Boch & Sabes, Act I, Scene I

Setting: a table in the corner at Starbucks

Boch: Nice computer.
Sabes: Pretty cool, huh? I just downloaded The Best of Bachman-Turner Overdrive!
Boch: Yeah? (sips his straight black coffee)
Sabes: Digitally remastered!
Boch: (clears his throat) Well, I made some notes, here.
Sabes: What the hell is that?
Boch: Huh? Uh, you mean this pencil?
Sabes: Yeah. Dig that out of your golf bag, eh?
Boch: (sheepishly) Well, yeah.
Sabes: Fer cryin' out loud, Bru, get some class. You need a laptop. (sips his latté)
Boch: Shucks, Bri, I'm old school. Now if ya could just take a look here. (passes paper)
Sabes: What is this? Old Yahtzee scoresheets? C'mon, man. Get some real paper!
Boch: (doggedly) Well, I'm figurin' Roberts will lead off.
Sabes: Hello! Duh! That why I signed him! (shakes his head disgustedly)
Boch: Yeah, OK. Uh, and Omar can hit second. Bunt, move the runner over, you know.
Sabes: He saves us AT LEAST a hundred runs a year with his glove!
Boch: Now the third spot's kind of a toughie.
Sabes: At least a hundred! AT LEAST!!!! (bangs on table, spills latté)
Boch: Ya got yer drink all over my notes, Bri. Take 'er easy.
Sabes: (angry) You want my job? Huh? Well??? You and that Lunatic Fringe? Huh?
Boch: (chuckling) Now, just take 'er easy. I like bein' manager. My uniform still fits.
Sabes: (mollified) We still got Durham.
Boch: Been meanin' to talk to you 'bout that, Bri.
Sabes: Third. He hits third.
Boch: That don't give the kid much of a chance.
Sabes: Kid? What kid?
Boch: Frandsen.
Sabes: Oh, him. Send him to the Instructional League. Never mind him.
Boch: Now cleanup, I figure we gotta stick with--
Sabes: Bengie. Mr. Clutch. Our MVP! Now that was a move. Take that, Fringers!
Boch: That means the new fella--
Sabes: Rowand.
Boch: Yeah. He hits fifth.
Sabes: Centerfield.
Boch. Yeah. He hits fifth.
Sabes: Centerfield, dammit!
Boch: Uh, yeah, sure Bri, centerfield.
Sabes: Now, I figure he hits behind Bengie. That'll cut into his RBI total, what with Bengie being the RISP-Meister.
Boch: RISP?
Sabes: Runners in Scoring Position! Bru, you have to get up to speed, here. This is modern baseball. We use a LOT more complicated stats than the old days. That's why you need a computer!
Boch: And fer, uh, what'd ya call it? Downloadin' music?
Sabes: (computer beeps) Oh, I got an email!
Boch: Yeah, I like that new feller too, he's a hard-nosed ball player.
Sabes: No more prima donnas, Bru. Soldiers! All soldiers!
Boch: (under his breath) Well, veterans, anyway.
Sabes: Was that a wisecrack?
Boch: Uh, no sir.
Sabes: OK, were done. That was Baer. I have to get to the office.
Boch: (leaps up eagerly) Ya gonna git that thirdbaseman I wanted!
Sabes: (angrily) Keep your pants on, man, this a public place!
Boch: But we need a--
Sabes: I decide what we need! Now you just work on the rest of that lineup, I'll expect it on my desk by the end of the week! And next month we talk about pitching!
Boch: Shoot, I figured Cain, and Link, and Zito--
Sabes: NEXT month, dammit! Finish that lineup!


Fadeout.