John Q Page #4

EXT. ALL SAINTS CHURCH - DAY

The congregation pours out of the church and parishioners run to their cars. Denise stops to talk to the PASTOR.

MIKE:

Dad!

John moves over to Denise and the Pastor.

J.Q.

Sorry, Reverend. No time for saving souls today. Big game.

PASTOR:

Have you been saying your prayers like we talked about?

J.Q.

Does praying for a job count?

PASTOR:

Work on him, will you, Denise?

DENISE:

He's hopeless.

PASTOR:

No one's hopeless. Good luck!

The Pastor waves as John grabs Denise by the hand and they run to the truck and hop in. In the parking lot, kids put on their uniforms, men and women change out of their Sunday best. Cars, vans, pick-ups, "dualies" take off, tires spinning, everybody whooping and hollering.

EXT. BASEBALL FIELD - DAY

It's a tailgate party. Parents lugging ice chests, making sandwiches, barbecuing. In the bleachers, John, Denise, Jimmy Palumbo, and his wife, GINA, cheer on the home team. The wives are really loud.

DENISE:

Let's go, Orioles!

GINA:

Pitcher's got a rubber arm!

The Dodger pitcher stretches, fires a fastball. The batter takes the pitch.

UMPIRE:

Ball four!

Tommy trots down to first base.

JIMMY:

Way to go, Tommy. Good eye. Walk's as good as a hit.

Mike steps to the plate. Family and friends cheer wildly.

GINA:

Yeah, Mike! Drive him home, baby! You can do it!

DENISE:

Hey, pitcher! Hey, pitcher!

The pitcher smokes one down the middle. Mike swings. Nothing but air.

J.Q.

That's okay, Mikey. Put the bat on the ball.

The pitcher burns one on the outside corner.

UMPIRE:

Strike two!

DENISE:

Hey, ump, you're blind! I hate this pitcher. How old is he, anyway?

GINA:

He's supposed to be twelve.

JIMMY:

Twelve, my ass. Look at him. His beard just grew an inch between pitches!

J.Q.

Don't let him rattle you, Mikey. Wait for your pitch.

The catcher flashes fingers. The pitcher nods and fires. Mike hits a sharp ground ball between first and second. The second baseman moves over but doesn't have the angle.

The first baseman charges the ball, scoops it on the run, then underhands it to the Dodger pitcher, who gallops off the mound towards first.

Mike's foot hits the bag at exactly the same time the ball plops in the pitcher's outstretched glove.

FIRST BASE UMP:

SAAAAAAAAFFFEEE!

DODGER PITCHER:

No way! He was out!

FIRST BASE UMP:

Tie goes to the runner, son.

As the Dodger pitcher argues with the umpire, the Oriole player on third base darts towards home. The Dodger pitcher wheels around and fires. Too late, the runner scores.

HOME PLATE UMP:

Saaaaaffee!

Seeing an opening, Mike races from first to second, arms pumping, breathing hard. The Dodger shortstop sees Mike, races to the base and calls for the throw.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes