INT. HIGH SCHOOL GYM TEACHER’S OFFICE – DAY

COACH SHIPKA, 50s, his steel gray crew cut as crisp as the crease in his khakis, sits ramrod behind his desk. In visitors chairs are BRETT LANGHORN, an 18-year-old lanky man-child who grins like a mental patient and CURT SCHWARTZMANN, 40s in a rumpled windbreaker and faded jeans.

COACH SHIPKA

Brett, this is Mr. Schwartzmann. He’s a scout.

Brett straightens up and throws a three-fingered salute.

BRETT

I was a scout for a little while, but pop said it was gonna get in the way of batting practice.

COACH SHIPKA

Not that kind of scout, son. He’s a baseball scout.

CURT

That’s right, Brett. I was impressed with your performance on the field today. I’ve been following your exploits all season and we’d like to sign you to a contract to play ball for us.

BRETT

The Boy Scouts have a baseball team?

Curt laughs nervously. Coach shoots him a knowing look.

COACH SHIPKA

Brett, forget the Boy Scouts. Mr. Schwartzmann is from the Pirates. You know the Pirates, right?

BRETT

Arrr! Sure I do!

Curt pleads to Coach with his eyes.

CURT

Coach, maybe we should talk to Brett’s folks. He’s only a sophomore, right?

COACH SHIPKA

Yep. He’s our 18-year-old sophomore sensation.

Curt takes a deep breath.

CURT

Brett, would you like to come play baseball for the Pirates?

BRETT

Do I have to?

COACH SHIPKA

Son, this is a good thing. Mr. Schwartzmann here is going to bring you in for a tryout and he’s guaranteed me if it goes well you’ll be pitching on one of the farm teams come August.

BRETT

I’d be a Pirate?

CURT

That’s right, son. We’ve got a lot of great history in Pittsburgh and have a great core of young players. You won’t be sorry.

BRETT

(sighs)

Alright.

EXT. BASEBALL DIAMOND – DAY

A training field. Curt huddles with CASEY STARR, 50s portly but dressed like all managers are, ready to jump on the field at a moment’s notice.

CURT

Skip, you’re gonna love this kid. His arm’s a rocket and can go all day long. I personally saw him pitch two full game no-nos on one day’s rest and his coach told me he’d done three innings of relief the day before that.

CASEY

Fast?

CURT

And accurate. And he hits like a dream. Skip, I’ve never seen a kid his age with so much patience at the plate. He’s got an 842 OBP bec--

CASEY

--That’s insane! Even for a high school kid, that’s crazy.

CURT

You should ask me about his slugging percentage. But here he comes now. You can see for yourself.

Brett trots in from right field and as he gets closer we see he’s wearing an EYE PATCH over his right eye and has a PROSTHETIC HOOK where his right hand used to be.

CURT (CONT’D)

Shit.

Brett waves hello with the hook.

BRETT

Hey, Mr. Schwartzmann!

Brett reaches home plate and extends his hook to Casey. Casey shakes. Then he starts to laugh. He keeps laughing between speaking for the next little bit.

CASEY

Nice to meet you Brett. I’m Casey Starr. Everyone just calls me Skip. Curt here tells me you’ve got quite an arm. Why don’t you go on out to the mound and show us what you’ve got. Schwartzmann, why don’t you catch for the kid?

BRETT

Sure thing, Skip. I mean, Arrr! Sure thing, Skip! Arrr!

Brett jogs to the mound.

CASEY

You wouldn’t be right handed, would you son?

BRETT

I sure am, Skip! Arrr!

Casey literally slaps his knee, laughing. Brett fumbles with a ball for a few seconds while Curt looks more dejected and Casey laughs more heartily. Finally, Brett stabs the ball with his hook and steps up to the mound. Brett winds up and tries to release. He flies forward and lands on his face. The ball remains pierced on his hook.

CASEY

Coulda been worse I suppose. Kid coulda gotten a tryout with the Mudhens.

BLACKOUT: