written by ron shelton
yes, mr. stump -- you do need this job that bad.
now come in here and meet the great ty cobb. i won't hurt you.
on the violin -- fritz kreisler. i'm a great admirer of his. i'm also a great admirer of yours.
but you are a hopeless romantic and only a moderate success.
of course. give me those pills over there.
that's an invitation to a testimonial dinner at the baseball hall of fame in cooperstown, new york. you're taking me there -- when is it?
all the great ones will be there -- the great mickey cochrane will be there! hornsby, sisler, ott, the waner brothers.  we used to have some parties, stump, i'll tell ya that right now.  we can't forget.
look at me closely, al.  lie after lie has been written about me -- my whole life i've been misunderstood. you're gonna tell the real story of ty cobb.
that's why you're here. see, there's two kinds of writers. the kind that spin endless yarns about small subjects.  that's you.
or.  there's the kind with one great subject that consumes them forever. that could be you. because i am that subject. cobb hobbles to a table in front of a window. the table is covered with pills, bottles, needles, and booze.
jameson! get your ass up here!
mmmmmm.
there's a small oil company near bakersfield called honolulu oil, sitting near the elk hills reserve.  i want you to buy all the stock you can.
getty is expanding in the west, looking for companies like that. i got a hunch.  stumpy, c'mere.  cobb picks up the revolver and holds it lovingly. stump crosses and stands behind cobb, sharing the view.
i can take that buck. what'ya think?
there's a board meeting of coca-cola in georgia next week. call them up and tell them i can't make it for medical -- -- personal -- reasons.  .  and sell all the 3-m stock we got.
got him.
right behind the ear.
jameson?
you have no vision, stump. a writer without vision is a waste of my time. i think i picked the wrong man. cobb stumbles back into bed, somewhat exhausted by the ordeal.
shut up, stump -- we both know that i'm your meal ticket. we need each other. and we start in the morning.
yes. cobb reaches over and defiantly turns up the music so that the room is overwhelmed with kreisler's violin. stump stares back at this decrepit, overpowering figure.
chapter one, page one.
'know ye that a prince and a great man has fallen this day.' stump types it out, then stops.
that's what robert e. lee said at the burial of my grandfather who was a confederate general killed at fredricksburg.
hell no. that's the first line of my autobiography.
why not?
my story can come from any damn place i want.
what kind of a fucking writer you call yourself -- all tied up in rules and regulations. what's the point being a writer if you can't say what you want to?
it has a certain ring to it.
i thought you might like it. it's yours, a gift from me. 'cobb, a prince among men, misunderstood in his genius, as genius always is' - this is the second line from what will be the greatest biography of a great man ever written -- type it! cobb checks the tape and suddenly is deep in thought over some information coming across. stump types.
bethlehem steel's about to dive.
jameson. bethlehem's going in the toilet. dump it all! cobb slams down the phone, momentarily lost in finance.
yeah.  buy coca-cola. we're about to go out in cans.
you know what's wrong with ty cobb?
every disease known to man -- i got 'em all! and they'll never get me in a hospital -- never! my heart leaks -- the doctors who are nothin' but a buncha hacksaw artists give me digoxin to keep it pumping.  cobb grabs a bottle of digoxin pills and flings it across the room in a rage. he flings bottles of pills as he recites his ailments.
they give me darvon for the cancer in my back, they give me tace for something eatin' up my stomach, fleets compound for an infection in my bowels, librium for my tension, insulin for my diabetes.
fuckin' insulin.
and if all that wasn't enough, it's been two years since i got my pecker in the air.  the south may not rise again but my dick will.
i ain't here!
tell him to go to hell! stump covers the receiver nervously.
tell him to go to hell anyway.
him and me used to be pals but we went on a hunting trip once and he hired a shitty guide.
you tell him to go fuck himself or i'll kick your yankee ass!
hemingway isn't a bullfighter -- he wrote about bullfighting. what the hell is that?! bullshit.  damn painkillers.  cobb rubs his head -- the drugs are taking effect.
it'll pass.  stumpy, listen to me -- you know what i need?
i need a woman. a woman is definitely what i need.
we're going to reno. i want a woman.
when a man wants a woman, a man wants a woman.
how cozy. i got 25 thousand in cash and negotiable securities in here. don't let it out of your sight.
you lead, i'll follow.
i need a woman! cut to:
you call that driving, alice?! my sister can drive faster than that! step on it!
get off the road -- ya can't drive any faster?! move it! stump is caught between fear and rage.
the man drives like an old woman.
drive, motherfucker, drive!
it's about fucking time you got here!
i wouldn't call it living but it'll do. help me outta here. stump helps cobb back out of the car. it is an awkward, clumsy, difficult task.
of course there's blood! i just put my head through the windshield of a car, what the hell ya think, ya big fucking jerk.
ty cobb can't die like this! they'll bury me and nobody'll know who it is!
look't that! no guard rail! i'm suing the state highway commission, i'm suing the governor, i'm suing every god damn body! i coulda been killed!
gimme your keys, i'm driving.
do you know how to get to reno? hell, no! i'm driving.
your call.
i've killed a man.
here ya go, stumpy. i like a man who stands up to me. stump holds the gun awkwardly, not knowing what to do.
now give me the keys. i'm driving.
it's only another hour -- plenty of time to tell you my story before we find us some women.
some for you, some for me. we'll have a helluva time. the broads're probably lining up right now, waiting for ol' ty and his buddy stump.
i suppose you want to know about my childhood. writers usually do.
my philosophy is simply this -- life is too short to be diplomatic. a man's friends shouldn't mind what he does or says, and those who are not his friends, well, to hell with 'em. and cobb drifts into a story of his youth. he's suddenly so relaxed that he pays little attention to the road.
i was born in a small town in georgia, of course.  my sweet sister florence still lives there.
he was the mayor, they were grooming him for governor, he was a learned man, a professor, and the head deacon in the baptist church.
my mother was the most beautiful woman in the county.  she married my father when she was twelve which was the way they used to do it. and she taught me to believe in the hymns we sang.  i especially liked the bloody ones.  'and sinners plunged beneath that flood, lose all their guilty stains'
i remember after i was baptized and i was walking home with my pals.
i was feeling very christian, ready to live the good life -- my father didn't drink, smoke, gamble or chase women -- and i wasn't going to either --
 when all of a sudden a train was coming at us.
there i was, a newly baptized child of god who hadn't hardly sinned, and i was gonna die.
the engine bore down on me till i could see the whites of the engineer's eyes -- i was thrilled.
 it was the greatest thrill in my life not counting the first time i saw a woman naked.
i felt protected. by my father, my mother, the baptism, i don't know -- but from that moment on i knew i couldn't be hurt.
my father died in a terrible accident, you know.
didn't you do your research on me before you came up here?
then you've read that i'm the meanest bastard of them all?
i don't care what people think.
i am who i tell you i am! why are you making things so complicated?!
well writers oughta make things simple! everything's complicated enough as it is.
of course i'm right!
don't shout like that, stumpy -- it just increases my tension. i saw that truck all along -- you think i'm gonna hit a truck when i'm getting close to finding me some women? stump is in sheer terror by this time.
my father was murdered, y'know.
i mean that's the sort of thing you're looking for, isn't it? murdered on the balcony of his own house.  the house i grew up in.
the oldtimers in royston know about it. nobody else's business. it happened when i was 17, a few days before detroit called me up.
why i'm such a prick? ha! that's too easy -- you're a better writer than that --
there was an arrest, a trial, and an acquittal. nobody was ever convicted.
aw, don't go sob-sister on me, stumpy. the only thing that finally matters is a man's accomplishments and i must say, in all humility, al, in all humility -- i was the greatest ballplayer of all time. nobody is even a close second.
single to left, steal second, steal third, steal home.
fuck you!
you're on. cobb tosses some money on the pile, and climbs up the dugout steps, shouting. cut to:
hey, greaseball, check your wife -- one of the players is missing!
who the hell ever signed you?
hey, cyclops, you're missing a good game.
here ya go.  the catcher holds up a pair of women's panties.
your old lady left 'em in my car last night -- i thought you could give 'em back to her.
let's go.
that's as hard as you can throw?! shit, it that was my fastball i'd wear a dress!
hey, wagner! i'd shade me a little up the middle if i was you! wagner doesn't budge, comfortable in his position, not drawn into cobb's taunts. stoic, implacable -- far from cobb.
you try to take my head off then you throw a sinker away, in and out, same old shit -- sinker away.
you god damn coward! you shoulda thrown at me again! you shoulda hit me in the fucking head!
hey, krauthead, i'm coming down.
you want in on the action? my mother has a better arm than you! i'm coming to you, greaseball! coming to kick your dago ass!
in those days you didn't hold hands and dance with the men on the other teams. they were the enemy -- you fought with 'em. and i was the most hated man in baseball.
a good day to you, too, sir.  the police escort cobb to right field -- the roar of the vitriolic crowd increases.
do you know what it's like to be booed like that?
it feels wonderful! they couldn't live without me! they came to the ballpark to see me!
fifty thousand fans trying to kill me everywhere i went!
i loved it. only great men are booed. captains of industry and presidents. i knew 'em all.
woodrow wilson had the best scotch.
warren harding had the best broads.
and calvin coolidge wasn't any damn fun at all.
after world war two, general patton asked me for an autograph -- he said he patterned himself after me! are you getting this?
why aren't you writing?!
but neither am i.
i said i'm not ready to die.
but you're not listening to me! i may have every god damn disease known to man but i am never going to check into a hospital because i am alive and i am going to get laid in reno!
you're gonna get laid, too, stumpy!
you queer?!
i thought you were divorced.
talking my ass! quit hanging on -- get a divorce. is that why you don't wanta get laid in reno? 'cause you're feeling loyal to a woman you're divorcing? that's really stupid, stumpy.
is that why you used to wine and dine that little brunette who had an office across the courtyard from you in santa barbara? stump is nailed.
i do my homework, stumpy. i know where the bodies are buried.
hey, no need to defend yourself. when it comes to women i'm a total shit -- the difference is, stumpy, that i know i'm a shit.
our little secret, huh? and that part about me being a shit with women? that ain't gonna be in the book.
your book?! my book! and nothing about my ex-wives or children are gonna be in it. my book is about baseball!
cobb is baseball! intercut:
fuck him.
whoever it is he's gotta be pretty stupid to be out in this shit.
bullshit! i ain't givin' no nigger a ride nowhere!
now who's the coward! you won't shoot me! you need me! stump hands the gun to willie.
you'll pay for this, stumpy.
that nigger couldn't hold my jock!
shut up!!
noooooo!
shut this man up!
fucked up roads. they don't build highways like they used to.
my money.
my gun.
we haven't missed the testimonial dinner, have we?
good, good.  cobb manages a small, pained smile before drifting off into sleep. stump turns off the light and exits.
'pathetic, paranoid, lost in the past!' what is this shit?!
you're notes -- my life! you're gonna betray me, you son of a bitch!
whose truth?
but i'm the legend and legends are not pathetic!
don't you understand anything about 'greatness'?
there's not enough time left. this frank admission momentarily stops stump.
now that's pathetic. who gives a good god damn about the opinions of al stump?! what people want to know about is ty cobb! and they don't want to know who he hates 'cause everybody hates somebody! they don't wanta know if he had two wives or ten! they don't wanta know if he hit women or if they hit him!
yes! precisely!
oh, oh, oh.  i get it. you're one of them college psychology type guys. you wanta find the missing piece to finish the puzzle known as the madman cobb -- you think you're the next hemingway but you're just a moderate success in a moderate-sized pond.
that's it, now you're showing some life. you want psychology? i'll give you some fucking psychology!
my father was a great man.  dissolve to:
my father told my mother he was going out of town for the weekend on business. but he didn't go. he came back 'cause he thought she was being unfaithful.
i don't know why he thought it -- 'cause my mother was a wonderful woman -- but he thought it.
my father thought he would catch the man who was trying to steal his wife from him.  catch him in the act.
my father had high standards.  the highest. he believed in quality.  he believed in education.  he believed in god.  he believed in me.  he believed in my mother.  but on that night he seemed like a prowler.  and so --
my mother killed my father.  shot him in the belly.  and then blew his head clean off.
how's that? a pretty god damn good piece of psychology, eh? that what you're looking for? the childhood incident that explans me?!
well i was a prick before it happened and a bigger prick after it happened so stick that up your sigmund freud ass!
and you ain't printing it.
not if i say so. i don't think you understand something -- i have final editorial approval of the book.
did you read your contract?
call your agent. stump quickly dials and gets an answer.
well, you were pretty stupid to give up approval, weren't ya?
fuck me? why me? why you mad at me? your agent made the deal, your lawyer, your publisher, you didn't even read the contract because you trusted them! who the hell ever trusted a lawyer or an agent?! if i was al stump, the guy i'd be pissed off at would be al stump!
but i ain't dying first.
i'll die slow.
now get dressed so we can go find some women.  stump just stares back -- exhausted and overmatched.
look't that -- hundred bucks says i get in her pants before dawn.
i don't remember.  ramona arrives at their table.
excuse me, young lady, i must apologize for the behavior of my friend -- he has a crude side. ramona delivers the cigars and collects the money. stump is a bit chagrined and caught off guard by this cobb.
ramona.  spanish name.  lovely.  it means 'moonlit garden of the gods'.
of course they want me. and cobb heads for the stage, walking better but not without effort, a walk enhanced by drugs and booze. as he does, ramona turns to stump.
well, i figure against today's pitchers i'd only hit about .275,
because i'm 72 fucking years old, that's why, god damn it. give me that thing. cobb grabs the mike and takes over.
first of all i wanta thank you for that song, 'sweet georgia brown.  it's a great song about my home state and i appreciate it.  that song has become the theme song for the harlem globetrotters.  it's too bad such a fine song had to be stole by a buncha niggers playing a faggot game in their underwear.
'course the globetrotters are owned by a jew named saperstein so whadda you expect? a disaster. prima tries gamely to seize the mike back.
i got the mike, dago -- gimme a god damn minute. nobody's got respect for their elders any more. cobb turns to the crowd which, even in it's drunken state, is appalled and in disbelief.
now let me explain to you how to hit a baseball. it's a lost art. ever since that half-nigger ruth started hitting home runs, the skill, the art, and the science have been lost.
now, say this is a bat.
you see, the bat is like a wand, a magic wand.  it should be caressed, held like a woman.  like a woman who's really in need of a man.
hitting a baseball is really very easy.  you can't force it.  you can't overpower it.  you go with the pitch.  you let the bat do the work.  it's all rhythm and flow.  and cobb starts demonstrating hitting techniques to the bewildered audience and casino staff. he strikes that familiar, strange stance -- choked up on the bat, a split grip, the bat held parallel to the ground.  cut to:
you two-timing bastard! you god damn judas iscariot! you stealing my girl! i'll kill you!
you're coming with me!
what's this?!
put it back on.
that's better.
i am the georgia peach. i have 4,191 base hits in 11,429 at- bats, 920 stolen bases, 2,244 runs scored, and 92 batting records.  and i want you to undress.
i might.
take your clothes off.
you got big tits. i like big tits.
shut up. take it off. she does. and covers her breasts with her hands.
shy, huh? get on the bed. ramona gets on the bed -- cobb circles the bed continuously.
you're a beauty. roll over.
shut up.
what i coulda done with you in my prime.
shut up!
roll over. terrified, she does.
i want you to do exactly what i say.
ramona! stump hurries to cobb's door and listens in to be sure.
exactly what i say.
a thousand dollars.  he holds out the money for her.
i want you to tell everyone you meet that you fucked me and i was the best fuck you ever had.
that's a lot.
i'm looking at the most beautiful woman in the world, do you hear me?!
and i'm dead down here! dead! nothing! and it's been like that for over two years! nothing! now get outta here before i hit you!
she was a great piece of ass, stumpy, best i ever had.
have we missed the testimonial dinner?
nothing like a cigarette girl and thirty hours of sleep to invigorate a man, stumpy! you look like shit.
well let's see how we're doing.  cobb reads the pages with utter seriousness. stump watches.
yes, god damn it, stumpy, yes! now you're getting it! none of this sigmund freud bullshit! baseball, stumpy, baseball! yes! cobb rushes to stump and embraces him, almost like a child. his eyes are wet with tears.
you understand! people are no damn good but you're different! you're okay, stumpy, you get it! and i can trust you.
now let's go roll us some dice, alimony, i feel a hot hand coming on! cut to:
y'see how it works, stumpy.  they boo ya your whole career, then when you're about to kiss off, they put ya on a pedestal. that's what being a legend's all about.
send the dice to the peach, boys, and belly up to the bar.
stumpy, what is that?!
my girl went for the nigger?
mona! you with that nigger! cobb's voice silences the tables. ramona looks up.
willie! is she with you?!
my girl with my nigger!
what is the world coming to?! blam, blam, blam -- the gun is fired repeatedly into the ceiling fixtures, into the mirrors above the tables. cobb is wrestled to the table by several men, including stump. and it takes all of them to escort the struggling cobb out of the casino into the lobby.
do you know who i am?!
where we going, stumpy, i wanta find us some more women!
y'know something, alimony, i believe you're the best friend i ever had.
swear on a bible, stumpy -- i feel i can trust you now.
and then this fat ass named babe ruth came into the league and damn near destroyed the game of baseball.  we all thought he was gonna eat and fuck his way outta the league but he hung around for a few years --
anybody can hit home runs. now excuse me, i got work to do.
i didn't care that they cheered and adored ruth -- i cared that they respected his ballplaying -- christ, they built yankee stadium for him with a 297-foot right field line. my sister florence could hit the ball 297 feet! dissolve to:
whenever we got into a fight with the new yorkers, 24 of our guys would fight 24 of their guys and me and ruth would take on each other! as the benches clear -- cobb races not at the pitcher but straight to right field where the babe is charging in like a rhino straight for cobb. somewhere near second base the two giants collide in a thunderous smash, falling to the ground in a brawl, as 48 players slug it out in the b.g. dissolve to:
fabulous stuff, stumpy, just brilliant. you're a genius.
i love reading about me.
goddamn it, who's out there? cobb hurries outside, drawing his pistol.
 by the age of 25 i was a millionaire, by the age of 30 a multi-millionaire, by the age of
y'know, stumpy, with a friend like you, i just might go on forever.  cobb grabs the recorder mike and launches in again.
where were we -- ohyeah -- then, at the age of 42, i batted .323 which was an embarrassment to me but would be a career for anyone else.
you're gonna meet great athletes, great warriors, great men at this hall of fame dinner, stumpy. none of this modern, pansy bullshit --
you fucking liar. you've been hoping i'd die first.
i got you right. but it's okay 'cause i need your help. stump squirms. a knock at the door. stump answers it.
where's your tux?
i sent you money for it.
you drank it, you mean. you can't go to the hall of fame like that. i won't allow it.
there's two things a man should never do -- complain or explain. now go buy a god damn tux!
how could you be so good behind the plate and so bad everywhere else!
operator? what's the best men's shop in town. who owns it? jack who? gimme his home number. better yet, ring him up for me. jack?! this is ty cobb. go down to your shop and open it up and sell a tux to the great mickey cochrane. and sell him a cumberbund and a shirt and a bow tie and some god damn cologne. he smells like shit. what's the address? he'll be there in twenty minutes. cobb thrusts the card into cochrane's hand.
god damn it, mickey, ya gotta give a better effort.
he's lost, stumpy, the poor man's been lost ever since he took a fastball in the ear.
for years -- but that ain't goin' in the book.
because it would embarrass him. cobb winces as he tries to rise, almost falling.
i don't wanta take the cane tonight.
i don't have to have anything -- if you stay near me.  in case i wobble or something.  just a firm hand right here.  that'll keep me upright. i'd appreciate it. now how do i look? cobb poses in his tux -- proudly, unsurely.
i'll be okay when i hear the crowd. cut to:
your hand, stumpy, your hand!
thank you, my friend.  and cobb is met by the hall of fame director, charles, 50, who shakes his hand and shows him in.
good to see you, sam. you doin' okay?
the boys'll get together later and have a little party, eh?
stumpy, meet rogers hornsby, next to me the greatest hitter of all time --
i look like shit and you know it. we'll have a real smoker later, eh?
what the hell is this?!
me and speaker and the fix?
al, what are you seeing?
stumpy, what's going on?
what're you seeing?
crawford and foxx have something cooking in room 212 --
i never partied with these boys but they had a reputation.
you got some booze?
i do. who's in there?
got any women in there?
me and stumpy want some action.
we're ready. and jimmy foxx opens the door letting in cobb and stump. cut to:
hello, ladies. foxx pulls cobb aside and whispers discreetly.
there it is!
i've never been readier! cobb takes a hit on his flask and they knock at the door. hornsby answers the door -- we can see a party behind him, full of old players, booze, cigars -- and even some women, though the whole thing is infinitely tamer than the smokers cobb remembers.
rajah!
it's me! an' stumpy here!
who's in there?!
let me talk to mickey.
ya look good in that tux, mick.
god damn it, let me in! cobb tries to break into the party but hornsby rushes over and shoves the door in his face, leaving ty and stump alone.
presidents of the united states of america used to invite me to the white house to drink their scotch and smoke their cigars and fuck their women.
let me in, god damn it! i invented this game! let me in!
i fought for players' rights and salary increases and unions while all you crawled around on your knees begging massa' for bread crumbs just thankful for a job!
open up, god damn it! ballplayers can make big money but they're too stupid! you're all too stupid! the hell with ya!
take me back to the hall!
what did you see on that film tonight?
that's all?
i was raised in the baptist church but i know that heaven is just the ol' oskefagus -- the change-up. you swing from your ass 'cause you think life is a fastball down the middle and after your bat has crossed the plate and you're all off balance and looking stupid, the ball just kinda flutters across home, slow and juicy and hittable, and as it crosses the plate, the ball looks at you and smiles a nasty smile and laughs its way into the catcher's mitt.  we don't just lose -- we're made fools of.
save the romance for the book.  .  and take me home to georgia.
greatest biography ever written --
we're here. and the fuckin' sign needs paint.
my sister lives down this way.  turn right here.
they look kinda the same.
about fifteen years ago. but she understands me.  there! no.  damn.
there! i think.
well?
you cocksucking liar. my sister doesn't want to see me and you're lying. and stump, at last, goes off --
if you didn't like the job, why didn't you quit?
don't give me the sob-sister routine.
you love being this close to greatness!
i will, stumpy, i will.  cobb is out of the car on his cane -- following stump.
oh, i'll do that, too. and look how convenient you've made it.
i forgive her. stump walks into the cemetery to escape cobb, who follows nonetheless with a cool resolution. stump laughs at cobb's comment.
forgiveness is crucial to human maturity and religious growth.
we all need to forgive more, al.  you oughta try it. you're too angry. you're all pent up.
are you angry because i discovered you were a whore? is that it, alimony?
is it the divorce? you gotta let go of it.
sure ya do. you're just so used to accommodating people that you don't know what you want anymore. i accommodate nobody. stump whirls near the top of the hill to face cobb who continues making his way along, slowly and surely.
do you? who are they?! those drunken hacks you hang out with who all think they're gonna write the great american novel but all they're gonna ever do is bitch and moan and write lousy leads about high school football games? how about the brunette in the courtyard? is she your friend? i heard she fucks everybody -- she must be everybody's friend! a mausoleum looms behind stump, bigger than anything in the cemetery, classical, outsized, monumental, even elegant. one simple word is above the door, carved in granite: cobb.
i'm glad we're here -- i was gonna bring you here anyway sooner or later -- stump turns to see the mausoleum, and the word cobb.
that is me.
when i die, my mother and father will be moved in here and, in time, my dear sister, florence will join us as well. the family will be together again.
you mock my family -- you mock me. cobb grabs stump by the throat and stares him in the eye.
my father was a great man!
being a bastard is a small price to pay for greatness. i, too, am a great man.
my mother didn't kill my father.
my father told my mother he was leaving town for the weekend but he came back to the edge of the woods where he tied up his horse.  cut to:
 because my father thought my mother was being unfaithful to him.
 he was going to catch my mother with another man.
because my mother did not kill my father.
my mother's lover killed my father.
the last thing my father saw was the face of the man fucking his wife! the lover unloads the second shell -- blowing his head off.
well?! is that what you want?! 'cause that's all i know and the only other people who know about it are dead! but it ain't going in the book, either, 'cause you're the only friend i got left, and you're the only man i can trust. cobb lets stump go, relaxing his grip and --
public relations are overrated.
you need a drink.
you're too angry, al, you just gotta learn to let it out. stump stands in the rain screaming at cobb who stands out of the rain, calm, centered, drinking, dying.
you shouldn't use the word 'nigger', stumpy, it's racist and demeaning. and i don't hate women -- i'm just not very good with 'em, which puts me in the same boat with you and every other man i know.
the children of america need heroes, al, you know that.  cobb takes him by the arm and tries to lead him to the limo.
c'mon, al.  you're making a fool of yourself out here. it's not dignified.  come in out of the rain.
you're an educated man.  tell me what you think.  stump just sits there, drinking.
either my father was.  inadequate .  for my mother.  he was not the man i thought he was.  not a great man.  not even a good man.  .  or my mother was.  trash.  a common whore.  it's that simple, isn't it?
as a boy i stood in court next to her because suddenly i was the man of the house but as i stood there steadfastly by her side and heard the jury say 'not guilty' i knew she'd been with another man the night of the killing. stump drinks deeply once again.
a man must defend his mother at all times, isn't that right, al? or am i a fool?
that's what i thought.  and the two men sit there silently, rocking slightly, trying to stay warm, when there is -- suddenly a knock at the door -- they stare at each other.
in here.
i'm afraid it's divorce, stumpy. i know this routine.
yeah, and what she's saying is 'fuck you.'
we all loved our wives, al, that's got nothing to do with it.
there's a million broads out there, stumpy -- put down the gun.
you're all mixed up. give me the gun.
al.  no.  al.  al.
no! stump pulls the trigger -- click. empty.
a little drunken excess.
it's forgotten already. i saw nothing. nothing happened.
al, listen to me.
if i was hired to write a biography of the greatest sportswriter of our time -- a biography of al stump -- would i include what happened tonight? attorneys are pigs -- divorce attorneys are lower than pigs. what happened tonight was private. an intimacy. your own business. our own business. nobody else's. it wouldn't belong in a book about greatness.
and when the brunette in the courtyard brushed against you, i know what happened, al. a warm summer breeze, the smell of jasmine, her black hair against a white blouse -- you came to life again, you got hard -- and when you saw her naked it was more than you could bear.  it's okay, al, it's okay.  the brunette ain't gonna be in the book either.  stump looks up at cobb but says nothing. he picks up a nearly-empty bottle off the floor and takes a hit.
and the drinking? well, they used to say ol' ty had a drinking problem but you can booze me right under the table right now.  no problem.  and nobody's god damn business, either.  stump raises his hand, motioning cobb to stop.
then get some sleep. you look pathetic.
 'vicious, pathological, bubbling with violence.  cobb's demons were not merely exorcized on the baseball field.  they spilled over into all parts of his miserable life' dissolve to:
you don't have a point of view, stumpy, you ain't worth killing.
dear god.
no.  no.  no.  this can't be.  absolutely not.  this is not right.  cobb coughs again -- more blood covers his chin. he touches his chin, touches the blood, smears it around a little, looks at his hands now covered with blood.
stumpy?! no.
our father, which art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive -- aw, fuck it.  little late for that sob sister stuff.  cobb rises to his feet and looks in the mirror again. he grabs a hand towel and daubs his face with it. a bit more blood trickles from his mouth. and gradually a deep calm seems to settle over him.
 so this is what it feels like.
can you get me the emory hospital? hello, ma'am? this is ty cobb. can you please prepare your finest room for me? tomorrow morning would be fine. cobb hangs up and leans back on the bed next to stump who is still deep in drunken sleep. one man sleeps deeply, the other just sits there. dissolve to:
'dear alimony, you lying s.o.b. -- i'm checking myself into the hospital. i think the end is near. your pal, ty.'
get the hell outta here! you call this a hospital?! you call this food?! you know who i am?!
hey, stumpy, where you been? you can't believe the shit they call food in this joint. you get some sleep? good. i had quite a read last night.  a nurse enters warily, but determined, with a small sy- ringe.
put a bucket under my chin and i'll cough up a couple pints for ya.
well don't poke around too long.
she's a nice piece of ass, eh, stumpy? you come back later and climb on the big fella?
yeah, god damn it, i thought i could trust you -- i used to be able to figure out people better.
you're a god damn romantic! the truth is a whore! just like you and just like my mother! another nurse enters and announces.
tell the son of a bitch to go downstairs and have a pepsi -- i got no time for business.
it's high. what else you need to know?
come and get it. the older doctor turns and leaves. stump enjoys the show.
y'know, stumpy, my oldest son was a doctor -- a hacksaw artist, that's all they are -- he died of a brain tumor when he was forty -- hadn't spoke to me in fifteen years 'cause i was such a rotten father -- put that in your god damn book! the younger doctor completes his task and slips away.
bad, ain't it?
there ya go again! accommodating me and you don't have to! i died faster than you could write! cobb waves his gun just as some more doctors enter.
get the hell outta here! everybody but stumpy! out!
you fooled me, stumpy, nobody ever fooled me but you pulled it off! i thought we were pals!
quit explaining yourself! stand by your convictions! you beat the great ty cobb! i respect that! but if you print it -- print it all! my second son weighed 300 pounds and he died of a heart attack in the arms of a hooker in paso robles. my other son i lost all track of and my two daughters won't speak to me and my two ex- wives won't and my siter you know won't! print it all! and ty cobb can't get it up anymore! print that too!
it's not! it's simple! you won! tell the world that the greatest ballplayer who ever lived was also the biggest bastard! who cares now?! i give you permission and my blessing! from here on it's your story! stump nods and pulls a pint of whiskey from his coat pocket. he goes up to cobb and tucks the whiskey under the blanket.
where's my money?
stumpy, there's nothing wrong with wanting glory. now get the hell outta here.