“I know your time is valuable so I’ll cut right to the chase. The Jupiter Two’s mission is over. We’ve all got to find real jobs, and Dad says he could make some pretty good coin from converting the Robot into DVD players. But I’m sure the Robot’s still got a lot to offer, and I’m hoping you’ll agree with me. I know from your work with Doug Mirabelli that you’re not adverse to hiring robots, and while I’m sure Jerry Royster brings a lot to the table, does he have an infra-red calioscope that allows him to read the mind of opposing base runners? Or giant, all-terrain feet that can stand up to the league’s most challenging grass and turf? More importantly, is he equipped with chest lasers that would allow him to vaporize Robinson Cano into a million particles yet make it look like an entirely plausible accident involving pre-game submarine sandwiches? I’m not going to say that your millionaire players need a little more discipline on the basepaths, but let me suggest that if a ten foot chunk of gleaming metal waving its claws and shouting ‘Warning! Warning! Danger, Nick Punto!’ can’t get them to slow down and assess exactly where the relay man is, then nothing will. Also, not that I need to sweeten the deal any further, but the Robot has also been programmed to dispense ice cold beer, teleport hookers across state lines and alter national broadcasts of MLB games so that Tim McCarver’s voice is replaced with the opening riff from Van Halen’s version of ‘You’ve Really Got Me.’ Not to mention the fact that, let’s face it, robots are f$%king awesome. Last but not least, I’m totally willing to split the cost of the size 780 cap the Robot would require. Oh, and as far as uniform numbers go, he’s hoping for 37. Because he’s always been a big Frank Castillo fan.
So do we have a deal? I’ve got to get back to the Nationals by five tonight.”
