INT. LABORATORY – MORNING

BRADLEY JARVIS, thin, early thirties with long stringy hair and glasses, leans very close to a large, complex control panel. He adjusts knobs, checks readouts, and finally, flips a chrome switch. When he does, a bank of lights shifts from clear to yellow and finally to green.

BRADLEY

Yes!

From behind him, SID WHEELER, short, late thirties, portly with freckles steps up beside BRADLEY.

SID

What?

BRADLEY

(annoyed)

What do you think? What have I been trying to do here for, what about ten years?

SID

Something about a baseball game.

BRADLEY

At times like this, I wonder why I let you in here at all.

SID

(helpfully)

I brought coffee...

BRADLEY turns back to his machine and makes some last minute adjustments. Satisfied, he whirls, crosses the room, and sits in a strange chair half encased in a glass tube. He carefully attaches sensors to his arms and legs. Next he pulls a helmet over his head. On the very front a sequence of LED’s forms a circular logo, like a baseball.

BRADLEY

Make yourself useful. Bring me my glove.

SID

(confused)

Your glove?

BRADLEY

Christ, you are an idiot. The baseball glove, over there on the table. The only glove in sight, and the one that I’ve been telling you about for years.

SID

Oh.

SID grabs the glove and carries it over.

SID

Here you go.

BRADLEY

Now, close the door on the tube, and step over to the control panel. You only get one chance to get this right.

SID carefully fastens the other half of the glass tube in place around BRADLEY. He fumbles a bit with the fasteners, but finally gets it snugged.

SID

Okay. Now what.

BRADLEY

The control panel. Go. To. The. Control. Panel. Stupid.

SID

(shuffling)

Okay. You don’t have to be a jerk.

(beat)

Tell me again where you’re going?

BRADLEY

1970 – May 12th. Halfway between the pitcher and the batter at Wrigley Field. My calculations say I have exactly one minute there before my molecules say adios and send me back. Pat Jarvis is faced off against Ernie Banks. At precisely the moment I arrive between them, the homerun ball – the 500th homerun from Ernie Banks – will head for home plate. I’m going to catch it, and then I’ll come back.

SID

(staring dumbly)

Why?

BRADLEY

Why will I come back?

SID

Why do you want that ball?

BRADLEY

(incredulous)

What’s my name, Sid?

SID

Bradley

BRADLEY

Bradley what...?

SID

Jarvis.

When it becomes obvious that SID is never going to figure it out, Bradley sighs.

BRADLEY

He was my dad, Sid. My dad threw that pitch. If I go back, catch the ball, and bring it here...it’s like that pitch never happened. It’s one of the only two things he’s famous for. The other was allowing the 500th homerun of Willie Mays...I’m going for that one next.

Light dawns. SID smiles.

SID

Why didn’t you say so?

BRADLEY

Let’s just do this, shall we? See that big red light? There’s a chrome switch next to it that says, ‘Engage’.

SID

I see it.

BRADLEY

I’m going to count down from 3. When I get to 1, throw the switch.

SID

Do I have to flip it again to bring you back?

BRADLEY

Nope. Didn’t trust that to anyone. I’ll come back on my own.

SID

Ready.

BRADLEY

3, 2, 1...

SID

(counting along silently)

Zero...blastoff!

SID flipped the switch. Lights whirl and smoke fills the glass tube. Indicators blink all over the control panel, and the lights in the room go dim for just a second. When it all clears, BRADLEY is gone. After about forty-five seconds, the lights flicker again – the mist returns...and clears. BRADLEY is seated in the chair. His eyes are glassy. SID rushes over and opens the glass tube. BRADLEY slumps out onto the floor. SID kneels down...slaps him lightly.

SID

Bradley! Bradley, talk to me.

A baseball rolls out of the glass tube onto the floor.

BRADLEY

(blinks)

What the hell?

He sits up groggily. Then it all comes back, and he lunges for SID’s throat.

BRADLEY

Three, two one, FLIP you idiot. Not Three, two, one, zero, blastoff!

SID pulls back, narrowly avoiding Bradley’s clutching fingers. The circle of lights on the front of BRADLEY’s helmet are crushed and broken.

SID

What happened?

BRADLEY slumps, bringing his hand to a huge knot on his forehead.

BRADLEY

I stopped it. Ernie Banks hit that ball...and I stopped it.

SID stands. He blinks. He looks confused, and then, very slowly...he smiles.

BRADLEY

What the hell are you smiling at?

SID

Just thinking...

BRADLEY

Unlikely as that sounds...what about?

SID

You really used your head...

SID runs, and BRADLEY lunges after. The cables still trailing from his body stop him. As the door closes behind SID, BRADLEY flings the baseball. It bounces off the already closed door and rolls slowly back.

BRADLEY

Christ.

Then he turns back to his machine and grins.

BRADLEY (CONT’D)

Okay, Mr. Mays, I’m coming for you. And this time...I’m wearing a helmet.