Tuesday, January 10, 2006

You get a line...



Scene: A nice Los Angeles restaurant.

Grady Little: This meeting of Displaced East Coasters is now in session.

Bill Mueller: Excuse me sir, I am from the midwest.

Nomar Garciaparra: I am from California.

GL: Well, boys, I'm from Texas and I ain't supposin' that's on the east coast either. Let's think of a new name.

Derek Lowe: I propose the Dodgers Drinking Club.

NG: That's not bad.

GL: Good work, son.

BM: Excuse me, I'm a teetotaler.

DL: *cough*pussy*cough*

NG: Excuse me Derek, last time I checked, Doug Mirabelli was put on a completely different NL California team.

DL: Sorry, Bill.

BM: No harm done, Derek. Anyhow, I propose we call ourselves the Four Friends.

GL: Nah, we need something with a little more zip. I r'member back'n Texas, we had this club and I tell ya, we jus' had the best time. YOU GET A LINE, I GET POLE. WE'LL GO FISHIN' DOWN AT CRAWDAD COVE...

NG: (sotto voce) Oh, um, he's singing.

GL: YOU GET A LINE

BM: I-I'll get a pole...

DL: (quickly) We could call ourselves....um....

NG: There's gotta be something.

[enter Frank McCourt]

Frank McCourt: Heeey! It's my guys!

BM: Um, hello sir.

FM: Grady! We need to meet later today. We might have a trade in the works. I don't want to say anything in front of my guys, but there might be a signing in the works. Rhymes with Pill-ar! (conspiratorially winks)

GL: Oh, heavens.

FM: Heh heh! Cowboy up!

BM: Um, bartender?