Bull Durham Page #5

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ANNIE:

Well let's get down to it, honey--

how was he?

MILLIE:

Well, he fucks like he pitches.

Sorta all over the place

P.O.V. EBBY LALOOSH FIRES ANOTHER ONE into the stands. And--

Hit "Rock Around the Clock"--

DISSOLVE INTO:

QUICK MONTAGE OF EBBY'S FIRST GAME -- Strikeouts and wild

pitches. A young, gifted, uncontrollable thrower.

BILL HALEY AND HIS COMETS

When the chimes ring five, six

and seven--We'll be right in

Seventh Heaven, Gonna rock around

the clock tonight...

EBBY UNLEASHES A WILD ONE -- And decks the Bull Mascot.

EBBY IN THE DUGOUT READS THE NOTE from Annie.

EBBY STRIKES OUT a Peninsula batter.

EBBY UNLEASHES ANOTHER WILD ONE and a batter hits the dirt.

End "Rock Around the Clock" and--

CUT TO:

INT. THE BULL LOCKER ROOM -- NIGHT

SKIP WALKS THROUGH THE PLAYERS ROOM -- Players are up, joking

irreverently.

JOSE:

Hey Lefty, hold 'em to 12 runs

every night, you'll win 20--

EBBY:

(he might be serious)

Had 'em all the way.

A DURHAM PLAYER SITTING HALF DRESSED in front of his locker.

A PICTURE OF JESUS hangs amidst his gear. The player, JIMMY,

25, has a Bible and prays softly to himself.

JIMMY:

Dear Lord, thank you for being

with us tonight, thank you for

protecting us from injury and--

DEKE WALKS BY, shaking Jimmy irreverently as he prays.

DEKE:

Wake up, wake up--

MICKEY (A BLACK) COMPLAINS TO TONY as they undress.

MICKEY:

This league is racist, man.

TONY:

Every time you go 0 for 4 you

think the league is racist-face

it, Mick, you're an equal

opportunity "out".

CUT TO:

THE MANAGER'S OFFICE -- A tiny cubicle, a desk, phone Larry

joins him with the pitching charts. Skip studies the charts.

SKIP:

He walked eighteen?!

LARRY:

It's a league record.

SKIP:

Struck out eighteen...

LARRY:

League record.

(beat)

And he hit the Radio Announcer, a

Sportswriter, and the Bull Mascot

twice--also league records--

(beat)

Joe, the guy's got some serious

sh*t.

THE DOOR OPENS -- A PLAYER ENTERS, in street clothes, carrying

his suitcases. CRASH DAVIS, 30, older than the other players.

And different. More than just opinions, he actually has a

point of view. A career minor leaguer, hanging on wherever

he can get a job. Unlike Ebby--Crash knows a lot about the

world without baseball. Also unlike Ebby--he loves baseball

desperately.

LARRY:

Who're you?

Crash speaks slowly, with a trace of cynicism and pride,

like an old warrior who knows he's just a hired gun.

CRASH:

I am the player to be named later.

Beat. Skip looks out, half dressed, from his cubicle.

SKIP:

Crash Davis?

CRASH:

The Crash Davis.

(beat, then nonstop))

And you, Larry Hockett, should

recognize me 'cause five years

ago in the Texas League when you

were pitching for El Paso and I

was hitting cleanup for Shreveport,

you hung a curve on an 0-2 pitch

of a 3-2 game in bottom of the

8th and I tattooed it over the

Goodyear Tire sign, beat you 4-3--

and I got a free wheel alignment

from Goodyear.

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