Brand new! And now! With a bonus introductory-size Cinematic Interlude (Poetic Interlude after the jump -- pun intended):
EXT. COLISEUM ROOFTOP - TWILIGHT
C/U of the top of a LADDER at the top of the Coliseum.
Two BALLPLAYERS clamber up off the ladder and onto the Coliseum rooftop.
The Ballplayers are wearing WHITE UNIFORMS and WHITE CLEATS. They also wear kitschy '60s Batman-badguy-style black masks. They carry WHITE SACKS WITH DOLLAR SIGNS.
They hunch over, look around -- and then start RUNNING along the rooftop.
MED. C/U of a UTILITY ACCESS DOOR on the rooftop.
The door OPENS - and MARCO SCUTARO steps out onto the rooftop. He, too, is wearing a WHITE UNIFORM and WHITE CLEATS.
He is followed by a FAT MAN IN A TIE-DYED SHIRT and a MAD SCIENTIST-TYPE DOCTOR IN A WHITE LABCOAT.
Scutaro GLANCES around the rooftop.
The Fat Man POINTS --
-- at the Running Ballplayers, halfway across the Coliseum rooftop -- We can see their UNIFORM NUMBERS -- 3 and 7.
Scutaro, the Fat Man, and the Mad Doctor start SPRINTING after the Running Ballplayers.
They RUN and RUN and RUN -- never seeming to get closer to the Running Ballplayers.
Scutaro PAUSES for breath, wipes his brow, and LOOKS DOWN -- at the PRECIPITOUS SLOPE of the GREEN TARPS stretching toward the YAWNING CHASM of the ballfield below.
The Fat Man SHOUTS, and POINTS --
-- both of the Running Ballplayers have STOPPED, hunched over in pain, massaging their backs, arms, legs, forearms.
Scutaro TURNS TO LOOK BEHIND HIM --
-- TWO MORE BALLPLAYERS (numbers 8 and 12) emerge at the top of the ladder.
Scutaro starts RUNNING again.
He reaches a GAP in the catwalk atop the roof. He breathes deeply, then LEAPS --
-- and COMES UP JUST SHORT on the other side, SCRABBLING FOR A HANDHOLD. he GRASPS onto a FLAGPOLE (holding a "1989 World Champions" pennant), which BENDS -- but holds.
At the opposite edge of the gap, Numbers 8 and 12 appear. Number 8 takes a running start and LEAPS over Scutaro's head across the gap, and goes running after the other Ballplayers. Number 12 takes a running start and also LEAPS --
-- CRASHES INTO THE FLAGPOLE that Scutaro's holding --
-- and Number 12 FALLS, SCREAMING, cascading down the green tarp to his doom below.
Scutaro struggles to hang on -- but the flagpole BENDS and WARPS -- his GRIP SLIPS -- he LOOKS DOWN --
-- to a ZOOM IN/DOLLY OUT of the PRECIPITOUS SLOPE of the green tarp and the RAIDER-RAVAGED FIELD BELOW --
-- and Scutaro FALLS, SCREAMING, SPINNING, into oblivion ...
Icin' Joe Blanton leads the A's take against the Rays at 4:10 Pacific Time tonight. Louis will be handling game-thread chores tonight, and I'll be back on the front page for tomorrow's series finale.
[Poetic Interlude after the jump.]
Scutaro
Unos, dos, tres, diecinueve
Hit it on the ground, opposition!
Lights take effect
It's dark
The jumbled AL West
A season by Sartre
It's feeling so much longer
Than we thought
Their leads are wide
And Marco's role
Not what we sought
Our team is injured
Hello, Hello
Hola!
We played a guy called Scutaro (¿Dónde pelota?)
It's everytime Bobby Crosby breaks a bone
Except he leaves something to be desired in the field
Field
The infield's full of holes
The DL's full of our guys
Of green with gold
They single as Angels play hit and run
They know they haven't a chance
At least they know
Lew can move the team
He's lookin' for a cheque
Don't need no BART rails
Indigents go to heck
List'ning to the radio
List'ning to the radio
Woooao
Hello, Hello
Hola!
We're in third place with Scutaro (¿Dónde bandera?)
It's everything we wish we didn't know
But he gives us something on the field
Field
Check dated
2010
Fremont bound ...
DL this, ballgames with low scores
DL this, ballgames with low scores
DL this, ballgames with low scores
They wait for pitches that they want and no-one gets hits
Hello, Hello
Hola!
Two rooks have displaced Marco Scutaro
Beane's sat him down and all he knows
Is to wait for Beane to strike some kind of deal
You're trading me ... aaahhh
Your GM is teaching me how
How to deal
Deal
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ...
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!
