Toronto Blue Jays: A Conversation Between Roy Halladay and His Body
We enter the Toronto Blue Jays' clubhouse. Roy Halladay is watching game film of his last start against the Boston Red Sox. It is 3 a.m. and the only other person in the room is a drunken John McDonald who is trying to catch self-tossed, beer bottle, pop fly's. He snags every. Single. One.
Roy Halladay: Well, that wasn't a great start last night. I can do much better, nay, I WILL do much better. Maybe if I just-
Roy Halladay's Arm: Roy, listen to me for a second.
RH: What is it Arm?
Arm: I'm tired man. Maybe it's time for an "anxiety" trip to the DL, no?
RH: Sorry arm. I owe it to this organization and my loyal fans. I'm all they've got right now and I need to be the man.
Arm: But you've tossed five complete games already! First in the American League! Your WHIP is lower than a chandelier in a dog house. You've pitched more innings than is allowable by the Geneva Convention. I'm pratically falling off here.
RH: Cram it, I'll get the soldering iron out in a bit.
Roy Halladay's Brain: Roy, I think it's time to call it a season buddy. Let's go A.J. Burnett all over this town.
RH: What did you just say to me? (Brain begins cowering) Brain, you just get back to watching film. I gotta bounce back and win this next start.
Brain: What for? No one cares anymore. I want to get back to curing cancer and putting a man on Mars. You promised me we could do those things Roy.
RH: I know Brain, but I must pitch well. I can't not try hard, I mean that's like sacrilege to me. The team and the fans appreciate my effort, I just know it.
Roy Halladay's Stomach: Not according to me. Your gut instinct is saying it's time to move on, and also to get a chicken parm sandwich.
RH: No I've got to get back to work. There's no time for sand-
Stomach: NO TIME FOR SANDWICHES?!?!?! HOW DARE YOU!
Brain: Listen, there will be plenty of time for sandwiches (Stomach growls in approval). Let's just focus on getting the hell out of Toronto first. Roy, the team is going to trade you in the offseason and the rest of the league already knows how good you are. Arm needs a break, I need to think, and stomach needs food. Do I hear a ringing? Because I think it's time to start phoning it in.
RH: Well... if you put it that way, maybe it is time for a little break.
Roy Halladay's Conscience: ROY! How dare you? I'm ashamed to be your conscience. You get back to work. It's time to start preparing for your next start.
Brain: Hey, the team is going nowhere. That nice guy who played right field...what's his name? Allan? He got dumped for nothing! They couldn't even sign all their draft picks for crying out loud! There's no plan in place, it's time to bolt.
Stomach: I think his name was Alex...
Brain: SILENCE. Let me speak. Think for a second: The organization is cutting costs while saying they're going to increase payroll, there are whispers about selling the team, they traded away your best defensive asset in Scott Rolen, Cito's lukewarm about returning, the rotation has a guy with a name I can't spell AND WE'RE STILL IN FOURTH PLACE. Did Frankie just go to Hollywood? Because it's time to relax, pal.
RH: NEVER. I didn't get to where I am by relaxing. I will persevere and this team will win, for I am Roy Halladay: Defender of the Blue Jays. Randy Ruiz will be a good DH, the rotation will blossom, we'll be just as good defensively, Cito will stay, I'll win the Cy Young, the organization will spend money and the Snidawg's back. Snidawg, Brain. SNIDAWG.
Brain: Ugh. Fine you jerk, be that way. Start throwing more curveballs inside to lefties.
RH: Thank you, Brain.
Enter J.P. Ricciardi, cue up music: Fastball's "The Way"
J.P. Ricciardi: Hey Roy, can we talk?
RH: Sorry pal, I'm a little busy getting ready for my next start.
J.P.: Oh, well can you write me a letter of recommendation later? Things aren't looking too good.
RH: Of course J.P.
J.P.'s Stomach: I'm starving. Where did you put Halladay's soul?
John McDonald (spotting J.P. through a veil of alcohol-induced tears): I got your letter of recommendation right here J.P. (He gestures towards a PG-13 area of his body). Why would you re-sign me and then just have me pinch run? WHY?!?!
(Note: All screenplay inquiries should be forwarded to firstname.lastname@example.org. The working title is, "Look Who's Chirping Now")
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