Top of the Mark: pre-season banquet for Giants bigwigs and families. End of the evening; Sabes still resplendent in tux, silver mane immaculately coiffed. Boch in a rumpled earth-tone Pat Riley-edition Armani suit, collar and tie loosened. Cloth-covered table center stage with party residue--plates, glasses, silverware.
Sabes: (pacing SR) Meddling sonsofbitches.
Boch: (seated SL, beer in hand) Huh?
Sabes: (snappish) Nothing!
Boch: (belches) Loosen up, Bri, have a beer.
Sabes: Oh, just drink, eh? That's good, Bru, real good.
Boch: Hell, it's free! (downs drink, raises and waggles empty, looking offstage for a waiter)
Sabes: (fidgeting, rambling) . . . that Burns witch . . . Baer's wife and her brats . . . Magowan's pile of punks . . . the hell with them . . .
Boch: Hey! 'Nother beer here!
Sabes: (bitter) What do they know anyway? All their help. All their advice. I wouldn't make one of their moves if even it was a good one! Who the hell do they think they are?
Boch: Lighten' up, Bri. They're owners. S'what they do.
Sabes: (ignores him, continues fretting) I'll show them . . . first it was the bloggers, goddamn geeks! Then the reporters. Smart alecks--not one of 'em ever worked in baseball--telling me what I should do! This is the last straw . . . damn wives and kids think they can run the damn club!
Boch: (fresh beer in hand, burps loudly, takes a drink, burps again). Aaaaah, now that's mighty tasty!
Sabes: Is that all you can think about? Beer?
Boch: It's a party!
Sabes: For you, Bru. Yeah, for you. Oh, but not for me. No, not for me.
Boch: (glassy eyed, head wobbling) C'mon, Bri. Have a goldurned drink. Unhook that cummerbund. Them things give ya gas. (burps again)
Sabes: (whips off coat, frantically works on bow tie) You want loose? Huh? Well, Bru, my drunken comrade, you just wait!
Boch: (alarmed) What's got stuck up yer bunghole, amigo? Yer gonna pop a nut!
Sabes: (viciously rolling up sleeves of shirt) They want action! Oh, that's what they think! Just wait, they'll see some goddamned action from their goddamned GM!
Boch: (dazed, but concerned) Uh, Bri? Y'alright, there?
Sabes: (now pacing the whole stage maniacally) They ALL want a piece of me. Well, I'll give it to them! Yeah! Right now! (leaps on to table)
Boch: Easy, boy!
Sabes: (grabs plate, flings it off stage) Take that! (crashing sounds and hubub) And that! (throws glass)
Boch: I'll git 'im! (lurches out of seat and falls)
Sabes: I'm not kissing your asses any more, you bastards! (continues heaving objects)
Boch: (on floor, hands over head) Look out!
Sabes: (now punting the flower arrangements) Hah! Haha! Hahahahahah! Wheeeeee!
Boch: I seen 'im like this before! Duck!
Sabes: (turns around, drops trousers and moons audience) Whooooooooooo! Yeeeeeeee-hawwwwwww!
Boch: (crawling) Git out! He's crazy!
Sabes: (slapping butt with hands) Yeah! Kiss my patootie! Up yours! Up mine! Hahahahahahahahahah!
Boch: (looking up) It's the cops, Bri! Somebody called the cops!
Sabes: Chickenshits! (removes rest of clothes, dances naked on table) Pussies! Can't take me, huh? Had to call the cops! Wusses! Girls! (cavorts madly) Aaaaaaaaaghhhhhh!
POLICE: (offstage megaphone voice) Put your hands up! Stay where you are!
Boch: (prone, hands shooting up) Don't shoot!
Sabes: Come and get me, coppers! (waves arms wildly) I'm armed! Hahahahahahaha! (thrusts pelvis) And dangerous! Whooooooooooo!
Boch: Bri, git down! Yer wigglin' yer whacker like a damn pervert!
POLICE: Mr. Sabean! We'll give you one more chance! Get down! Stop right now!
Sabes: Down! Down? Down?! I'm on top of the world! You'll never take me down! (starts heaving plates again) You hear me? Top of the world!
Policemen flood the stage as Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries blasts out amid the crashing and hollering.
Lights out. Curtain.