It is early March 2005 in Mesa, Arizona. In a spacious locker room lit with bright fluorescent lights, several Chicago Cubs stand at their wide blue lockers in various stages of dressing for the coming game.
Cheerio, old chaps. Looks like a lovely afternoon for a test match, eh wot?
He takes a large bite out of a rat and talks with his mouth full.
Farnsworth like pitch. Farnsworth make ball go fast.
petting Farnsworth on his head.
Yes, my pet, yes. Throw the ball fast. HAHAHAHA!
Ha! Pip Pip, lads! You bowlers are a scandalous lot!
Hey, boys, what color uniform are we wearin’ today?
Enter Jose Macias and Corey Patterson, completely naked and swinging bats wildly through the air.
Yeeeeeeehaw! Swing! Swing! Can’t wait to take some hacks!
Can’t walk your way off the island, right, Jose?
I’m Panamanian, you idiot! We’re an isthmus!
He swings at Corey and, of course, misses
Good cut, kid! Gotta take your cuts if you wanna get on base! Attaboy!
A locker opens and Jim Hendry’s large head pokes out.
You’re fired, Matthews!
Anybody know what color uniform we’re wearin’ today?
Dusty Baker, with a tiny Wendell Kim statue hanging around his head, enters.
Don’t worry, Jose, you can play 7 positions. You don’t have to hit. In fact, none of you have to hit as long as you admire my toothpick!
I hope none of you chaps mind too much, but I’ve taken the liberty of booking a string quartet to play for us before every game. Perhaps it’ll inspire us a bit so we’ll all play like silly mid-ons. What say you?
A light illuminates a previously dimly lit corner of the clubhouse, revealing the quartet. They immediately begin playing “La Vida Loca.”
Mark Prior, his calves bulging, strides purposefully over to the quartet. From his calves come tentacles that strangle the musicians.
I say, old chap! How terribly cheeky! Those lads cost me a pretty shilling, they did!
Farnsworth runs over and starts devouring the corpses as the tentacles recede into Prior’s calves.
A bespectacled old man shuffles in, his eyes knowing and thoughtful.
Bako? Where’s Bako?
Not Bako, Blanco!
Ah, there you are, dear boy. Bako, I’m going golfing. Would you carry my clubs?
Blanco! Blanco!
Blanco? Oh, okay, white uniforms today. Thanks, Bako!
