[Phone rings at the Millar residence, 2:23am]
Bellhorn: Kevin?
Millar: Who’s this?
Bellhorn: It’s Mark. What’s up?
Millar: What the–? Dude, it’s two thirty in the morning. Why you callin’ so late? You know Monday is spatula night.
Bellhorn: I was just wonderin’. I didn’t see the game tonight. How’d it go?
Millar: It went good, it went good. We won. Hell, I got two hits so that’s almost a career night for me.
Bellhorn: What about… you know? The new guy.
Millar: El Graffanino? Dude turned it out last night. Three hits and a three run homer. Hell, they even walked him intentionally.
Bellhorn: [silence]
Millar: Hello? Yo, Mark.
Bellhorn: I’m here.
Millar: Anyway, Graff was the sparkplug for us last night. Really got things rolling. Plus, guy’s got some killer jokes. Listen to this one, this had Ortizzle pissin’ himself. A guy walks into a bar carrying two melons and a copy of the National Review. All of a sudden a pirate…
Bellhorn: Jokes, huh? Funnier than mine?
Millar: Yeah. I mean no. No, not at all. Or kinda like the same, you know? He’s got your locker, so it’s kinda like you’re still here.
Bellhorn: Eep! He’s got… my locker?
Millar: Well, yeah. It just made the most sense. We hang out before the game and play Boggle, and…
Bellhorn: Boggle? My Boggle? Tell me you guys aren’t using my Boggle.
Millar: It’s your Boggle, but Graff’s real careful with it. Puts all the pieces away nicely. Even replaced that little hourglass timer when it broke last week.
Bellhorn: Someone broke my Boggle timer? Christ, I’m gonna die in my own vomit.
Millar: Take it easy, Mark. It’s all taken care of. We’re being very, very careful. Why don’t you tell me how things are going with the Paw Sox.
Bellhorn: I really don’t have the time. I’m on a pay phone. I just wanted to say that… well, I’m feeling good, and I think I’m gonna come back. So tell Terry that I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, and–
Millar: Huh? Whatchoo talkin’ ’bout, Willis? You can’t rush this stuff. Take a few more days. Or a week. Or… you know, Tony’s only here for the rest of the year. You could always–
Bellhorn: Naw, screw that. I’m fine. Listen, hear that? [Pause] That’s my feet dancing around. I’m well, I’m fit, I’m ready to start tearing it up. Wanna meet tomorrow for some early BP?
Millar: Well, I was supposed to hit Cheaters with the Graffster…
Bellhorn: Cheaters, huh? That was our place.
Millar: Aw, it still is. Heck, guy’s from out of town. He ain’t seen a night out since U.L. Washington took him for barbecue. This is like freshman orientation, chief.
Bellhorn: [Sound of silence. Or weeping.]
Millar: Mark?
Bellhorn: I’m alright. [Sniffs] I’m fine. Okay. Well. I guess I’ll just… see you around?
Millar: You sure you’re alright?
Bellhorn: Like you should care. Think I didn’t see it? Oh, it was quite a show. The high fives. The grabass. “Oh, let me sit next to Tony. He just hit that big f–king home run.”
Millar: Dude. Relax. It’s temporary. You’re our second baseman.
Bellhorn: Right. Just like Nomar’s our shortstop. And we just love Mo Vaughn. And when Carney Lansford gets better, we’ll just have to ask Mr. Boggs to take a seat on the bench.
Millar: Are–are you drunk?
Bellhorn: What if I am? Or what if I’ve spent the last six hours snorting lines of Tang? What if I have enough Vitamin C coursing through my skull to render me incapable of perceiving the delicate line between right and wrong. And what if, in that weakened state, I happened to buy a sh-tload of guns and made plans for smuggling them into the ballpark tomorrow? How you like ‘dese nuts?
Millar: I’m not so sure I know you anymore, guy.
Bellhorn: Oh, you’ll know me. You’ll all know me. [Laughs maniacally, hangs up.]
Millar: [Rubs neck, stares at phone, then hangs it up.]
[Phone rings again]
Millar: Hello?
Bellhorn: And I’ll expect that Boggle at my house within 24 hours, Nipplehead.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Fun Facts # 321-6-B:
When you do a Google photo search for “Alex Cora,” this comes up:
So that’s one good thing I can say about Alex Cora.
SurvivingGrady.com… where it’s fun to find out!
