best uh un. Speakin’ of which, I’m hungry enough to ta eat the south end of a northbound skunk. Siddown, man!
INGE: Haha. How about you, buddy? No offense, but I didn’t really expect you to show up. We weren’t always the best ‘o’ pals, you know?
INGE: Well, you always called me names. And hit me a lot. One time with a tire iron. And called my wife a whore.
SHEFFIELD: Oh, hahaha…yeah, that silly bitch. Sheff remember. Damn, Brendon. Sheff was just playin’ wit choo, boy. Sheff actually missed you, you fuckin’ peckerhead. Hey, Tigers need a DH?
INGE: Um, I’m not sure, Gary. Nice to see you lookin’ well. How about you, big man? Doin’ a lot of fishing, I bet?
INGE: Haha…Bondo. Always a kidder.
BONDERMAN: I HAS GAS. MAKE STINKERS.
SHEFFIELD: Boy, Sheff told yo ass, you shit yo’self again, Sheff’s gonna cut a nig…
INGE: Whoa, fellas. Calm down. Say hi to my new bud David Pauley. He’s a Tiger now.
WALKER: Brando, y’all sure your elevator’s hittin’ the top floor? I don’t see no’un.
SHEFFIELD: Brendon, you high? Sheff don’t see no fool wit’choo.
BONDERMAN: BONDO HAVE INVIZZLE FRIEND, TOO. HIS NAME MISTER SMELLY AND HE MAKE STINKERS.
SHEFFIELD: Jimmy, Sheff told you no mo’…
PAULEY: Nice to meet you guys. I’m right here.
WALKER: Holy fuckin’ sheepshit! Where’d you come from, son?
SHEFFIELD: Jeeeesus Christ! What the fuck was that shit? You a ghost and shit?
SHEFFIELD: Yo, baby, give Sheff the all-you-can-eat ribs and a Hennessey. And yo digits, heh heh.
WALKER: Hey, baby gal, gimmie a Busch Light…and shoot. I’m ‘bout as lost as a goose in a snowstorm wit’ this menu. Juss bringin’ me somethin’ with bar-b-que. ‘An some taters.
BONDERMAN: ELEVEN-TEEN HOT DOGS AND CHOCOLATE MILK, PLEASE, FOOD LADY.
INGE: Oh, I’ll just have the shrimp cocktail and a water.
PAULEY: I’ll take…
WAITRESS: Thanks, guys. I’ll get that order right in for you.
PAULEY: But I didn’t get to order…
SHEFFIELD: Now what’d you bring all our asses together tonight for, Brendon? You best not be wantin’ no money.
INGE: Haha, no, not that, Gary. I’m doing fine there.
SHEFFIELD: Shit. Can you loan Sheff a few thousand then? Craps table ain’t been kind to Sheff lately…
INGE: Actually, I need all of your help. I just can’t figure out what in heckfire’s wrong with my swing. In Toledo, I was RAKING, I tell ya! But back in Detroit, I just can’t catch a break. Golly, It’s tough.
SHEFFIELD: Brendon, you ain’t ever hit for shit. What the fuck you cryin’ for now?
WALKER: He’ins right, Brando. You’re a hellova nice guy ‘an a great hand at third, but as for hittin’, you’re about as useful as bird shit on a pumphandle. No offense.
/spits wad of chew in Pauley’s lap
WALKER: Shoot, son. Sorry. Forgot you was here.
INGE: I guess so, Jamie. No offense taken. But I always felt like I could hit a homer every time up, you know? No matter how many curveballs a foot off the plate I try to pull into the seats, eventually I thought I’d figure them out. And I did a few times. I just need confidence, I think.
SHEFFIELD: Too bad you fucking suck, Brendon. Tell you what. Retire. Sheff can take yo place. Sheff can still hit, man! Right, Jimmy?
BONDERMAN: HOT DOGS TASTE LIKE SMILEY FACES.
SHEFFIELD: See? Jimmy know.
WALKER: What Gary’s tryin’ to say, Brando, is quit tryin’ to be somthin’ yer not. You may never hit fer shit, but yer still usefull to a ball team. And if that ain’t true, grits ain’t groceries, eggs ain’t poultry, and the Mona Lisa was a man.
INGE: I guess so.
WAITRESS: Okay, guys. Here’s your food and drinks. Anything else I can get for you?
PAULEY: Actually, you forgot to take my…
WAITRESS: Great. Just speak up if anyone needs anything!
INGE: Thanks, ma’am. So what you’re saying is I should give up on hitting .300.
SHEFFIELD: Haha, motherfucka, quit dreamin’. Sheff’d suck yo dick if you sniff .230. Wake the fuck up.
INGE: So you think I should just focus on my strengths and try to be the best teammate possible?
SHEFFIELD: That teammate shit don’t make sense to Sheff, but whatever makes yo dick hard.
WALKER: Naw, that’s EXACTLY right, Brando! Y’all can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, ya know? But dey say if you can’t run with the big dawgs, stay under the porch. And I don’t think yer ready to lie under the porch, are ya?
INGE: No, sir.
BONDERMAN: INGY BE CATCHER AGAINS. GIVE HAIRY GUY SLEEPY DAY.
INGE: Whoa, let's not get carried away. But thanks, fellas. I knew us getting together was a swell idea! Whaddya say we just eat, okay?
SHEFFIELD: Now you talkin’, Brenden!
BONDERMAN: HOT DOG TASTE FUNNY.
SHEFFIELD: That’s cuz you eatin’ your napkin, you dumb shit.
INGE: Hahaha…you guys are the best!
PAULEY: I’m so hungry…
WALKER: Y’all hear somethin’?
WALKER: Never mind. This brisket is DEE-lish!