THE (new) TEAM follows Curtis Granderson and his trusty sidekick, Marcus Thames, as they adjust to lives as New York Yankees.
Warning: Strong language and stupidity follow.
(Yankee press conference)
REPORTER: Derek, is there anything in particular you can point to in explaining the Yankees’ hot 9-3 start to this season?
DEREK JETER: Well, it’s a team thing. We’ve got 25 guys in here giving it their all every day, and we’re just taking it one game at a time. It’s a long way until 162 games have been played, and we’re just going to do our best every day for the great fans out there. I’m sorry guys, but I have a charity event to get to. I can only take one more question.
REPORTER: How are the new faces fitting in so far with the team?
JETER: I couldn’t ask for better teammates than the guys we have on this club. Curtis Granderson, especially, has been a delight to play with thus far, and I look forward to coming to the ballpark every day and playing ball with these guys. Thanks, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me...
(retreats into clubhouse)
JOE GIRARDI: Great Q & A, Captain. As always.
JETER: F-ck you, Joe. These pricks don’t realize how much I want to stab each and every one of them in the f-cking eyeballs with a fork. A fork, Joe!
GIRARDI: I understand. Now, I hate to remind you, but we still have that problem from earlier to take care of...
JETER: Motherf-cker! Are you serious? Where are those two c-ckwallets from Detroit? I thought I told them to take care of this sh-t!
GIRARDI: I’ll be right back, Captain!
(Girardi returns with Curtis Granderson and Marcus Thames.)
JETER: Where the f-ck have you two pillow-biting wastes of space been hiding? I sure as f-ck know you’re not working on your pathetic games.
MARCUS THAMES: C’mon, dude. We’re playing our butts off.
CURTIS GRANDERSON: Yeah, Derek. I’m hitting over .300 so far. And Marcus is hitting .500, for crying out loud.
JETER: What the f-ck did you call me, you worthless twat? Joe...
/Girardi backhands Granderson
GRANDERSON: Geez...I’m sorry...sigh, Captain. What can we do for you this time?
JETER: Are you serious? Joe?
GIRARDI: Guys, come on. Does The Captain look like a bitch to you?
THAMES: Um, what?
JETER: You heard him! Do I look like a bitch?
GRANDERSON: Um, no...
GIRARDI: They why are you trying to f-ck him like one?
GRANDERSON: Isn’t that a line from Pulp Fiction ?
GIRARDI: No. The Captain came up with it on his own.
JETER: F-ckin’ A, I did. And don’t bring up stats to The Captain. I’m hitting almost .400 and have three home runs. Maybe if you two weren’t so f-cking lazy, you’d have some stats to brag about. Now anyway, this is about that “business” that I told you boys to take care of while that f-ggot was singing “God Bless South America” or whatever in the seventh inning.
THAMES: My God...you were serious about that?
JETER: Well, that dead f-cking hooker isn’t going to dispose of herself, is she? I swear, you two f-cksticks are NEVER going to be True Yankees! I mean, Scott Brosius would have those bitches gone before their f-cking hearts stopped!
GRANDERSON: Come on, Der...I mean Captain. This is insane.
THAMES: Yeah. Why don’t any of the other new or younger guys have to do this stuff?
JETER: Are you questioning my f-cking leadership, big boy? Joe?
/Girardi slaps Thames in the face
THAMES: Oww! What the...
JETER: Next time you’ll get a tire iron, you jackoff! If you must know, Brett Gardner is a champion, unlike you two pussy farts. He’s a True Yankee. Randy Winn looks like Bernie Williams to me, and he was a True Yankee! And the other kid...what the f-ck is his name, Joe?
GIRARDI: Francisco Cervelli?
JETER: I don’t speak Mexican, so he’s out. That leaves you two d-cklickers. Toss that bitch in the East River. She’s starting to stink worse that Joe Torre’s beer farts. I’m gonna take a dump, wipe my ass with the American flag, and when I get out, you AND the bitch had better be gone!
GIRARDI: I’m really sorry about this guys. Good luck. There’s some Hefty bags in the back of the clubhouse.
(Two hours later.)
GRANDERSON: Whew. I’m glad that’s done. Can you believe this, Marcus?
THAMES: No, man. This sh-t’s off the charts.
/homeless man stirs in an alley
GRANDERSON: Oh no! You think that guy saw us?
THAMES: Yup. Damn...here he comes.
HOMELESS MAN: Change? Can you guys spare some...oh man, you gotta be kidding me.
GRANDERSON: No. God, no. It can’t be.
GARY SHEFFIELD: Motherf-ckas! My boys! Charles and Martin, right? Sheff’s missed you sonsabitches!
GRANDERSON: Sure, Gary. Look, we gotta go...
SHEFFIELD: Bullsh-t! You boys out here dumpin’ Jeter’s hookers, aren’t you? Sheff didn’t play that sh-t. But these racist muthaf-ckas won’t give Sheff a job anymore...I tell you what. How ‘bout Sheff comes with you! Sheff can dump some hookers for you! Get Brian Cashman on the phone? Sucka won’t answer Sheff’s calls, but you boys can get me to him! How about...$15 million a year? Sheff will play the game for a while. And as soon as Martin over here...
THAMES: Marcus. Assh-le.
SHEFFIELD: Yeah. As soon as you need a break, Sheff can pinch-hit. Sheff can hit .400 if he wants to. I’m healthy! Just give Sheff a chance. And a sandwich. And 50 dollas. What do you say?
GRANDERSON: I hate it here.
THAMES: Yep. New York sucks.