(The camera shows the interior of a dingy, poorly-lit conference room at the Calumet City Motel 6, where front office personnel and coaches of the Chicago Black Sox are meeting to discuss the recently-concluded season and how the team should prepare for next year. In attendance are Black Sox General Manager Vic Caleca, Asst. GM Bill McGuffin, Manager Lucas Cadigon, and Bench Coach Ken Jenkins.)
GM Vic Caleca
This is just temporary, so please bear with me …
(One of the overhead fluorescent lights begins flickering off and on.)
Bill McGuffin: Uhhh …
Caleca: Look, I’ll see if we can get maintenance in here to fix that at our next break.
McGuffin: I don’t know, it’s like a strobe. Gives us kind of a club vibe, ya know?
Caleca: Like you’ve ever been to a club …
McGuffin: What do you mean? I go clubbing all the time.
Caleca: Dear Lord, please help me get that image out of my head … now, as I was saying, I heard from Mark Wareham’s agent this morning that he’s opting out of the last year of his contract …
Jenkins: Oh, thank God. I mean, the walks and on-base percentage were nice and all that, but the man is a menace in the field. You realize his zone rating was in the negatives … (calls up a statistical report on his iPad) … yeah, -6.4.
Lucas Cadigon
Jenkins: Yeah … to not get any balls that weren’t hit directly at him. C’mon, Lucas. We can do better.
Cadigon (head down): Maybe.
Caleca: Well, we’re going to have to, because we’re not going to try to re-sign him. And the fact is, this gives us some salary cap relief we really needed.
Cadigon: Is that what this is all about? We say goodbye to one of our best players because of mon … (he stops mid-word as he watches a cockroach march across the conference table in front of him).
Caleca: Well, no it’s not just money, Lucas.
(Cadigon slams his hands down on the table, then stands up.)
Cadigon: That’s it. I’ve f&%king had it. I could put up with the owner of the team being under federal investigation all season; I could put up with all the bad luck and all the lost games; I could even put up with a clubhouse that smelled like an orchard all year with fruit baskets every damn place.
But this is the final straw – you tell me that I have to lose one of my best players because of money, and you follow that up by renting a meeting room in a pig sty with no working lights and f%*king cockroaches walking across the table.
You know what? I’m 61 years old. I don’t need this. I’m gonna retire and find out what beach Bret Richards is sitting on and go join him.
Submitting a resume?
Cadigon: You know what? You can – and you just did. (He grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and stalks out of the room).
McGuffin: Jesus. What’re we gonna do now?
Caleca (sighs heavily): Well. It looks like we're gonna have to add “manager” to our shopping list, right under “shortstop.”
Jenkins: Geez. Who’re you gonna get?
Caleca: Damned if I know. (Addresses the cockroach, which has stopped in the middle of the table and reared up on its hind legs to look at him). No, no, no. If you want the job, you’re gonna have to submit a resume just like everyone else.
(The cockroach settles back down, then scuttles off the end of the table).
[Recording ends]
