2060.03 The Movie

[shoeless.db]

A grease-stained empty pizza box surrounded by a case's worth of crushed Sam Adams NA Lager cans lays clumsily on Sacramento GM shoeless' coffee table. In front of it, cords dangle from a television on the wall to an archaic machine with the letters 'VHS' printed in silver on its scratched label. The television is on. Movie credits roll across its massive screen.

Next to the coffee table, on a couch long past its prime, a yellowed sheet covering what was left of its brown-patterned fabric, GM shoeless sobs. Uncontrollably. Maniacally. Around his feet, dozens of wadded Kleenex litter the floor. He is slouching. Head in his hands.

He hasn't showered in days.

He doesn't know when he last slept. Or ate. Or shit.

He's watched the same movie 27 times in a row.

All he can think about is how many more he could have saved.

His hands shake as he pulls his 2053 Monty Brewster Championship ring from the ring finger of his right hand. It must be worth something, he thinks. A catcher, maybe. A reliever from Guam. A utility infielder from the Czech Republic.

How many more could it save?

He pushes aside several of the beer cans and gently places the ring on the table. He reaches for a pocket on his hip that is not there. He's wearing only boxer-briefs. Black. No pockets. With pink hearts scattered around cartoon arrows. A gift from some female golfer he met at a BBA mixer. He's thrown all the other gifts she gave him away. Sold the cars. Returned their kitten back to the pound. Blocked her number.

But kept the boxers. And the itch she left beneath them.

"Where the hell's my phone," he says to himself. To the room. To the pizza box.

He drops to his knees. Searches blindly with his hand under the couch. Jackpot.

He dials.

A man answers. Walakino Puakai. His assistant GM.

"Kino." Shoeless scratches at his hair. Harder than necessary. Rougher than he realizes. Flakes trickle down like snow. "I can come up with more money. I'll sell my ring. Just make the calls. We can save more IC boys."

There is silence on the other end of the line.

Kino?" Shoeless rubs at his eyes. "You still there?"

The weakest of replies, a "yes".

"We got to save them, Kino. No one deserves to be in those organizations. They're evil. We're good. We're the only good. The only good in all the BBA."

A reply weaker than the last, an "ok, boss".

Shoeless hangs up the phone. Finds the remote for the VHS player on the arm of the couch. Pushes rewind.

The machine whirls.

He waits.

The machine whooshes.

He waits.

The machine whizzes.

He waits.

The machine slams to a stop. Clicks. Clicks again.

It's done. He pushes play. Sits back. Covers himself with a Mad Popes blanket. It has holes.

The television flickers. Turns blue. Then black. And Schindler's List begins again.

Shoeless is already crying.

[Trebro]

*slow clap*

[RonCo]

It's the anti Genius.

[Krathan]

I enjoyed reading this but as someone who’s never actually watched Schindler’s List, my two things I associate with it now are this team news and the episode of Seinfeld where he makes out with his girlfriend during the movie.

[Jwalk100]

Caleca!

[CTBrewCrew]

It is a weighted blanket @shoeless.db ?

[trmmilwwi]

Guam!

[DugoutDesperado]

Nice read. I think I heard of a 9 year-old from Chile that hit 18 homers in 11 games during his first year in little league.