i am the player to be named later.
the crash davis. and you, larry hockett, should recognize me 'cause five years ago in the texas league when you were pitching for el paso and i was hitting cleanup for shreveport, you hung a curve on an 0-2 pitch of a 3-2 game in bottom of the 8th and i tattooed it over the goodyear tire sign, beat you 4-3 -- and i got a free wheel alignment from goodyear.
i'm too old for this shit. why the hell am i back in "a" ball?
"mature" ain't a fuckin' verb.
and where can i go?
you don't want a player, you want a stable pony. my triple a contract gets bought out so i can hold the flavor o' the month's dick in the bus leagues?! fuck this fucking game.  i fuckin' quit.
who we play tomorrow?
hopeless. utterly fucking hopeless.
i'm crash davis.
i don't dance.
she's dancing with me.
i'll learn. c'mon --
love to --
i don't believe in fighting.
take the first shot at me.
hit me in the chest with this.
from what i hear you couldn't hit a bull in the ass with a slingshot
throw it. c'mon, right in the chest.
c'mon, meat. you can't hit me 'cause you're starting to think about it already, you're starting to think how embarrassing it'll be to miss, how all these people would laugh. c'mon, rook -- show me that million dollar arm 'cause i'm getting a good idea about the five cent head --
ball four.
i'm crash davis. your new catcher. and you just got lesson number one -- "don't think -- it can only hurt the ballclub". buy ya a drink?
shut up -- i like this song.  april in paris, this is a feeling, no one can ever reprieve.
it's a damn easy thing to play with.
why do you get to choose? why don't i get to choose?
after 12 years in the minor leagues, i don't tryout. besides -- i don't believe in, quantum physics when it comes to matters of the heart.  or loins.
i believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, long foreplay, show tunes, and that the novels of thomas pynchon are self-indulgent, overrated crap. i believe that lee harvey oswald acted alone, i believe that there oughtta be a constitutional amendment outlawing astro-turf and the designated hitter, i believe in the "sweet spot", voting every election, soft core pornography, chocolate chip cookies, opening your presents on christmas morning rather than christmas eve, and i believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last for 7 days.
g'night.
i'm not interested in a woman who's interested in that boy.
see ya at the yard, meat.
your shower shoes have fungus on 'em. you'll never get to the bigs with fungus on your shower shoes. think classy and you'll be classy. if you win 20 in the show you can let the fungus grow back on your shower shoes and the press'll think you're colorful. until you win twenty in the show, however, it means you're a slob.
he ain't got shit.
you ain't getting that cheese by me, meat.
look for the fastball up. he's gotta come with the cheese. relax. relax. quick bat. pop the clubhead. open the hips. relax. you're thinking too much. get outta your fuckin' head, crash.
get on top of the ball. quick bat. don't let him in your kitchen --
you stupid fuck, crash. what're you swinging at a breaking ball for? why's he starting me off with a hammer? fuck me. you're okay. stay back. stay back, you dumb fuck. wait. wait.
throw that shit again, meat. throw that weak ass shit. now he's gotta try to slip the cheese by me. one and one. you're on top. now bring me the gas --
this son of a bitch throws hard. annie, annie, annie -- who is this annie? jesus, get outta the box you idiot, where's your head? get the broad outta your head.
time out.
shut up.
awright, awright. you've seen all his pitches. two and one. relax. wait. quick bat. you can hit this shit --
shorten up. bring the gas.  be quick -- be quick -- yeah, yeah.
he ain't got shit.
read it.
yep.
when you're hitting you shouldn't think about anything but hitting. but you shouldn't think about it too much. the trick is to use your brain to not use your brain.
so.  wanta make love?
what'you see in that guy -- he's dim, pretty boy. a young, wild.
that's my job too.
you're pulling your hips out.
don't tell anybody.
247 home runs in the minors would be a dubious honor, if ya think about it.
no. please.
let me.
your place or mine?
fact is you're afraid of meeting a guy like me 'cause it might be real so you sabotage it with some bullshit about commitment to a young boy you can boss around -- great deal. you get to write self- indulgent little poems all winter about how hard it is to find a man even though you just sent him packing -- so what do you really want? you wanta be a tragic woman figure wallowing in the bullshit of magic? or do you want a guy?
well, annie, your place or mine?
a batter has two tenths of a second to decide whether to swing --
now, nuke, would i do a thing like that? hey kids, this is the great ebby calvin "nuke" laloosh.
see you guys at the ballpark.
drive off your back leg. you pitch with your legs as much as your arms --
don't think.
don't try to strike everybody out. strikeouts are boring. they're fascist. throw some ground balls, it's more democratic.
and listen, meat. you don't know shit. if you want to get to the show, you'll listen to me. she only wants you 'cause she can boss you around, got it? relax, have a ball out here. this game's fun, okay? fun, god damn it. and don't squeeze the ball so tight. it's an egg. hold it like an egg.
shake off the pitch. throw what you wanta.
why you shaking me off?
"to announce your fucking presence with authority"? this guy's a first ball fastball hitter. he's looking for heat.
awright, meat, give him your heat.
fastball.
what're you lookin' at?! you're showing up my pitcher, bush -- get your ass in gear!
guy hit the shit outta that one, eh?
an' he scrambled the son of a bitch. having fun yet?
he did know.
i told him.
i don't know. i haven't caught anything yet.
have some fun, god damn it.
gimme that.
i hate people who get the words wrong. it ain't "woolly" it's "weary" and it nobody's got stress, they're wearing a dress. listen.
oh she may be weary, young girls do get weary, wearing the same old dress.
'cause you don't respect yourself, which is your problem, but you don't respect the game -- and that's my problem. you got a gift.
a gift. when you were a baby the gods reached down and turned your left arm into a thunderbolt.
you got a hall of fame arm but you're pissing it away.
you don't need a quadraphonic blaupunkt -- you need a curve ball. in the show, everybody can hit the fastball.
yep.
i was in the show for 21 days, once. it was the greatest 21 days of my life. you never touch your luggage in the show -- somebody else handles your bags. it's great. the ballparks are like cathedrals, the hotels all have room service, the women have long legs and brains -- it's a smorgasbord.
yeah -- and so are the pitchers. they throw ungodly breaking stuff in the show -- exploding sliders.
you could be one of those guys -- but you don't give a fuck, meat.
yeah, let's go.
as i was saying ya hold it like an egg.
i can get us a rainout.
hundred bucks says i can get us a rainout tomorrow.
naw.
by the dozen. holiday on ice, ice capades, ice follies -- i'm through with one night stands.
i just wanta play everyday despite small nagging injuries -- and go home to a woman who appreciates how full of crap i truly am.
go for it.
i won't have to.
party without me.
helluva guy --
what?
if he had a good breaking ball, i'd respect the shit outta him.
wake up, it's okay.  you're dreaming.
i know, i know -- i have that dream all the time. we're almost home.
hot. very hot.
annie's a smart lady.
god's definitely a woman -- but she's no lady.
your fastball was up and your curveball was hanging -- in the show they woulda ripped you.
the moment's over. if this guy starts me off with a breaking ball, i'm going downtown --
i dare you to throw me the hammer -- you ain't that stupid.
breaking ball -- you fool!
i want you to throw this one at the bat rack.
it'll keep the fear of god in the hitters. trust me.
yep. next one might be at your head. hell if i know where the damn thing's going.
this son of a bitch is throwing a two hit shutout and he's shaking me off?! hey charlie, here comes the deuce.
yep. he really crushed that dinger, didn't he. musta gone 450 feet.  damn.
it's time you started working on your interviews.
learn your clichs. study them. know them. they're your friends.
write this down. "we gotta play 'em one day at a time."
of course. that's the point. "i'm just happy to be here and hope i can help the ballclub."
write, write -- "i just wanta give it my best shot and, good lord willing, things'll work out."
yep. so how's annie?
you outta your mind? if you give in now you might start losing. never fuck with a winning streak.
come in.
nuke won't go to bed with you, eh?
aren't we all?
you're gorgeous, god damn it! from the moment i first saw you i knew i had to have you. i had to have you!
i think of you and the "boy" all the time.
and he's right! a ballplayer on a streak has to respect the streak. they don't happen very often. you know how hard this game is? if you believe you're playing well because you're getting laid or because you're not getting laid or because you wore red silk panties -- then you are! and i still think thomas pynchon is full of shit.
who are you? do you have a job?
and now you wanta teach me?
i doubt that.
i thought you wanted an "uncomplicated" boy?
-- and as soon as we lose a game, he'll be back in your arms.
annie, i think you should leave.
you okay?
why baseball?
who?
what's so great about baseball?
i don't know if i'd go that far.
it's possible.
are you gonna be waking up next to 20 year old ballplayers when you're 60?
why not?
what's wrong?
hey, he's just your father, man -- he's as full of shit as anybody.
anybody says anything bad about millie, i'll break his neck.
nuke's scared cause his nostrils are jammed and his old man's here, we need a live rooster to take the curse off jose's glove, and nobody knows what to get jimmy and millie for their wedding present -- there's a whole lotta shit we're trying to deal with --
i got him on the knee!
god damn it, jack, he still ain't touched the plate.
it was a cocksucking call!
no! i said it was a cock-sucking call and you can't run me for that!
you spit on me!
you're in the wrong business, jack -- you're sears-roebuck material!
you want me to call you a cocksucker?!
beg me!
beg me again!
you're a cocksucker!
but when she does get weary -- try a little tenderness.
you know she's waiting, just anticipating, the things that she'll never possess.  while she's there waiting -- try a little tenderness.
shut up. i'm playing. oh you won't regret it, young girls don't forget it, lost in their own wilderness.  but it's all so easy -- just try a little tenderness.
then go.
let go of me!
no, no, sandy, put it down. nuke, you know sandy grimes? hit .367 at louisville in 155.
he hit .371 -- c'mon, nuke -- you and me, let's step outside and settle this.
c'mon!
god damn it, you fucking virgin prick -- step outside.
you fuck!
why are you a fuck? 'cause you got talent. i got brains. but you got talent! you're god damn left arm is worth a million dollars a year. all my limbs put together are worth 7 cents a pound -- and that's for science and dog meat.
come over here into the light so i can kick your ass.
okay, i'll kick your ass there.
god damn.  i forgot my fucking shoes. honey, go get my shoes.
you know what the difference is between hitting .250 and hitting .300? i got it figured out. twenty-five hits a year in 500 at bats is 50 points. okay? there's 6 months in a season, that's about 25 weeks -- you get one extra flare a week -- just one -- a gork, a ground ball with eyes, a dying quail -- just one more dying quail a week and you're in yankee stadium!
come on, meat.
nuke.  tell me something. did you hit me with your right or your left?
good. good. that's terrific.
if ya get in a fight with some asshole, never hit his with your pitching hand. ya might get injured. that's another lesson for ya -- now quit fucking around and help me up.
sorry about last night.
i have been known, on occasion, to howl at the moon. d'you understand that?
you will. look, nuke -- these big league hitters are gonna light you up like a pin ball machine for awhile -- don't worry about it. be cocky and arrogant even when you're getting beat. that's the secret. you gotta play this game with fear and arrogance.
no. fear and arrogance, you, hayseed, not ignorance!
i don't need a crazy woman in my life.
it's the best, nuke.  the absolute fucking best.
nuke -- good luck.
yeah, skip, you wanted to see me?
i got released.
how come in former lifetimes, everybody was someone famous? how come nobody ever says they were joe schmo?
wrist and wrist joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, fore-finger, finger-joints, finger-nail.
c'mon, meat, throw me that weak ass shit -- c'mon, bring the heat, bring it, bring it.
i quit. hit my dinger and hung 'em up.
there might be an opening for a manager at salem next spring.
yeah.  you a witch?
you think i could make it to the show as a manager?
annie --
i got a lotta time to hear your theories and i wanta hear every damn one of 'em.  but right now i'm tired and i don't wanta think about baseball and i don't wanta think about quantum physics.  i don't wanta think about nothing.  i just wanta be.