Hire Jim Essian

After the game last night, Lou Piniella was called into a private meeting with manager Jim Hendry. The following is their dialogue:

INT.-JIM HENDRY’S OFFICE-NIGHT

JIM HENDRY, a general manager with doughy skin, a pale complexion, and a terrible haircut, sits behind his desk squeezing ketchup packets into his mouth. There is a loud pounding at his door.

JIM: Come in.

LOU PINIELLA, a manager with a penchant for being loud, enters. It is clear that Lou has been drinking heavily. Lou staggers over to Jim’s desk and takes a seat across from Jim.

LOU: What the hell is this meeting all about? I got shit to do.

JIM: Well, Lou, we’ve lost four games in a row and ten of our last thirteen.

LOU: No shit? I thought we’d won forty in a row and were about to clinch the division this weekend. Why are you eating ketchup?

JIM: Never mind that. I wanted to call you in here to see what you think is the problem with the team right now.

LOU: The problem? The problem is we suck right now.

JIM: Yes, I suppose I was looking for a bit more input.

LOU: Is “input” slang for “a big tub of Crisco”?

JIM: No. Input about the team’s struggles.

LOU: Oh, Christ. Where do you want me to start?

JIM: I suppose with the lineup.

LOU: Yeah, you saw I put Kendall in the two hole and he hit a two-run homer, right?

JIM: I did notice that.

LOU: I had to do that, because even when Jacque hits, he’s still a fucking idiot. Tuesday night, we needed baserunners late in the game. Jacque took the first pitch for a ball. He took the second pitch for a strike. Good job. Work the count, take to a strike, and try to make something happen. Just like I try to tell him. The problem is, did anyone IN THE BALLPARK think he wasn’t going to swing at the next pitch, no matter where it was?

JIM: I suppose-

LOU: Only one guy in the park thought Jacque might take the next pitch. Ronnie homeless fucking Woo-Woo was the only jackass assuming Jacque wouldn’t swing at the next pitch, no matter where it was. Sure enough, it was low and away, and he swung and missed it by seven fucking feet. You could have thrown that pitch at Len Kasper, and Jacque would have swung at it.

JIM: Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration-

LOU: Bullshit. I have never exaggerated one single time in my entire life.

JIM: Well, that right there is obviously-

LOU: You know, I have nothing against stupid people like Jacque. Take you, for instance. I’m amazed every day that you can get up and dress yourself, yet I have nothing against you.

JIM: Well, thank you, but I’m-

LOU: But Jacque plays this game like the offspring of Kellie Pickler and Michael Barrett if you exposed their genitals to microwaves for three years before they conceived, and I’m getting pretty goddamn sick of it.

JIM: He hasn’t been bad in the field.

LOU: Are you kidding? When is the last fucking time you saw a cutoff man field one of Jacque’s throws? Never, because the throws are either over their heads or bouncing sixty times on their course halfway up the third base line or at the fungo circle. By the way, you can give the grounds crew the day off tomorrow, since Jacque mowed the lawn on his throws to the plate tonight.

JIM: Okay. Well, what else do you think is wrong with the team?

LOU: Derrek Lee. There, I said it.

JIM: Derrek Lee? He’s a great player, and he’s leading the team in several-

LOU: I know he’s a great player. But is he getting fucking baked before the games?

JIM: Baked? What do you-

LOU: Baked! Stoned! Toasted! Blitzed! Trammeled! You know. The guy looks like he’s sleep-walking through the games right now. How many called third strikes is he going to take between now and the end of the season, for God’s sake? The pitches he hit out of the park in 2005, he’s now fouling off to the right side or he’s taking them. And how has he not figured out that every pitcher he faces is going to pound that low and away corner until Derrek gets himself out? What the hell is wrong with him?

JIM: Well, he has gone through quite a bit in his personal-

LOU: I know he has. But I’m telling you right now that he needs to get his goddamn head in the game when he’s on my watch. Especially with Soriano down.

JIM: Okay, what else?

LOU: When the hell is Soriano coming back?

JIM: He’s progressing in his rehab.

LOU: “He’s progressing in his rehab”? What the hell does that mean?

JIM: Well, he’s-

LOU: Are you suggesting there are times that the quacks in this system make guys REGRESS during rehab?

JIM: Well, no-

LOU: What do you guys do with these players when they’re hurt?

JIM: We give them all the best treatment-

LOU: The best treatment that leeches can provide?

JIM: No, the best-

LOU: The best surgeons since the guy who did Tara Reid’s tits?

JIM: Well-

LOU: And you know what else is killing this team?

JIM: What’s that?

LOU: Ryan Dempster is immune to iocane powder.

JIM: Iocane pow-

LOU: Yeah. It’s odorless, tasteless, and deadly.

JIM: I don’t get it.

LOU: I’ve been slipping iocane powder in Dempster’s beer since May. That fucking asshole must have built up an immunity to it.

JIM: You’re trying to kill Ryan Dempster?

LOU: Hell yes.

JIM: Okay, I’ll make note of that.

LOU: And is it really possible that not a single asshole on this team is going to drive in one hundred runs this year? Really?

JIM: I guess it’s possib-

LOU: That’s un-axe-fucking-ceptable. How the hell are we supposed to win without a big run-producer?

JIM: Can’t you have several smaller run-producers?

LOU: No! This ain’t the movie Gremlins. We’re not going to overrun the NL Central just because some closet homo accidentally spills water on us. We need at least one guy to step up and be the big thumper on this team.

JIM: Your movie references are getting more and more obscu-

LOU: Aramis is trying to do it, but even HE only has 71 RBIs.

JIM: So, what can I do to help, Lou?

LOU: Join me in a drink.

JIM: A drink?

LOU: Yeah.

Lou moves over toward a wet bar in Jim’s office. Lou pours bourbon into two small glasses. With his back to Jim, blocking Jim’s view, Lou drops a vial of odorless, tasteless powder into one of the drinks.

JIM: What are you doing, Lou?

Lou walks over to Jim with a big smile on his face and hands him one of the glasses.

LOU: Nothing, Jim. Drink up.

THE END