Enter Scene: Team Runner enters the office, chest heaving, torn news print in his hand. He’s perspiring under the arm pits. His hair is flying in all directions.
# # #
Fred Morrison: What is it, son?
TR (YS9 Assistant GM): Did you hear the news about Denny Pitts?
Morrison: That he’s a molded plague on the behind of the modern world, yeah.
TR: What? Uh…no. I mean…
Morrison: You mean you’re trying to be politically correct and call 5.25 ERA in AAA something other than a pile of rotting feces on the tip of the spoon you just dipped into your ice cream Sunday? I mean, hell, man, Indy would be 25 games up in their division if it weren’t for Pitts.
TR: Well…um…he’s not that bad. Heck, I heard he liked to sit around and have corn dogs with the guys after his starts.
Morrison give kid the stare that rattles death itself.
TR: Well…anyway, he needs Tommy John.
Morrison: Good. Cut him.
TR: Cut him?
Morrison: Make it retroactive to last week while you’re at it. No reason to get tagged with that kind of expense.
TR: Can we do that?
Morrison: What part of that didn’t you understand. The kid’s 23 years old and going nowhere but behind the counter of a Burger Joint. No need to get tagged for that kind of expense, so date it before the start and we’ll fight it in court until the bastards settle.
TR: Don’t you need to run that past Ron?
Morrison: (sits back) Don’t let titles confuse you, kid. When this team falls off the cliff again come October, Bo’s going to be looking for a new guy at the top. (folds hands behind head and stares down the runner). The only question at this stage is whether you’ll have a job here or not.
TR: I see (glances at new print, sweat pooling on his forehad).
Morrison: So, kid, are you going to have a job come November?
TR: Yes, sir. I’ll get the release papers set right away.
# # # Fade to black