ASG 9th inning (and beyond) Thoughts Transcript, 2008 edition

A few of you may remember this fanpost from last year where I created a parody transcript of the players' inner thoughts and private conversations from 9th inning of the ASG, loosely based on The Dugout in format. I wasn't necessarily planning on doing it again, but given how crazy this year turned out, I just couldn't help myself.

(Note: Warning- LONG. Also, you'll probably want to re-read the first one before hand, as several things will be funnier that way.)

Top 9th

K-Rod: Damn it, Francona. Letting Papelbon face all the good hitters, and blow the game. Who do I get to face? Corey Hart? Nate McLouth? Man, who ARE these people? Oh well, Ramirez is up first, HELL YEAH, let's DO THIS!

A. Ramirez: Okay. Derrek told me about this guy. Just have to not swing at the curve.

K-Rod: /throws three fastballs, Ramirez swings twice, gets nothing

Ramirez: Make that don't swing at anything, have to hope I get lucky.

K-Rod: Dammit, this isn't Manny. This is way too easy. Wait, that guy at the top of the dugout has a Cardinals uniform. It must be Pujols! YES! Now, let's juice this up. First, put Ramirez on while pretending I still care.

K-Rod: /walks Ramirez

Ramirez: Thank god. /Guzman enters to pinch run

K-Rod: Perfect. Pinch runner, blah blah blah. Shoot. Still one more batter to Pujols. Don't want to walk him, that'd look like I was in trouble. Okay, get him to hit a deep fly ball. The runner can go to second and be in scoring position for the Pujols at-bat. This is gonna be EPIC! HELL YEAH!

Hart: /flies out

Guzman: /stays put

K-Rod: The hell? Oh well, maybe I'll start the AB off with a wild pitch... /notices that Francona is on the mound

K-Rod: Francona? What do YOU want? I'm pitching, bother me for an autograph later.

FRANCONABOT2000: Schedule- 9th inning, 1 out. Mariano Rivera is put in the game.

K-Rod: WHAT? It's a tie game, you can't afford to waste pitchers like that. Stop making jokes. I'm about to face Pujols.

FRANCONABOT2000: Mariano Rivera is put in the game.

K-Rod: Look man, I WILL throw down on yo--

Announcer: Up next, Ryan Ludwick.

K-Rod: WHO? What the... man, this blows. Fine, whatever. Here. /hands FRANCONABOT2000 the ball

Rivera: /comes in

Rivera: Mariano is now in his house. There will be no failures in his house. Mariano is perfect. Mariano does not fail.

Ludwick: Hit and run. All right, I can do thi--hurk! /chokes on chewing gum. strikes out. Guzman is thrown out at second

Rivera: Mariano protects the win once again. Mariano will now accept his MVP trophy.

Navarro: Game's not over, dude.

Rivera: What? The game is not over? A two-inning save then. Mariano must have lost track of which inning it was.

FRANCONABOT2000: Schedule- End 9th inning. Participate in victory celebration. Error. Game not over. Error. Error. Error. /shorts out

Girardi: What the... Hey, Leyland, what do you make of that?

/Leyland is not there, having been removed as a precautionary measure by medical personnel when K-Rod entered the game

Girardi: Oh. Right. Wait, am I in charge? /takes roster from FRANCONABOT's lifeless hand.

Girardi: Soria, Sherril, Kazmir?? That's all? Yeah, we're BONED.

Bottom 9th

Selig: This is bad. Francona is running out of pitchers. What if... no. That can't happen again. Someone will score a run before that happens.

Hurdle: Fortunately, I planned for the contingency that Wagner might fail. Now we have 5 pitchers to their 4 and Rivera won't last long. I may have lost the Series to you Francona, but I will win THIS game... huhuhahahaha. Now, Dempster- GO.

/the theme from A Fistful of Dollars is heard

Ooweeooweeoooooooooooo

/Ryan Dempster enters the game, squinting through the lights at the AL players--his foes. They must fall

Dempster: /strikes out the side

/Ryan Dempster leaves the game, his mission accomplished, returning to the mysterious darkness from whence he came. He will never be forgotten

Ooweeooweeoooooooooooo

K-Rod: Man, what the hell is THAT shit? These people paid good money, you gotta WORK THE CROWD!

Girardi: Yup. We're SO boned.

Top 10th

Rivera: This time, Mariano will get his save. Mariano does not fail.

McLouth: Gotta do this. Gotta show my stuff or I'll NEVER get out of that place. /works count to 3-2, fouling off numerous pitches.

Rivera: A worthy opponent. But this is Mariano's house. /gets borderline call

McLouth: Damn it!

Rivera: /looks at scoreboard while he hits the rosin bag

Rivera: Wait... the game is tied? Why is Mariano in the game? Mariano gets saves. If the game is tied, Mariano should not be in the game. But Mariano is in the game. Therefore, the score should not be tied. But the score is tied. Therefore, Mariano should not... /keeps throwing by rote while this continues in his head

Martin: /singles

Tejada: /singles, Martin to third

Uggla: So... tired... shouldn't have watched... that Will and Grace marathon... last night... zzzzzzzz...

Rivera: /bounces ball off Uggla's bat. It rebounds slowly over the pitchers mound where Kinsler grabs it and awkwardly tosses it to Young.

Tejada: Hah! I may be out, but we just scored a run--

Uggla: /still sleeping at the plate

Young: /turns DP

Tejada: Damn it!

Uggla: zzzzzz... hmm?.. Did we win?

Rivera: /unsolvable mental dilemma causes him to fall into a temporary coma

Hurdle: Hmmm. Surprising. Rivera is unreliable in non-save situations, and Uggla is a very good hitter. No matter. I had a contingency plan for this eventuality. We WILL win this game, Francona. It is only a matter of time... huhuhahahahahaaaa.

Girardi: Shoot. Rivera must have realized it was a tie game. Now what? Have to hope we win it.

Bottom 10th

Cook: Man, I thought Hurdle was never gonna put me in. All-Star Game, huh? Let's see what you American Leaguers have got.

Uggla: Can't believe... I slept through my at bat... gotta stay... alert..

M. Young: /hits grounder past a yawning Uggla

Cook: That was... odd.

Quentin: /hits grounder through Uggla's legs. Young to third

Cook: What the HELL is going on!?

Hurdle: Shoot, have to walk Guillen. Surprising. Uggla is normally a solid fielder. Francona, the depths of your planning is incredible, knowing our 2nd baseman's range to the last millimeter. You are a cunning foe, I will grant you that.

Cook: Walk Guillen? Huh. Okay. /walks Guillen, loading the bases.

Selig: Thank god. Now the game will end for sure. No WAY an All-Star team can blow a bases loaded no-out situation.

Sizemore: Just have to hit it to Uggla...

Uggla: Can't... keep eyes... open... zzzzzzz

Sizemore: /hits it to Uggla

/ball bounces off Uggla's shoulder and into Martin's glove at home.

Sizemore: Oh, you've gotta be KIDDING me.

Cook: This is WEIRD. All my balls have more break suddenly... and they don't move as fast through the infield.

Longoria: Okay, I can do this. Just need a fly ba--hurk! /chokes on sunflower seed and grounds to third for a fielders choice

Morneau: Looks like it's up to m--hurk! /chokes on a peanut and hits a lazy bouncer over the mound, where Tejada scoops it up and throws out Morneau, who is still coughing at the plate

Cook: Okay, that last one should have bounced a LOT further. Just what is going on he--Oh. My. God. /light dawns

Cook: I'm... I'm not playing in Coors. Holy Shit... I'm INVINCIBLE. /begins grinning madly

Selig: Tell me that did not just happen. Sweet mercy, I'll be crucified!

Girardi: Eenie meenie minee moe, catch a tiger by his toe...

Top 11th

In the AL bullpen...

Soria: So, Sherrill... Got any threes?

Sherrill: Go fish.

Soria: Dang.

Kazmir: My turn.

/phone rings, Soria picks it up

Soria: Yeah, yeah, I know. We'll go back to the locker room for the party right after this round is over, okay?

Girardi: Naw, you're in man. Go pitch.

Soria: I get to PITCH!? HA! Suck it, Sherrill! /runs out of the bullpen

/Kazmir and Sherrill sit alone in silence

Kazmir: Want to thumbwrestle?

On the field...

Soria: Wow, look how many people are here. Hi mom! /waves at camera

Gonzalez: /gets a single

Soria: Nice hit!

Wright: /strikes out

Soria: Wheeeeeeee! This is so cool!

Guzman: /flies out

Soria: Yes!.. Wait. Who is Cristian Guzman? Oh well.

Hart: /flies out

Soria: For that matter, who is Corey Hart? Whatever, I did it! Whoohoo! /skips off the field

Bottom 11th

In the NL Bullpen...

Marmol: Man, is that guy gonna be okay? /points at Lidge, who is flop-sweating and breathing into a paper bag

Webb: Dunno. Apparently he gets really nervous in big games ever since this one time against Albert Pujols...

On the field...

Cook: Heh. Let's have some fun.

Kinsler: /hits single

Cook: Oh. No. A man on base. I am so terrified. Whatever will I do?

/Kinsler called out during steal attempt

Cook: Come on! He was SO safe. Geez, after I went to all that trouble too. Well, this guy looks slow, I'll put HIM on.

Navarro: /walks

Cook: Ahem- Oh. No. A man on base. I am so terrified. Whatever will I do?

JD Drew: /singles, Navarro to second.

Cook: Pfft, you only got a single off of that? In Coors, that's at least a double. Probably a triple. Anyway, now to get the DP.

Uggla: zzzzzzz..

Young: /singles past Uggla, who falls over in a manner which suggests he might have dived for the ball, if he weren't asleep

Cook: Hmmm... normally the 2B gets those...

McLouth: I have to win this game. I must show off my skills. I REFUSE to spend the rest of my career in Pittsburgh. I've SEEN what it's done to Nady and Bay, those guys don't even have SOULS anymore!! I refuse to let that happen to me! I REFUSE!

McLouth: /guns down a huffing and puffing Navarro at the plate

Cook: Hah! You think you're breathing hard now? In Coors, you'd have passed out from oxygen deprivation while rounding third base!

Quentin: Well, it's all up to me, men on second and thir--hurk! /chokes on a pretzle and grounds out

Cook: Heh. You wimps should try playing in a real park some time.

Top 12th

Soria: Yay! I'm still pitching!

Ludwick: /walks

Soria: Good eye!

McLouth: Must. Win. Game. /puts down bunt, beats throw to first through sheer willpower

Soria: Wow, good hustle!

Martin: /bunts to put runners on 2nd and 3rd

Soria: Way to give yourself up for the team! Whew, I'm getting tired.

Girardi: Guess I should bring Sherrill in soon.

Selig: Okay, no one can blow this many scoring opportunities, they HAVE to score. They're ALL-STARS for crying out loud!

Hurdle: And now they must load the bases for Uggla. All according to plan... muhuhuhahahahaha!

Tejada: Heh. You may walk me, but you guys are going down now. All we need is a sac fly.

Uggla: zzzzzzzzzz...

Soria: /throws three strikes, the last of which Uggla waves at feebly

Tejada: Damn it!

Girardi: /brings in Sherrill

Sherrill: Trade ME will they? I'll show them. I'll show them ALL!

Gonzalez: No WAY am I letting them off the ho--hurk! /chokes on an errant moth and strikes out

Selig: WHAT THE F--- IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!?!?

Bottom 12th

Cook: Hey look, it's a meatball! Right down the center! Go on, hit it out, I dare you.

Guillen: /smacks it off the wall for a double

Cook: Weeeeeeak.

Sizemore: Okay, this time I'm definitely driving in the run. Ain't nobody gonna call ME a choker. /whacks the ball

Uggla: Hehehe, Will is hysterical!... zzzzzzzzz...

/ball bounces off Uggla's shoe and into Adrian Gonzalez's glove

Sizemore: OH BULLSHIT!

Cook: Oh. No. A runner is on third. Whatever will I do now?

Selig: Please, I'm begging you people...

Longoria: This time for su--hurk! /chokes on a stray glob of pine tar and strikes out

Hurdle: Better pass on Morneau, he's a dangerous lefty.

Cook: Walk Morneau? Pffft. Wuss.

Morneau: /is walked

Kinsler: I've got you now, bud--hurk! /chokes on some falling bat guano and grounds out

Cook: /yawns

Selig: Why!? Why me!? /sobs

Top 13th

In the AL Bullpen...

/Kazmir blows sofly to remove stray grains of dirt as he puts the finishing touches on his scale model of Buckingham Palace, built from the moistened dirt of the bullpen mound and fine detail etched in using a toothpick

On the field...

Sherrill: Man, that was really tough, but I did it. Hope everybody was watching that, I kicked ass. They better score and get me the win.

Bottom 13th

In the NL Bullpen...

Marmol: Well, I'm up. You sure he's going to be all right?

Webb: He'll be fine. How much longer can the game go on anyway?

On the field...

Uggla: Gotta stay alert... must catch ball... must represent team... zzzzzzzz... /Navarro's ground ball bounces off his forehead and into Adrian Gonzalez's glove

Uggla: Did we win?... Oh right, game still on... must keep focused...zzzzzzzz... /JD Drew's grounder smacks into Uggla's glove and falls inert to the ground, while Drew advances to first

Uggla: Must hold runner... must watch for stolen base... zzzzzzz... /JD Drew takes off for second while Young strikes out. Martin's throw flies directly into Uggla's glove, where it remains while Drew slides into second a few feet away

Uggla: Gotta stay awake... can't embarrass myself... multiple times... with millions of people watching me... zzzzzzz... /Quentin chokes on some dip'n dot icec ream and strikes out, ending the inning

Top 14th

Sherrill: Arm... hurting. Going to fall off... but I have to keep going. The team is depending on me in a game that MATTERS. That's never happened to me before. I have to do this.

McLouth: I REFUSE TO ROT ON A LAST PLACE TEAM FOR THE REST OF MY CAREER!

McLouth: /smashes ball to right field, clearly going over the fence

God: /chokes on some cirrus clouds and coughs, altering the trajectory into Drew's glove at the wall

McLouth: Crap! Thanks for nothing, God!

God: Whoops. My bad. Tell you what, is there anything you want?

McLouth: Put me on a winning team!

God: I'll see what I can do...

Sherrill: That was close.

Martin: /smashes the ball, but right at Drew

Sherrill: Only a few pitches left. Gotta make them count.

Tejada: /grounds out

Sherrill: Holy cow, I did it. 2.1 innings of scoreless relief. Wonder if I'll get any MVP consideration for that... /falls unconscious

Girardi: Well nuts. Hey, Young, you're a pitcher right?

Young: FOR THE LAST TIME, THAT GUY IS ON SAN DIEGO!!

Girardi: Oh, right. Damn...

Bottom 14th

In the AL Bullpen...

/Kazmir peeks over the wall to the NL bullpen, spotting the lone resident, who is huddling alone on the bench in terror

Kazmir: Hey there!

Lidge: Yeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggh!! /runs away screaming

Kazmir: Wait! Do you want to play some Scrabble!?

On the field...

Selig: I have to get out of here before the media finds me. /begins making his escape

Hurdle: Huhuhahahahahaha! Sherrill is done! Only Kazmir stands between me and my victory! Oh, you fought well, Francona, but this day will be MINE! MINE I SAY! AHAHAHA--what?

Webb: Inning's over coach.

Hurdle: Oh. Good job.

Top 15th

Kazmir: Man, I can't believe they needed me to pitch in this game. That lineup chewed threw eleven other guys? They must be something else.

Uggla: I can be... the hero... zzzzzzz... /strikes out looking

Uggla: Did we win?

Kazmir: That was easier than I thought it would be.

Gonzalez: /flies out

Wright: /walks

Kazmir: Cristian Guzman? Who IS this guy?

Guzman: /grounds out

Kazmir: I can't BELIEVE they needed me to pitch in this game. THAT lineup chewed through ELEVEN other guys!? Francona, you're retarded.

Hurdle: Webb, can you pitch another inning?

Webb: Don't think so.

Hurdle: Curses. Oh well. Kazmir will be low on steam. Lidge should be able to outlast him. Where is he anyway?

Pujols: McCann found him hiding in the bathroom. A couple of the boys are bringing him out now-- /crashing sounds from within the dugout

Lidge: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Pul-leeeeeeeeeease! Don't make me go!

Webb: I think he left some meds back in Philadelphia.

Hurdle: Will he be alright? /more crashing sounds

Webb: He'll be fine.

Pujols: The commissioner was in the next stall oddly enough. Gibbering about 'next time, it'll count EVEN MORE' or something like that.

Hurdle: How very odd. All right, McCann, you're in for Martin. You've got more experience seeing Lidge pitch than he does.

Bottom 15th

Lidge: What am I doing out here, I'm totally going to blow it.

Morneau: /crushes pitch, singles to center

Lidge: Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap.

Kinsler: /smashes pitch to left that Ludwick barely comes up with

Lidge: One out. Maybe I can do this.

Navarro: /belts pitch to center for a single

Lidge: So going to blow it.

Drew: /walks

Lidge: Damn it! Snap out of it! You are Brad Lidge, you haven't blown a save this year, and you CAN do this! That's right. Confidence. Confidence is the key.

Young: Okay, lets see. We need a sac fly, but where to? Left field? Nah, Ludwig looked pretty competent. Center?

/Young is nearly blinded by the aura of determination and hustle coming off Nate McLouth

Young: No f---ing way. That leaves right... Wait, who is their right fielder anyway? Corey Hart? Sounds like a chump to me. Right field it is.

Lidge: All right, lets go, give me the sign, McCann! /throws meatball

Young: That'll work! /hits it to right field.

/Hart catches ball and makes a limp-wristed throw to the plate, which arrives hours later, just barely too late to catch a universe-warpingly slow Justin Morneau.

Lidge: /has complete nervous breakdown

Hurdle: Damn you, Francona. Someday, I'll have my revenge. /retreats to his secret underground laboratory.

/JD Drew gets the MVP. Few remaining fans leave. Lights are turned out. A shadow is seen on the mound.

McCann: My fee?

Selig: Just as you requested. The Braves will be assisted in catching the Phillies and go to the playoffs. My people will see to it. Though with their closer's confidence shattered, it will probably be easier anyway.

McCann: Excellent... /laughs and walks away