Cross Road Blues

EXT. A DESERTED INTERSECTION – MIDNIGHT

An aging man in a baseball uniform stands by the side of the road.  A Honda Civic is parked nearby.  The man lifts his cap and scratches the tuft of white hair that surrounds a balding crown.  He then deposits several items on the ground – a pink T-mobile tote bag, a copy of the Starr Report, and one of Jose Reyes’ dreadlocks – then douses them with rum and lights a match.

DAVE JOUSS: [dropping the match and watching the conflagration burn] Man, I sure hope this works…

Nothing happens.

DAVE JOUSS: Crap, almost forgot.

He pulls a COVID vaccine card out of his pocket and drops it onto the blaze.

— [portal to the netherworld flies open] —

NICK SABAN: Well hello there, friend.

DAVE JOUSS: Nick Saban? Holy moly, you’re the last person I expected to see here.

NICK SABAN: Yeah, well, I try to stay on top of the game as best I can, and these new NCAA rules about images and likenesses are going to make things a bit more…complicated as far as recruiting goes.  Potential supply chain disruptions and all that.  So I figured I’d try to diversify a bit.  Always gotta be evolving, you know?

DAVE JOUSS: Sure, sure.

NICK SABAN: Now I think I’ve got the gist of things already, but why don’t you lay it all out for me to make sure there’s no misunderstanding.

DAVE JOUSS: I’m tired of being a nobody.  I mean, when I got my first coaching job I thought it was a dream come true.  Major league baseball, all day every day.  And getting paid to do it!  But it’s nothing like I dreamed it would be.  It’s been thirty years and barely anything has changed.  I’m still spending all these nights on the road – it’s all I can do to keep my family from blowing into pieces.  And it’s not like the hotels and food is terrible, but there’s only so many nights you can spend in a two star hotel in, say, Cleveland before you want to blow your brains out.

NICK SABAN: I understand completely.

DAVE JOUSS: I still love baseball, but…I don’t want to be working behind the scenes anymore.  I want to be on the field.

NICK SABAN: I have to be crazy to be talking myself out of a sale like this, but honestly, haven’t you put in enough time to get a chance as a base coach?  You don’t need my help for something like that.

DAVE JOUSS: [smiles wryly] You think I’d call you all the way out here for that?  My immortal soul for a first base coaching job, maybe get you to throw in a race car on top of it? What do you think I am, ten years old?

NICK SABAN: No I do not.

DAVE JOUSS: If I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna aim big.  I want to be the greatest pitcher in baseball history.

NICK SABAN: My word.  At your age?

DAVE JOUSS: Is that a problem?

NICK SABAN: Not so much. Have you ever seen “Damn Yankees”?

DAVE JOUSS: No, but I read the Readers Digest condensed book it was based on.

NICK SABAN: Oh, good, so you’re familiar with how this works. It’s been quite a while since I ran one of these plays. But I can get it done. No escape hatches this time, though.

DAVE JOUSS: That’s fine.

NICK SABAN: I think we’ll turn you into a knuckleballer. Tell folks you developed your technique playing cricket in New Zealand.  First, we’ll need to work on your accent…

NICK SABAN is interrupted by the sound of a revving car engine.  At first it is distant, but it approaches rapidly.  The two men watch as an ostentatiously-appointed Ford F-150 races towards them and then barrels into the back of DAVE JOUSS’s Honda Civic.  The truck rolls over once and lands on its wheels.

DAVE JOUSS: Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

NICK SABAN: [hisses]

DAVE JOUSS: Oh, sorry!  But…

— [passenger door flies open] —

ANDY REID: I got a bone to pick with you, Saban!

NICK SABAN: Oh, hell.

DAVE JOUSS: My car!

ANDY REID: [stops glaring at Saban long enough to look at the demolished Honda] It’s fine, you can ride home with Britt and me.

DAVE JOUSS: [stares incredulously at Andy, then at the wrecked cars, then back at Andy again] How did…why aren’t you…but there’s not a scratch on you!

ANDY REID: [glances at DAVE JOUSS] Subclause H.

DAVE JOUSS: Huh?

NICK SABAN: Coach Reid has a very good agent.  Don’t you, Andy.  Now what’s this all about? I’ve been fulfilling my end of things.

ANDY REID: Forty eight hours ago, I was in the midst of a nice meal at the Olive Garden.  Then I get the bill.

ANDY REID reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper – a receipt – that is stained with spaghetti sauce.  He shoves it in NICK SABAN’s face.

ANDY REID: YOU SEE THAT?

NICK SABAN: [squints at the receipt] The six dollar surcharge?

ANDY REID: IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BOTTOMLESS MEATBALLS, NICK.

NICK SABAN: Andy, you make like $7 million a year, just cough up the extra six bucks.

ANDY REID: THAT WASN’T OUR DEAL AND YOU KNOW IT.

NICK SABAN: Listen, Andy, let me just finish up here with Dave and we’ll get you taken care of.

ANDY REID: I want my meatballs, Nick.

NICK SABAN: Sure, sure.  [turns to DAVE JOUSS]  Now Dave, you wanted to be the greatest pitcher of all time, right?

DAVE JOUSS: Yeah.

NICK SABAN: And you understand what this will cost you.

DAVE JOUSS: I do.

ANDY REID: [starts tapping his foot impatiently]

NICK SABAN: All right, all you need to do is repeat these words after me…

ANDY REID: Meatballs, Nick.

NICK SABAN: Optimus.

DAVE JOUSS: Optimus…

ANDY REID: [looks at his watch]

NICK SABAN: Proiciens.

DAVE JOUSS: Proiciens…

NICK SABAN: Historia.

DAVE JOUSS: Historia…

ANDY REID: DAMNIT NICK, I WANT MY MEATBALLS!

There is a brilliant flash of red light, and when vision resumes the crossroads is empty. 

—

EXT. COORS FIELD – DAY (THREE WEEKS LATER)

ANNOUNCER: And next up in the Home Run Derby we have Pete Alonso…let’s see if his batting coach Dave Jouss can serve him up something tasty…