SCENE: an upstairs room in a flophouse in tijuana. a rumpled bed holds two figures covered by a dirty sheet. on the nightstand, a rotary telephone and an empty tequila bottle. a ceiling fan hums as daylight filters through the blinds.
the telephone rings. the figure nearest the phone reaches for the receiver while remaining covered.
VOICE: sweetie, put tawd on the phone.
WOMAN: uhh, si... si...
the woman reaches across the bed and hits the other covered figure in the head with the receiver.
TAWD: AH, goddammit... (takes receiver) ... yeh?
VOICE: tawd? jesus, you sound like shit.
VOICE: listen, tawd, it's paul depodesta.
TAWD: who? listen, mack, i don't want any...
DEPODESTA: tawd, i'm the general manager of the dodgers.
DEPODESTA: the *los angeles* dodgers?
DEPODESTA: the team you play for?
TAWD: oh -- oh yeah, hey, mr. depaulita, how are ya? how'd you find me?
DEPODESTA: one of our mexican league scouts spotted you a few days ago in the drunk tank down at the courthouse.
TAWD: ... ... i was where now?
DEPODESTA: it doesn't matter. hey -- how's your back?
TAWD: well, at the moment, it hurts a bit -- but that's mostly because of rosalita here... (woman giggles) ... yeah, that's right, baby.
DEPODESTA: tawd, shut up. we just traded paul loduca to florida.
TAWD: ... really? (tawd sits up, the phone cord knocking the empty bottle to the floor.)
DEPODESTA: yes, really. we may need you to play again. we worked out a deal for brent mayne, but we already know he isn't going to hit for shit. we just found out he's quit taking steriods. somthing about his health. so we may need you to play next year if we can't find a... well, a good catcher.
TAWD: ... wow. i don't know what to say, mr. deprotesta. i thought...
DEPODESTA: yes, well, tawd, we thought you were a washed-up piece of shit too, after that stint with the cubs. and you probably still are. i still have no idea why my predecessor would have tolerated taking you in trade. it seems ridiculous now... just... baffling, really.
TAWD: yeah, i....
DEPODESTA: shut up, tawd. listen -- i'm sending a car to come dig you out of that cesspool.
DEPODESTA: be out front of that dump at 5 o'clock.
TAWD: what time is it now?
TAWD: am or pm?
TAWD: ok, ok -- 5 o'clock. right. (dial tone)
I have been wondering where Tawd was at. Thanks for keeping me updated.
I nearly wet myself reading that one. I think I might have to start "Where in the world is Sammy Sosa?"
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